“He is half his father,” I remind him, reaching out to give his shoulder a squeeze. “What did she say?”
“A bunch of bullshit.”
“Like?” I prod.
He shakes his head, his jaw tensing. He doesn’t want to tell me.
“Shane, I know that was about me. I’ll have to deal with her sooner or later, so I’m better off being armed with as much information as possible. Don’t you think?”
“No, that was about her and all her fucking issues with jealousy and sharing Cody,” he says, his tone harsh. “I just …” He shakes his head. “First, she was pissed that I brought you there, to their house. So, I explained why. Then, she demanded to know if we were together. At this point, denying it would make me an asshole.”
“So, Penelope knows we’re together.” Wendy’s words of caution stir in my mind.
“Then she chewed me out for not informing her of our relationship before introducing you to Cody. I pointed out how fucking stupid that is, seeing as you’re not some strange woman. You’re Cody’s teacher. He already knows you. And that’s when she started ranting about ethics.”
“We’re not breaking any rules.” I repeat the standard line, because it’s all I have to cling to. I know it’s not appropriate to date my student’s father. I can see why a mother—not just Penelope—might have an issue with this. If it were anyone other than Shane, I wouldn’t have entertained it until the school year was over.
“She thinks it should be a rule.”
“Luckily, she doesn’t get a say in that.” I reach out and stroke his forearm, the tension in his body cording his muscles. “Is her issue with you dating any woman? Or is this about me in particular?” Because of our sordid past, courtesy of her father and my mother’s affair.
Shane purses his lips, as if considering how he should answer. “Both. And Cody is her entire life.”
“He should be. She’s his mother.” I often think about what that would feel like, to be more than Dottie’s byproduct that she felt obligated to feed and clothe but not necessarily put ahead of her own needs.
“Of course. But it’s more with Pen. She’s possessive of him. She’s constantly complaining that Cody loves me more than her, and accusing me of trying to turn him against her. She’s one of the reasons I’ve never introduced Cody to any woman I’ve dated. I was never serious enough about any of them to earn myself that headache. She’ll never welcome anyone with open arms.”
That’s not comforting to hear. “And if you were to tell her you wanted to reconcile, would she consider it?” Is this just about her love for Cody?
“I don’t know. It’s not important because it’s never happening,” he mumbles, in a way that makes me think he does know she still harbors feelings for him, or at the least regrets, and he just doesn’t want to acknowledge it. “She has always acted like she’s more Cody’s parent than I am, and that she should have more say in his life than I do.”
“Yeah, I noticed at the orientation session.”
“I don’t fight when she starts up like that. All it’ll do is put Cody in the middle of a tug-of-war that he doesn’t deserve. As long as he’s taken care of and we have fifty-fifty shared custody, she can live under whatever delusion she wants.”
“But now I’m in the picture, and somehow her dad screwing my mother is my fault. Right? Has she acknowledged that her father could be to blame for part of it?”
“She’s got plenty of issues with her dad, trust me. Her mom’s no angel, either. Melissa is … ” His words trail on a humorless chuckle. “Well, she’s a real piece of work. And she may have taken Peter back, but she hasn’t let him forget about the affair for a single day, trust me.”
I never met Melissa Rhodes, though as the mayor’s wife her pretty face graced the Polson Falls Tribune enough times that I could identify her in a crowd years later. I always thought she looked sour.
He opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates. “Pen is adamant that your mother stay away from Cody.”
I snort derisively. “That’s one thing she doesn’t have to worry about.” Dottie won’t be in a rush to play grandma to her old lover’s grandson. She hasn’t even been by to visit my house yet.
“But Pen doesn’t get any fucking say in it.” His tone is sharp, his eyes almost golden, they’re so vibrant. It’s a rare sight to see Shane angry.
The need to feel him is overwhelming. I reach out to toy with a strand of his hair. “You know, you’re kind of hot right now.”
His left eyebrow arches. “You like seeing me mad?”
“Not at me, but when you’re mad at other people …” My gaze rakes over his neck, his shoulders, his arms. “Your body gets all tense.” It reminds me of years ago, on the field against opposing teams, when testosterone and competitiveness would clash, leaving players shouting and pacing and shoving their opponents. Even from my spot in the stands, I could sense the energy vibrating from Shane.