Cruz (Hot Shots 2)

13

Cruz

Today was a fucking blast. Little dude kept us busy either building sandcastles, asking for copious amounts of snacks or food, and he even loved playing in the water. We stopped by my place before and after, Luna telling me she’d been in the Wet Spot and a lot of Sailor’s clothing coming from there when she can find a good deal or if she splurges every now and again. I showed her the place where I build custom surfboards and the small living space that’s in the back of the building.

Nothing could have prepared me for the way she is a mother to our son—the sunscreen, the packing his beach toys, diaper bag, and doing it seamlessly. That’s why once we got there, I took over what I could. Slathering them both with sunscreen throughout the day, setting up the umbrella, chairs, and cooler. And I got to admire Luna in a bathing suit, showing off curves she didn’t have before, and I’m really thanking my son for them right about now. She was covered in a one-piece suit sans any straps, those tits of hers I had in my mouth and hands this morning being held up by nothing, defying gravity, which from what she said about breastfeeding and how hard it can be on your body, I’m not sure how that was possible. But fuck, I’ll take it.

Now, we’re back at her place, both of us clean from taking separate showers, unfortunately. That’s another thing I’m coming to realize—as much as I love my son more than my next breath of air—yes, already—he’s a little cock blocker. I wouldn’t have it any other way though. My mind is already figuring out how I can convince Luna that Sailor and I will be catching the waves together as soon as he’s walking. Even though he’s only nine months, I know his time is coming sooner than later.

“He’s asleep?” Luna walks out of the kitchen with a wine glass in her hand and wearing a shirt of mine she clearly stole out of my bag I packed, those socks she always wears to bed, cheeks red from the sun, no matter how many times we reapplied sunscreen, and hair wet from her shower.

“Passed out the minute I started rocking him. It’s not easy laying him down in his bed,” I tell her, patting my lap, wanting her in my arms when we have this talk.

“Beach days always do that to him.” She comes to sit in my lap, even with the giant elephant in the room.

“You’re an amazing mom, mi diosa,” I tell her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. It’s still wet from her shower, and already starting to curl.

“Thank you. Fatherhood seems to be suiting you too. Though, tomorrow, I have to work, and Mari will be here bright and early to watch Sailor, unless you would rather stay with him?” she asks. I watch as she takes a gulp of her wine. Fuck, I hate that she’s nervous.

“As much as I would love to, I think Sailor staying on a schedule might be best until he’s more adjusted to me being around. That okay?” I respond while my hand is sliding down to her shoulder, slightly massaging it until she settles in my lap.

“That’s fine. I guess we need to have this talk now, right? I mean, even if I’d rather just bury the past and start fresh, we can’t.” Her voice falters.

“Hey, all that matters is the here and now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear what really happened. You want me to go first?” Her glassy eyes meet mine.

“Yes, please. I’m sure I’ll be a blubbering mess once this is over.” Instead of holding her head high, she faceplants into my chest. If this is what she needs, then I’ll be it.

“Okay, so I left you that morning. There was a note on the nightstand beside you. I’m assuming something happened and you didn’t read it. Anyways, I left because I needed to get a two-hour session in before daybreak. When I came back, you were gone. I tore through the room, the hotel lobby, and I even did a search for anyone with the name Luna, thinking your name is unique enough that I could find you. Except I had that competition later on in the day, so my search for you was cut short. I fucking hated like hell that I couldn’t find you. It seems like life kept throwing me fucking curve balls.” I don’t tell her that good ole fucking Uncle Sam had me jumping out of a jet the very next day and that I wasn’t stateside until months later. I let her soak in what I’m telling her, anxiously awaiting what she has to say. Except Luna doesn’t say anything. Instead, she silently weeps, and I let her, here in my arms, right where I want her to be.