Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart 3)

“Way to ruin the moment, Mama.” My eyes went wide with the playful taunt. Seriously, after everything, I had a hard time understanding why she still kept Mack on some kind of pedestal.

“Ruin the moment? You should be thankin’ me for that visual I know just went through your mind.”

I jumped a little when the swinging door banged open, and Dillon came running in. Dark blond hair flying, grin so wide my floating heart jumped back in my chest. Right where it belonged.

Because it didn’t matter how stirred up I was over Maxon Chambers. In the end, my boys were the only thing that mattered.

My world.

My reason.

He dashed around the island. “Nana, Nana, is lunch ready yet? I’m starving!” He threw his belly out, pounding it like a drum.

“You’re starvin’, huh? What have you been doin’ to work up such an appetite since I made you breakfast this morning?” she asked, bumping him with her hip.

“I’m a growing boy, Nana. Five-years-old. Do you know how many inches a boy my age grows in one year? We have to have lots of food to make us grow strong. And milk. Don’t forget the milk.”

Nothing but serious business.

“Never.” She glanced at me with a secret smile. “Good thing it’s coming up on time to eat.”

That was the cue for my heart that had just settled into place to jump right back into a disorder. Thrashing and flailing and doing stupid things. I searched for a breath, for clarity, reminding myself that I could do this.

I pinned a smile onto my face, crossed over to Dillon where he was standing beside my mama, and ran my fingers through his messy hair. “Remember we have company coming over?”

He looked up at me. “Your friend who really isn’t a friend anymore and now gets to be a cop?” His eyes got wider. “Being a cop is so cool. Maybe I should be a cop instead of a pilot.” Contemplation twisted his brow. “What do you think, Mom? You think I should fight bad guys or shoot down bad guys?”

For once, I ignored his crazy train of thought and focused in on the first part of what he’d said. Is that what he got from the explanation I’d given the boys last night when I’d been tucking them into bed and told them Maxon was coming over?

Mr. Chambers, actually.

And I sure didn’t tell them what he’d been to me. I guessed I’d really mucked that one up. Basically, I’d hemmed and hawed and stuttered around a really pathetic explanation of who our guest was gonna be.

“He’s not not a friend. He’s just . . . well . . . it’s complicated.”

Awesome.

There I went. Another bang-up job of explaining this to my son.

“What your Mama is trying to say, Dill Pickle, is that they used to be friends and they grew apart, had a misunderstanding, which is what adults do sometimes, and now maybe they want to get to know each other again.”

I sent her a grateful glance and at the same time wanted to roll my eyes about the misunderstanding. If only.

“Well you coulda just said that,” he told me.

The door creaked open again, slowly, this time Benjamin using his side to push through the door. He fumbled around to make it through. A very strong part of me wanted to rush to his side to help him hold it open, but I knew he wanted to do it himself.

He grinned his overwhelming smile, and my spirit soared, and I couldn’t have stopped the affection that spread to my face if I tried. “Hey, handsome man.”

“Hiiiiii.”

On his forearm crutches, he slowly made his way over, his right foot dragging more than the other, his shoulders bunched up to his cheeks. But that grin never dropped. Not once. Not for a second. “Is itttt time?”

Nervously, I glanced at the clock again. “He should be here in about five minutes.”

Five minutes. Goodness. Was I really gonna go through with this?

“Do we have to wait for him to eat?” Dillon almost whined.

I tapped at his nose. “Um, yes, sir, you do. Where are your manners? We have company comin’.”

“But I don’t even know why you’d want to wait around for a guy you don’t even like.” My five-year-old smirked. Stinker.

“Watch yourself, little man. I don’t want any troublemaking goin’ on during lunch. You have to be on your best behavior.”

I pointed between both of my men.

“Why, ‘cuz he’s a cop?” Dillon asked, grin too wide. God, he was just like his grandma, always stirring the pot.

I raised my brows in a teasing way. “No. Because I told you, you aren’t allowed to be a troublemaker, no matter how badly you might want to be.”

“No stoppin’ that,” my mama added, right as the buzzer was going off on the oven. She went for it, grabbing her hand mitts and pulling down the door. “Mmm-mmmm,” she drew out. “Do y’all smell that?”