Strong and Steady

“I’m fine. Everything is good here, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

All was quiet as she listened, and I pulled on some boxers.

“Really? You have to memorize the entire meal and yell it in the hallway? What on earth does that have to do with the Navy?”

Her son. Chris. I was glad she was talking to him. She was a mother, and she’d mentioned him often enough, even saw pictures of him around her house, read his name in that fucking text, but having him be on the phone made him real. The sound of her voice changed when she talked to him; it brightened and softened. She laughed at something he said and was obviously reassured he was fine. “How many pushups? Your grandfather was right about the mashed potatoes, then?”

Her laugh had me smiling and leaning against the wall of the closet, just listening. It made me, God, it made me happy to hear her laugh. I wasn’t eavesdropping because she’d tell me about Chris in time, but hearing the way she talked to her only child had me learning about her—her inflection, the obvious love for her son, her warmth. “Yes, I’m still coming for parents’ weekend. No, it’s not too far. Wouldn’t miss it.”

I stood, went to a drawer to pull out a T-shirt.

“All right. Nine o’clock. Sure. I’m… I’m going to bring someone with me. No, not Simon. He said he’ll see you at the end of the year because he doesn’t talk to mere Plebes.”

I couldn’t help but grin. Shit, I was crazy, smiling because she was pulling me in, letting me get closer to her son, to Simon. Her family.

“I met someone, and I want you to meet him. Yes, a man.” I froze, my shirt forgotten. She wanted to bring me to meet Chris? “No, he’s not a doctor. No, it’s not the radiologist that hit on me at your graduation.”

A radiologist hit on her? I’d like to hit him.

“His name is Gray. Yes, like the color. Yes, he’s nice. Yes, he’s nice to me.”

She didn’t say who I was. No, she had. She said I was Gray. She hadn’t told Chris I was Grayson Green, The Outlaw. To Emory, I was just Gray. Unless she saw one of my fights on the Internet, my past was just that. The past.

“Okay, go. I understand. I’m glad you’re doing well. Good. Yes. I love you, too. Bye.”

I left the closet. She sat on the side of the bed in the T-shirt she’d worn the night before, the hem brushing her thighs. I liked it on her much better than on me.

“Radiologist?”

Her head came up and she looked me over. “Didn’t you go in there a while ago to get dressed?”

I was still wearing just my boxers and even though I grinned sheepishly, I didn’t want to get off target. “Radiologist?” I repeated.

She rolled her eyes. “He sits in a dark room all day looking at films. He’s harmless.”

“What’s his name?”

She furrowed her brow. “His name? Oh no.” She held up her hand as if to stop me. “Are you planning on beating up all the men in my past?”

“If he hurt you, he might have to check his own x-rays for broken bones,” I grumbled.

She shook her head as she stood and planted a kiss on my cheek. A sweet kiss. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”

I heard what she didn’t say. “Your ex th

en. Can I beat the shit out of him?”

This time when she kissed me, it was on the mouth, and there was nothing sweet about it. When her tongue met mine, it was sexy as hell.

“Yes, you can beat him up.”

I pulled back from the kiss enough to take a deep breath. “You’re distracting me from our conversation.”

She grinned against my mouth, her hand resting on my bare chest. “You noticed.”

“I notice everything about you. Do you really want me to go with you to Parents’ Weekend?”

Stepping back, she let her hand drop, and the spot felt cold. She looked away. “Did I overstep? I mean, it’s a plane flight and everything. A specific weekend, and you might have plans.”