Downbeat Page 4

  “She sent me a text. I’ll probably go over to Brady’s tonight after dinner. There’s a project due next week and we want to get ahead of it.”

  Figures she’d be going to Brady’s house tonight. He’s a good guy and all, but I worry about my little sister and college guys. They’ve been going out a while, but so were me and Craig before everything changed.

  I nod. “I’m not Mom. I don’t need to know your schedule.”

  “I know, just telling you what I have going on.”

  “Thanks.”

  It’s the same routine we had growing up. Mom worked weird shifts at the hospital—anything to get the most money. Jenny constantly had to tell me what she was doing, where she was going, who she was with. I became her mom rather than her big sister during the last few years of my high school career. Not that I minded. It’s not like she was out driving around with her friends. It was more whose house was she going to play at after school or what activity she had going on. If she couldn’t bike there herself, she wasn’t going. With my car always breaking down, we couldn’t rely on it if Jenny needed to be anywhere outside of the neighborhood.

  Helping Mom out was priority number one in those days. Having our income and family down by one was something we weren’t prepared for. Dad died shortly after Jenny was born, leaving Mom to be both parents and the sole provider of the family. A freak accident at work. Dad owned his own construction business. One weekend, he decided to go work on a project alone, something he knew not to do. When he didn’t come home a few hours later, Mom started to call around. It wasn’t until the police showed up at the door that we knew for sure something was wrong. I remember Mom sobbing, clinging to the officer as they explained what happened. I took my first—and only—ride in a squad car as they brought us to the hospital.

  The minute we walked in the room and saw Dad hooked up to all sorts of wires and tubes, Mom lost it. She curled up next to his bed and cried for hours. Days, even. So many doctors and nurses, all explaining the different procedures but I didn’t understand a word they said. Mom was there, but she wasn’t. A piece of her died once we made the decision to end life support a week later.

  I try not to remember that moment or the months that followed.

  It took us a while to get back to normal. Luckily our house was paid for, so we didn’t have to worry about a mortgage, but Dad’s medical bills were substantial. Apparently, his life and accidental death insurance didn’t quite cover everything, so Mom had to take a small mortgage out on the house and had to up her hours at the hospital, working in multiple departments to get enough hours so Jenny and I wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

  We were too young to know it, but Mom sacrificed so much for us during one of the darkest points in her life.

  Then I came home pregnant and broke.

  Staying here, helping her out by paying some bills and doing chores so she doesn’t have to worry about anything is the least I can do. Sure, my job at Grounded isn’t glamorous, nor is it the highest paying job out there. But it’s the only one that’s close by and is flexible with my schedule, giving Jayce a chance at a normal life with me in it. That alone is worth its weight in gold while being the almost twenty-seven-year-old loser living with her mom and sister.

  After dinner, Jenny takes off to Brady’s while Jayce helps me load the dishwasher.

  “Mom, can I ask you something?” His voice gets real quiet.

  It must be important enough for him to be scared to ask. “Anything, buddy. You know that.”

  He nods and looks up with big, bright eyes. Eyes like his dad’s—hazel, not blue.

  “Do I have a dad?”

  My heart splinters as I crouch down to his level, brushing back the pieces of hair from his crestfallen face. I knew he’d ask this question one day, but I wasn’t prepared for it this soon.

  “Why do you ask?”

  Jayce swallows hard. “Tommy Johnson was bragging about going to a hockey game this weekend with his dad. He said they always do stuff like that. Then he said that I’ll never get to do those things ‘cause I don’t have a dad.” His little lip quivers with the last sentence, chipping another piece of my heart away.

  Dammit, Craig. Why couldn’t you be a man and stay with us? Better yet, want to know your child so he doesn’t have to feel like this?

  I engulf him in my arms and rub his back with one hand while running the other down the back of his head.

  “It’s okay if you don’t have a dad. I don’t have a dad, either.” I pull back and wipe away the stray tears from his cheeks. “You tell Tommy Johnson to mind his own business. There’s nothing wrong with our family. If you want to go to a hockey game, we can do that. Just you and I.”

