Capturing Peace (Sharing You 0.50)

“Because Jason has a dad, and he said everyone has a dad. But I don’t. Uncle Keegan’s my uncle. And Grandpa is my grandpa. And I like Coen. So can Coen be my dad, Mom?”

“Um . . .” Is twenty-­two too early to start having hot flashes? “Parker—­”

“I’m going to ask him if I can start calling him ‘Dad’ next time I see him!”

Parker jumped off his bed and began running around the room as he tore off the shirt he’d slept in, and threw it on the bed.

“Parker, baby, I need you to understand something.” I waited for him to stop running around and look at me until I spoke again. “Coen can’t just start being your dad, do you understand?”

His forehead scrunched together like he was trying really hard to.

I wasn’t about to explain adoption to him, so I skipped to something easier. “If Coen and Mommy got married, then Coen would be your dad.”

Parker laughed. “Okay, Mom! You can marry him, because he’s going to be my dad!” He held up an imaginary light saber—­sounds and all—­and started using it as he ran out of his room. “Can we have waffles?” he yelled from down the hall.

“Oh God,” I groaned, and dropped my face into my hands.

I thought back to Coen’s words and my blood ran cold. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Reagan, but I think it’s way too early for him to find me here in the morning. Too soon for him, too soon for our relationship . . .”

Of course all this was too soon. Too soon. Too soon. And if Parker told Coen that he wanted Coen to be his dad . . . this was too soon for me!

Oh Jesus. I jumped up from Parker’s bed and ran to the guest bathroom as my body mercilessly tried to throw up anything. Dry heaves continued to torment my body for minutes until my stomach calmed, and I sat back to find Parker standing there looking scared.

“I’m fine.”

He nodded, but just kept staring at me.

“See? All better.” I smiled and stood from my spot on the floor to reassure him, and finally he nodded hard twice.

“Yeah, well, when Coen’s my dad he can make sure you’re better.”

My stomach churned again. “Buddy. You—­I don’t think you should tell Coen that you want him to be your dad.”

“No, its okay, Mom. He wants to be.” Grabbing my hand, he pulled me out of the bathroom. “Come on, I’ll make you waffles so you’ll be better.”

He couldn’t make waffles. And I wasn’t sure if I could eat. But I loved my son, and I loved his heart. I was just terrified of what his wants for Coen in our lives was going to actually do to Coen in our lives.

Chapter Seven

Reagan—­September 3, 2010

I GLANCED ANXIOUSLY over to my left, as I had so many times this morning, and tried not to lose what little breakfast I’d managed to eat when I saw Coen running in this direction off in the distance. I hadn’t told Coen we would be here, I’d just hoped he would have called if he was going to show up. Looking back at the playground, I easily found where Parker and Jason were playing together and tried to stay focused on them instead of seeming like I was avoiding Coen.

Which I was.

“Morning,” he said through heavy breaths as he came to a stop near me.

“Mmm” was my only response as I tried not to eye him standing there.

“Um . . . are you just going to act like you can’t see me now?” he asked a ­couple minutes later when I still hadn’t said anything to him.

I turned toward him, my eyebrows bunching together. “I said good morning, didn’t I?”

He laughed hard once and eyed me curiously. “Are you okay?”

I huffed and turned to face the playground again. “I’m making sure Parker’s safe.”

“Hmm . . .” Coen mused next to me. “Sitting on the concrete playing with figurines. That’s some dangerous shit right there.”