“You wanna see a picture?” He pulled out his phone and tapped his thumb against the screen.
I stepped to the side and let him enter first. “Sure.” I spotted the keys where he said they would be, on the coffee table next to an old mug of coffee.
He scrolled through his photos until he found one. He handed me the phone.
I held it between my thumb and forefinger and looked at the screen. Derek stood there in jeans and a dark blue t-shirt with a drawing of a globe on it. He was holding a toy rocket, like he and Deacon had built it together. He smiled with all his teeth, and he had the darkest hair, midnight black, and he had the same chocolate-colored eyes. My eyes softened. “He’s so cute…”
“Yeah, he is,” he said with pride. “Smart kid.”
I didn’t give the phone back because I wanted to continue to stare. “He looks just like him…I can’t believe it.”
“Yeah, same hair, same eyes, same attitude…”
I smiled and struggled to give the phone back, to part with the little boy Deacon loved so much. All I saw was a picture and I loved him too.
Tucker pocketed the phone.
“Is he gifted the way Deacon is?”
“It’s too early to tell, but he’s definitely smart. He picks up on things so quickly. Started walking at a really young age, start talking at a young age. But he knows how to communicate a lot better than his dad,” he said with a laugh. “Honestly, I’d rather talk to Derek instead of Deacon.” He walked to his keys on the coffee table and pocketed them. “I can’t wait to see him when he visits.”
“Yeah…”
He stood with his hands in his pockets, eyeing me by the door. “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah…just thinking about all the stuff I have to do.” I pocketed my keys. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Goodnight, Cleo. Maybe we’ll get that Taco Bell together sometime.”
I smiled before I walked out. “Yeah, maybe.”
Twelve
Deacon
It was nine in the evening when my driver pulled up to the building.
My laptop was heavy in my satchel even though the weight hadn’t changed, but it felt like a mountain of paperwork hung on my shoulder. I stepped out of the car, slipped the driver a tip, and then walked into the building, the doorman greeting me the same way he did every day.
“Welcome home, Mr. Hamilton.”
The second the glass door shut behind me, the loud cacophony of the street subsided, the traffic, the honks, the people—all of it went quiet.
I liked it when it was quiet.
I headed to the elevator.
Cleo emerged from the hallway between the elevators, carrying a heavy bag over her shoulder that seemed to be stuffed with paperwork. She hadn’t seen me yet, so she allowed her expression to fall, to show signs of fatigue. Her eyes were dull like they needed a shine, and her lips fell from her usual smile.
I glanced behind me and saw that my driver was still there, blocked against the sidewalk because there was so much traffic on the road—even though it was so late in the evening. I thought LA had the worst traffic, but I was wrong. It was definitely Manhattan.
Instead of hitting the door to the elevator, I waited for her to notice me.
When she did, she almost jumped, as if she’d assumed the lobby would be abandoned at this time of night. “Deacon, you’ve must have had a long day if you’re just getting home.” Like she wasn’t tired at all, she perked up, hiding all the miles she’d put on her engine that day. Her eyes shone like new and her smile seemed genuine—or she just had a lot of practice.
She was easy to talk to, but I still struggled to form coherent sentences. So, I didn’t say anything, just staring at her as I gripped the strap to my satchel.
Like always, she didn’t seem put off by my silence. “Have a good night. I’ve got—”
“I had to stay in the lab for an experiment.” My answer was incredibly delayed, but I thought an answer was better than no answer. “I tried to start earlier in the day, but I had a meeting that went on longer than I planned.”
She nodded. “I hate it when that happens. Well, I hope you take it easy tomorrow.” She started to walk away.
I walked beside her and moved through the open door that the bellman grabbed. My car was still there, so I tapped my knuckles on the window.
The driver rolled it down. “Yes, Mr. Hamilton?”
“Could you give Cleo a ride home on your way?” I placed my hand inside the car and casually slipped him a bigger bill.
“No problem at all, Mr. Hamilton.” He got out of the car and came around to open the door for her.