Misconception (Coming Home)

He’s holding our son, acting as if he’s just another baby belonging to a good friend. How can he smile like that and be so unattached? Worse, why does that smile still cause butterflies to take flight in my belly when he’s not acknowledging that the little miracle in his arms is his?

“Hudson brought lunch. We were waiting for you,” Raven explains. “Sit.” She points at the couch. At the same time, she stands. “I’ll grab it. He brought us hoagies.” She grins. “I told him that’s what we were about to order when your water broke.”

“Sounds great.” I flash her a smile that I hope she believes, and it seems to work since she dashes off toward the kitchen. I turn back to Hudson. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you. I wanted to bring you lunch.” He doesn’t take his eyes off Hayes as he replies. When he finally looks up, the look on his face is one I can’t name. If I didn’t know any better, I would say it looks a hell of a lot like longing. “Riley” he starts but is interrupted by my sister.

“Here we go.” Raven balances three hoagie boxes and three bottles of water.

“You two go ahead and eat.” I move to where Hudson is sitting and bend to take my son from his arms.

“You eat. I’ll hold him while you do.”

“Not necessary.”

“Come on, Riles. Remember what the doctor said. Take the help when it’s offered. No one expects you to do it all. You’re still recovering. Sit and eat. He’s right there.” She points at where Hayes is sleeping soundly in Hudson’s arms. “You can see him, and if he starts to fuss, you can take over. Now, sit down and eat.”

If it were any one of the other guys, I wouldn’t have even attempted to take him back. Sure, I would have offered, but this isn’t one of the other guys. This is Hudson, and he doesn’t deserve to get to hold our son and pretend he’s only mine. He doesn’t get to pretend he has no idea when I know better. It causes my blood to boil, but I tamp it down, take a seat next to my sister, and begin to wolf down my hoagie as if it’s been days since I’ve eaten.

I am starving, but it’s more so that the sooner I’m finished, the sooner I can take my son. It’s not that he’s not safe with Hudson. I know he is. It’s the fact that he ignored not one but two letters from me, and now, here is he acting like everything is all fine and dandy.

News flash, everything is not fine and dandy.

“Thanks for lunch, Hud,” Raven says, taking a drink of water. “I was actually thinking about ordering this exact thing for delivery.”

He smiles at her. “I think I know the two of you better than I know myself.”

He turns his gaze to me, but I quickly look away. He might have known me before, but I’m not the same person I used to be. I’m now a single mom, and ironically, he’s the one to blame for that. What’s worse is that he knows that and is refusing to acknowledge it.

Finishing my hoagie, I wipe my face and hands and stand once again, walking toward Hudson. I stop next to the chair, and this time, I don’t give him an option. I lean down and take my son from his arms. The familiar scent of soap and sandalwood washes over me. Memories of his skin pressed to mine assault me. I turn on my heel and make a beeline for the couch.

“That was so good,” Raven says, crinkling up her napkin. She looks at me expectantly, and I nod.

“It really was. Thank you.” The words feel like acid on my tongue.

His eyes soften. “You’re welcome.”

Hayes begins to fuss in my arms. “Are you getting hungry, baby boy?” I ask him.

“I’m on it, Momma.” My sister jumps off the couch and heads to the kitchen.

“You’re a natural.” Hudson’s deep voice fills the room.

“I’m all that he has.” My words are calm, although I feel anything but at the moment.

“That’s not true, Riles.” He moves to the edge of his seat, his elbows resting on his knees and his baby-blue eyes locked on mine.

“Here you go,” Raven says, way too chipper after the last twenty-four hours we’ve had.

“Look what Aunt Raven has,” I coo to Hayes. I offer him the nipple, and he takes it like a champ.

“When do you go back to the salon, Rave?” Hudson asks.

“Tomorrow. I hate leaving them, but we can’t leave the salon closed. Then neither one of us is making any money,” she comments. “But that’s fine. I have a schedule.”

“A schedule?” I question.

“Yep. I have someone coming to bring you meals and to sit with the two of you every day this week.”