  The corners of his lips turn up. “Really? You mean it?”

  I nod. “You bet. It’ll be our special date. We’ll look at the hockey schedule and see what works out the best. Okay?”

  Jayce bonks his forehead against mine. “Okay.”

  With my knees screaming at their uncomfortable position, I straighten back to standing and ruffle his hair. “I didn’t even know you liked hockey.”

  He nods and bounces on his toes. “We learned about different sports ‘cause of the ‘Lympics. And Mrs. Carr talked about hockey and it sounded super cool. Then Tommy talked about watching it all the time.”

  I tap my chin. “Should we see if we can find a hockey game on TV tonight since the Olympics are still a few weeks away?”

  You’d think I’d just given him a year’s worth of presents. His beaming smile is more than enough of an answer. It doesn’t stop him from chewing my ear off about everything they talked about in school; from bobsledding to hockey to figure skating to skiing.

  For a five-year-old, he sure does know a lot about sports.

  Another twinge hits me. I haven’t done anything to get him into sports or feed his obsession. Sure, over the past year, he’s expressed interest in baseball and basketball. Things we can easily do around the area. It’s been years since I’ve thrown a ball or played any type of recreational sport. With him being one parent down, I need to step up my game and nurture his boy interests.

  Jayce agrees to an early bath time so we can sit on the couch and watch the hockey game I managed to find. I have no idea who’s playing—or anything else about the sport—but he curls up to my side and watches with wide eyes as the two teams battle over the puck.

  At the first intermission, we take a break to stretch and grab a snack. After rejecting all of his suggestions, he reluctantly takes the apple over the banana.

  “I sure do like this, Mom,” he says, sitting next to me and basically crunching right in my ear. An apple is better than a bag of chips, so I’ll take it.

  “Me too, buddy.”

  By the third period, I’ve become way too invested in this game. I still don’t know much about the logistics of everything, I only know that L.A. is losing to Vancouver. It’s disappointing though. All the movies depict hockey to be this blood bath sport, where teeth go flying and everyone is out for the kill. Not one fight. Nothing. But watching those guys get slammed against the glass and bounce back like nothing happened is pretty amazing.

  I think I could like this. I’ll have to do more research before taking Jayce to one, though.

  When the game ends, I’m hesitant to move. Jayce is sprawled across my lap, his hands tucked under his cheek. I stroke his hair, wistfully playing with it while studying the features of his face. He has his dad’s eyes and nose, but my mouth and facial structure. His cheek twitches into a smile as I continue playing with his sandy-blond hair. When he would have night terrors, I would lie in bed with him and do this exact movement to lull him back to sleep. He hasn’t had a bad dream in a while, which makes me miss moments like this. All too soon he’ll be grown up and not want anything to do with me.

  Hopefully he doesn’t take after his father in that aspect.

  The front door opens and Mom shuffles inside, hanging her keys on the hook.


  “He asleep?” she whispers. I nod, not wanting to wake him.

  After slipping out of her shoes, she makes her way across the floor and scoops Jayce into her arms, carrying him down the hall to his room.

  Wow, is my lap warm. Jayce is like a mini furnace; way better than any blanket. The rush of cool air feels good and I stand to stretch. I’ve been sitting for way too long.

  Mom comes walking back to the living room, beat down and tired. The dark circles that ring her eyes are a telltale sign of her hard work.

  “Long one today?” Not that I need to ask.

  She nods and sits in Dad’s old recliner. We couldn’t part ways with it after he died, but Mom did have it re-upholstered so she wouldn’t cry every time she looked at it.

  “Too much running and not enough breaks.” Mom works in the urgent care and emergency room wing of the hospital as an RN. Unfortunately, due to cutbacks, they can’t give her full-time hours, so she picks up random shifts in different departments when they’re short staffed. Hence the double shift tonight. “The flu is making its way around the hospital again, so don’t be surprised if I have more nights like this.”

