More Than Need You (More Than Words 2)

“Think of it as completing your nephew’s—and your brother’s—family. I won’t be able to share my life with them if I don’t have your help, man.”

He lets loose a sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a grunt. “You owe me so big, and I expect you to grovel to Keeley on my behalf so you can help complete your brother’s family in return.”

“Done.” My last conversation with Keeley seemed as if her earlier leaning toward staying in Phoenix was beginning to lean back the other way. A few assurances that my brother is very seriously in love with her might help make up her mind.

Maxon smiles like he thinks he’s won. I let him believe that. I love them both and would have done everything possible to make them happy anyway.

“You didn’t hear t

his from me…” he mutters in low tones. “But Britta keeps a calendar of appointments in her desk and usually jots down addresses.”

I clap my brother on the shoulder. “You’re my hero.”

It takes me less than two minutes of prowling through her workspace to find what I’m looking for. Rob is too wrapped up in whatever he’s doing to care. Maxon pretends to look the other way. It’s perfect.

With a dash back into my office, I sweep up my keys and phone, then nod in my brother’s direction. “Talk to you later, man.”

“Play nice,” he calls to my retreating back.

I wave without committing to that. Maxon knows me well, so knows I’m not playing at all.

The Hawaiian sunshine is bright but waning as I fight the island’s version of rush-hour traffic south. A glance at the song titles on the case Keeley left me warns me that I should avoid more musical selections designed to rip my guts out—at least for now. I don’t need that messing with my head just before I see Jamie.

By six twenty, I reach the park not far from Britta’s house and catch a glimpse of the playground. The sun has nearly set when I pull my Porsche into a spot on the far side of the lot, hiding between a big truck and a giant SUV.

After locking up, I hang out against the fence in the shade beneath a few palms. With a view of both the road and the parking area, I kick back.

Two minutes later, Britta pulls up. She hustles out of the car, slinging the handles of a woven beach bag over one shoulder, and shoves a giant bottle of water inside it. She’s wearing tight black workout pants and a flowing shirt that matches her eyes. It’s a V-neck with embroidery down the front and along the sides. It hugs her body and ends at her hips. And I can’t stop staring.

Jesus… She is still the sexiest woman on the planet to me.

Finally, she opens the back door of her car and leans in. She must be unbuckling the car seat. I find myself tensing, holding my breath.

I’m going to lay eyes on my son.

She emerges from the back of the vehicle, holding the boy against her. He lays his mop of dark hair on her shoulder, body limp, eyes closed. I scan him up and down, wishing I was closer, that I could see him more clearly, hold him myself. From the bit I can discern, he’s… I don’t even have words. Beautiful. Amazing. Everything I didn’t know I wanted.

My heart melts. Taking in this moment is like trying to absorb a shock, understand an illusion, and decipher a miracle all at once.

He’s bigger than I thought a kid a few months shy of three would be. But I was a big kid, too. Tall and strapping, especially in adolescence. Blue flip-flops shield big feet that dangle beside Britta’s thighs. They’re obviously long, too, as are his legs and arms. The picture Maxon showed me the night we met up didn’t reveal him wearing a cast, but Jamie has a blue one covering most of his left hand and forearm. I’ll be sure to find out about that ASAP. He’s also wearing blue shorts and a tan shirt with some print I can’t discern at this distance.

She kisses Jamie’s forehead and strokes his hair as she makes their way toward a nearby bench. On one side of the area is an empty playground. On the other is a vendor closing up shop after a day of selling sno-cones. At a distance, I follow a path along the far side of the lot, thankful for the shadow. Britta is too distracted to see me anyway as she sits on a bench perched outside the sandy area and waits, gently rocking our son.

I’m itching to interact with Jamie. I’ve known about him for twenty hours and I feel as if I should have met him at least nineteen ago. But if I push Britta, she’ll get stubborn, like that time she refused to toss out the houseplant I inadvertently killed. She waited for me to take responsibility for the greenery, dig it up, and replace it. She asked me to take care of it more than once. I didn’t have time. No, I didn’t make time.

