“I heard you tell Parker that Mr. Brown was destined for shit city.”
“BOY!” I turn him to face me, eyes bulging.
“Sorry, just saying it the way you said it.”
“Do as I say, not as I do. I wasn’t insulting him, and I said he was destined to float shit creek. If you’re going to quote someone, do it correctly.”
“K.” He looks up at me, confused. “Mommy, what’s a shit creek?”
“Dante, let’s breathe for a second here. It’s been a long day. Let’s save the rest of the Spanish Inquisition for later. Don’t you have a video to make?”
His face lights up. “Yes! I’m doing a review today!”
“Awesome. Go ahead and make it while I get your dinner ready, and I’ll approve it after.”
“K.” He runs off just after I get his sock on. In the kitchen, I unwrap some leftover Fiesta Chicken and slide it in the oven. Moving to the living room, I take my syllabus out from my leather brief and grab my red pen before getting cozy in my recliner. Teaching high school is challenging. Finding a way to keep kids interested in more than Instagram or Snapchat these days is damn near impossible.
Last year was by far the hardest of my career, and I’m determined to turn things around this year and find new and creative ways to get them to interact during class. I’m a few days into my lesson plans when voices outside my window grab my attention. At the blinds, I curse my curiosity. Troy admitted he watched, and that he saw me watch. I did know he was watching. Of course I knew. I’d been aware of him since he left the present on my porch along with the envelope full of cash. Truth be told, I’d spotted him before that but refused to acknowledge it. When he left the gift, he gave me no choice but to recognize his lingering presence. But, no matter how many times our eyes met over the crown of his son’s head while I walked him into my apartment, or how remorseful or pitiful his expression, especially in my weakest moments, I’d always slammed the door behind us. And still, he’d refused to stay away. His truck parked facing my apartment, on guard.
My disgust and contempt for what he did was by far the easiest grudge I’ve ever held. Living through labor alone had sealed my anger. He’d robbed me of the chance to experience it with someone capable of feeling the same type of emotion. Not a kid who had a curfew and a prom date waiting. I had no intention of letting him back into my headspace. But one long look at him on my doorstep had made it impossible not to. Of the words he spoke, he seemed so sincere in his apology, in his eagerness to prove himself, at least concerning Dante. But he’d also seemed sincere the night he talked my panties off. Years ago, with anger being my motivator, I swore what I said was true. I would never get over what he did. The way he manipulated his way between my legs.
I could never trust him for myself, but for Dante?
He’s been more persistent in the last few years with his gentle stalking. He’d respected my wishes from afar trying to be a silent support. I’d torn up his checks and, even in the most desperate of times, refused to cash one.
Over the years, I’ve tried to rationalize what he did, tempted at times to open the door and wave hi
m in to get temporary relief from the hellacious days, but I never did. Because deep down there was still that voice of pre-baby Clarissa, who held too much resentment for his disrespect for my life, my career, for my plans.
And what would happen if he got a pro ball contract? Was his son a hobby?
Still, if he took measures to move so close just for the chance, who am I to deny him a relationship he could very well legally fight for? He’s given me all the power, though I was forced to make the decision on the spot. Troy might not be able to afford an attorney now, but the minute he signs a pro contract, he will be able to afford the best. An unethical decision is not illegal. Lying doesn’t make him an unfit parent. He does have rights.
“Damn you,” I whimper as I watch Troy and a few of his friends unload his king cab. “Must be nice,” I stare at his truck with longing before darting my gaze to my ancient SUV, which only has one AC setting. Freezing. Which is helpful on sweaty ass-to-leather days, which Texas is notorious for. Still, I can’t deny my little man and I have come a long way from the one-bedroom apartment with the broken dishwasher. Admiring Troy’s physique as he lifts a table from the bed of the truck, I sigh, resting my temple against the window. I’ve got an annoyingly clear view of him due to the last of the sun setting behind him.
“Why can’t you be ugly like Carly?” Bright blue eyes blaze my way and pin me where I stand. He knows. He knows I’m watching him. His intrusive, penetrating stare followed by the twist of his lips and flash of teeth are enough to have me jumping back.
Busted.
“Shit,” I mumble, mortified, just as my table lamp goes down. I know, without a doubt, he saw the room go dark.
“Mommy?! What did you break?” Dante shouts from his bedroom like he’s scolding a child. Thanking God for my son’s laziness in seeing for himself, I move to grab the broom and dustpan.
“Just a light bulb. It was hot.”
“You owe me three dollars for today! Five dollars from last week! Curse monster!”
“Yes, son. But you said shit twice today, so we’re even!”
“Give me a dollar and we’re even. Now be quiet, I’m recording!”
Yeah, well, your ‘hot as hell athlete daddy’ just moved in next door, and your ‘haven’t had a proper penis in ages’ mommy is hard up. How about a little grace?
“Don’t talk to me like that, buddy, or I’ll soap your tongue!”
“Mommmmy. I’m on take three now because you can’t be quiet!”
“Sorry!”