  Poor Mom. “You’re going to work yourself ragged. We don’t need the money that bad.”

  She cocks a brow to me. “Your sister is still in school and eventually Jayce will need a college education.”

  “That’s my responsibility, not yours,” I say, sitting back down. “And one of these days I’ll save enough money to get a place of our own.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She adjusts her position while scoffing. “You have the perfect situation right now. Besides, have you seen how expensive the houses are? Your father and I lucked out. When your grandparents died, the housing market was still decent and we easily took over the house. Once your father died, prices skyrocketed out of control. Why else do you think we’re still living here?”

  I look around the house and laugh. Same hideous pink carpet from my childhood in the living room and bedrooms, along with the dated white tile floors covering the remainder of the house. Heck, the appliances are still from the 90s. The house may be dated, but it’s not all bad. All my good childhood memories happened here. Besides, Dad made some improvements before he died. At least he changed out all the light fixtures, including that hideous gold chandelier in the dining room.

  “Mom, I can’t live here forever. I won’t be that person.”

  “I don’t mind.” Her voice gets quiet. “I like the company.”

  I try to keep the frown off my face. “You should get back out there. Go out on some dates. Coming home to your adult daughter and grandson should not be the highlight of your night.”

  She shrugs. “I’ll start dating when you do.”

  Ugh, how’d I know she’d say that. “I date.”

  “Making plans and then canceling them last minute is not dating. I’ve been on more dates than you have.”

  Pulling my knees up, I hug them close to my chest and rest my chin on top. “I have a child.”

  Mom looks at me like I’m stupid. “And?”

  “And,” I say, blowing out a breath. “No one wants that much baggage.”

  She leans forward, patting my foot. “You don’t have baggage. It’s all in your head. Put yourself out there. You may be surprised by what you find.”

  “If you take your own advice, I’ll do the same.”

  A large smile graces her tired face. “Deal.” Mom stands and yawns loudly. “Love you, sweetheart.”

  “Love you, too.” I watch her disappear down the hall and wait for the gentle click of her door.

  Put myself out there? Something I’ve considered but can’t quite execute. I need to get over my fears, my doubts, and find someone to love me and my son. Are there still decent guys left in this world?

  Guess there’s only one way to find out.

  Today can’t get any worse.

  A missing shoe caused me to be ten minutes late, which meant I had to fly through my prep list before I opened the doors to the public. The first few customers had to wait an extra five minutes because I didn’t have the fresh muffins in the display case after the bakery dropped them off. Then I spilled two cups of coffee on the ground, staining the bottom of my pants. It was a good hour before I could change into the spare pair I keep in the back for such emergencies. And every single person was bitchy. They should really have a cup of coffee before coming to get our cup of coffee.

  I hate Mondays.

  It never fails. Each one is the same thing. It’s like I’m cursed, trapped in a Groundhog Day of never-ending bitchiness, spills, stains, and mass chaos.

  One of these days I’m going to be like the moms on TV—put together and never a hot mess.

  The morning lull hits and I sigh, dragging the mop from the back to clean the third spill of the day. You’d think I’d applied butter to my hands before walking through the door. At least I didn’t spill on myself this time. I’m out of clean pants, which is not good.

  Ding.

  That fucking bell. I want to rip it off its hinge and launch it across the room, giving it one final noise before stomping on it, Office Space style.

  Maybe it’s more than the customers that are extra bitchy today.

  Without looking up, I quickly stash the mop out of sight and straighten a piece of hair that fell into my face. When I finally acknowledge the person standing at the counter, I practically stumble over my feet, even though I’m standing still.

  It’s that guy again, the one I saw last week. He flashes me a smile when we make eye contact and I try like hell to contain the giddiness flowing through my veins. He’s so damn attractive. Sharp facial features, dirty blond hair that peeks out from under his cap, and those lips. Man, those full lips could turn a saint into a sinner.