I took her for granted. A lot.

That truth smacks me between the eyes. With a curse under my breath, I examine my year with Britta through the lens of more mature eyes. Deep down, I knew I hadn’t been great to her. But back then, I hadn’t realized what a steaming asshole my dad is or that the way he treats people isn’t something I should emulate if I want to keep others in my life. But I was raised to believe that I’d eventually live a life like him and the world would revolve around me.

And what a prick I was.

Jamie’s birth aside, I think specifically about the times I didn’t come through for Britta—the dinners I worked through, the birthday I nearly forgot, the Valentine’s Day I half-assed because I didn’t see myself as the romantic sort.

Where does that leave me now? Staring at my kid across a park and wishing I had the right to hug him tight and play with him just to see him smile while I hold Britta’s hand and we laugh at his antics.

For now, I have to be satisfied with watching from afar. I feel like a stalker, but that doesn’t matter. At least I’ve seen my son.

Behind me, I hear a car pulling into the lot. Britta turns toward the sound. I slouch behind a tree and watch a woman emerge from her minivan with a boy who’s smaller than Jamie. Once he peels out of his car seat, his mother, who looks harried, has to grab his arm to prevent him from darting across the blacktop to reach the playground.

With a huff, the brunette picks up her son. Britta approaches, a still-sleepy Jamie in tow. At the edge of the sand, the women start chatting. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but the brunette ruffles my son’s hair. The other boy hugs Britta’s thigh, then seemingly ecstatic they have the playground to themselves, he runs to the slide. Suddenly, Jamie wriggles out of Britta’s grip and dashes off after the little guy as if he wasn’t dead-ass asleep three minutes ago.

As they reach the first rung of the ladder, the park’s overhead lights turn on, illuminating the area with a megawatt LED glow. Suddenly, I can see every expression on my son’s face—his smile and little white teeth, the small blade of a nose that will someday look more like mine. And my chin, square and prominent and stubborn.

It hits me that Jamie is the most amazing blend of me and Britta.

I hug the tree to stay upright as his giggle fills the evening while he stands at the top of the slide, pumping his little fists in the air like he’s a champion. Normally, I’m a cynical bastard, but I can’t stop the smile that creases my face. Britta barks something at him—probably a demand that he sit before he falls—and he scrambles to his butt and pushes off, gliding down the long, yellow slide with a howl of laughter.

I can’t remember ever being as happy as my son seems right now. I’m so fucking grateful to Britta for giving him the childhood I never had.

His friend follows him to the ground before they chase each other around the sand. When they body slam onto nearby swings, the moms spring into action and sit them down properly before pushing them gently. Soon it’s clear that Britta is holding Jamie back. He’s trying to soar in the air, shouting “higher!”

He’s a daredevil—something else he inherited from me.

I’m flabbergasted to see so much of myself in my son, given the fact we’ve never met. I’m also stunned by the incredible responsibility of being a parent. I’m sure I don’t know the half of it, but I’m acutely aware that if I intend to be around the boy in the future, I’ll influence him, whether I mean to or not. I want to show him only the best parts of me. I want to be the kind of father he can look up to, the kind I always wished for.

It may sound weird because Jamie is still a toddler, but I want my son to be proud of me.

I also better understand Britta’s resistance to letting me meet my son. She doesn’t know who I am today. She just remembers the guy who seduced her in the office, the jerk who fixated on fantasy football with my brother most of our one Christmas Day together, the asshole who didn’t take her out for New Year’s because I’d worked a crazy fucking week after tourists suddenly decided they wanted a Maui house right now and stayed glued to my side for twenty hours straight until they got one.

At the time, I’d never seen a man put his woman fir

st. It sounds like a lousy excuse now, but that’s the only reason I have for being such a douchebag to Britta. My dad wasn’t faithful or nice for a day of his marriage to my mother, not that she’s any saint. Probably the reason they’re getting divorced. Maxon was a butt to Tiffanii the whole two years they were together. Though, in fairness, his attitude was probably a defense mechanism because