  Get a hold of yourself.

  Internally slapping myself into my right mind, I smile back at him, only this one is genuine and not forced or plastered.

  “Good morning. Welcome to Grounded. What can I get for you?” Sure, he gets the same spiel everyone else gets. Can’t let him know I remember him from the hundreds of people to flock in and out of here daily.

  “Morning.” His low, deep voice threatens to send a chill up my spine, but I tamp it down. Must be professional and not act like a teenager. Or Jenny. “I’ll have a large black coffee.”

  “No Americano?”

  He smirks. “So you do remember me.”

  Shit. I was supposed to play it cool, act like he didn’t stick out in my jumbled mom brain. “Oh, well, it’s not often people order Americanos.” A total lie, but it sounds better than admitting he’s the only customer to stick out from the crowd due to his excessively good looks. And the fact he’s still wearing his sunglasses inside.

  Not sure if he bought the lie or not. He tilts his head back in acknowledgment. Whatever that means. “Today’s a bit different. I ate something, so I have a good base for the black coffee. No need for the added stuff.”

  “True. I’m the same way. If I drink black coffee on an empty stomach, I’ll have heartburn all day long.”

  “No sense in getting ulcers at our age.”

  I laugh quietly and nod before turning to pour his simple request. Part of me wishes he would have ordered the more complicated drink. Then he’d be at the counter for longer than ten seconds. I take my time opening the cardboard sleeve to put the cup in and check three times to make sure the lid is tightly secured.

  When I turn around, he’s placed the sunglasses on his hat, even tipping it back slightly, giving me a better view of his face. Damn. It shouldn’t be legal to look that good. He takes the cup and our fingers brush against each other like last time. The same tingle runs over my skin. Such a strange reaction. Never have I felt a surge of energy or shock from touching a guy or felt nervous enough to care what he thinks of me. Not even Craig. It’s weird and a little unnerving.

  Looking up, I catch him staring at me. My heart beats a little faster as the corners of hi
s lips turn up. Riding the rush, I focus more intently on his face. His eyes…they’re hazel.

  No.

  Even though my son has the exact same color eyes, there’s something about them in other men that turns me off. Even his lean muscles and tan skin won’t make up for the fact he has the shade I can’t stand anymore.

  The perfect bubble I had created for us in my mind pops. Defeated, I sigh and put on the forced smile I use for everyone who walks through the door. “Hope you enjoy the coffee.”

  He looks puzzled, his brows drawing together in a tight V. “You okay?”

  I nod, looking down to the left. “Good. Why?”

  He draws my gaze again, the same expression still pulling his face down. He shakes it off just as quickly as it appeared. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  Wonderful. My stupid fear has reared its ugly head again, killing the good mood this perfectly nice stranger has put me in. Fucking Craig. Why’d he mess with my head? There’s no logical reason why I can’t like this guy. He’s done nothing wrong. For all I know, he could be the prince I’ve been waiting for. But no. My messed-up brain has to dismiss him because of his eye color.

  Note to self: remember to kick my ass later tonight.

  Half expecting him to turn and walk out the door, I leave the counter and grab the mop, needing to finish cleaning the floor. To my surprise, the annoying bell never chimes, nor do I feel a rush of warm air that usually accompanies the open door. Instead, I find him sitting in the same spot as last week, this time with his nose in a book.

  Huh. Never would have expected that. Then again, why would I expect anything? He’s a stranger. A drop-dead gorgeous fine specimen of man but still a stranger.

  After the evidence of my mishap is gone, I wander to the tables and wipe them down, tidying up along the way.

  “Shaping up to be a warm one today.” His deep voice pulls me out of my head as I look over at his smiling face. He really needs to stop that.

  I shrug. “Haven’t been outside since early this morning, so I wouldn’t know.”

  He saves his place with the bookmark and extends a hand to me. “Paxton. Wanted to make sure I properly introduce myself before you run off again.”