The smile falls from my face, and I steal a glance at Colt, who’s entirely tense and pushing a chunk of potato around in his bowl to avoid becoming involved. I don’t blame him. He shouldn’t have to be involved in this uncomfortable-as-hell situation.
Why? Why do we have to have this conversation with somebody here?
“Jonas, your dad’s—”
He interrupts me. “He’s not gonna come. He always says he will and then has an excuse.”
My throat tightens. He’s right. I know it. He knows it.
Colt doesn’t. And he reaches for his drink in slow motion, careful not to draw any attention, watching me intently. Waiting for me to say or do something that will confirm what he probably already thinks about me: I’m a failure of a mother and I picked a shitty person to have a kid with…which, honestly, is true. But that doesn’t mean I need a strange man looking at me with this much pity.
This is so embarrassing.
“Jonas, can we talk about this later?”
“Whatever.” He gnaws his cheek, refusing to look at Colt or me. Silence stretches on like a loaded spring, until Jonas digs his palms into the table edge and pushes away, bringing dinner to an abrupt end.
I tilt my head, leaning forward to catch his gaze before he runs off. “Hey.Ifhe can’t make it tomorrow, I’ll see if we can get Blair or Grandpa to give you a ride to the ranch.”
Softening his expression ever so slightly, he mumbles, “Fine.”
Colt looks up at me through dark eyelashes, a half-smile of recognition that this is fucking awkward. A hunk of potato sits too heavy on my tongue, simultaneously lacking flavor and taking on a texture that makes my stomach churn. I wash it down with a hearty chug of water, trying to focus on anything in the room besides Colt’s stare.
The moment it seems Colt’s done eating, I start stacking our dirty dishes, working quickly to end this dinner so he can leave. I need to call Alex, let him know in no uncertain terms that hehasto show up for his kid tomorrow. He can’t keep making promises when he has zero intention of following through. I can’t keep lying to my kid; can’t keep raising a human who will resent me for all of this.
And after I’ve lectured Alex, asked Blair to help me outagain, thought up a way to make it up to Jonas when tomorrow inevitably goes to shit, and tucked my sleeping boy into bed,thenI’ll cry. I’ll switch on the dryer, shut the laundry room door, and fall apart until I can’t tell if my eyes are burning from lack of tears or exhaustion.
Colt beats me to grabbing the stacked bowls and follows me around the end of the island. After a quick glance toward Jonas, confirming he’s distracted with gaming, Colt says in a low tone, “Uh, I can pick him up. Y’know…if his dad doesn’t show…I’m happy to take him fishing.”
“He’ll show up.” I shake my head. “And besides, that’s really far out of your way.”
“Hey, just another excuse for a frappe, right?”
“Even still. That’s too much to ask.” I take the soup bowls from his hand and organize them on the dishwasher rack.
“You aren’t asking. I’m offering.”
“Thank you, but Alexiscoming tomorrow to take Jonas for the day.” I give the dishwasher a tap with my foot to close it and turn to Colt. “He’s really busy with work, so sometimes he reschedules, and Jonas takes it personally. But…yeah, no worries about tomorrow.”
I haven’t lied this blatantly—or this well—since I was a teenager bullshitting my parents.
“Thank you again for the offer, though.” I hope my resting bitch face and firm voice are enough to end this discussion.
But Colt reaches into the back pocket of his jeans for his phone, and his eyes meet mine with a glimmer of understanding. “What’s your number? I’ll text you right now, so you can let me know if there’s ever a time Blair can’t drive Jonas to the ranch and he needs a ride. Or, ya know, if there’s an emergency or something.”
Honestly, it’s not a bad idea to have each other’s phone numbers, especially if Denny is going to make a habit of putting Colt in charge of Jonas. If Jonas gets hurt, I want him to be able to get to me immediately, rather than tracking downDenny or my sister first. So I recite my cell phone number, watching as he carefully taps the phone screen. Seconds later, my phone pings and, in Pavlovian response, I pull my cell from my pocket despite knowing it’s him.
555-229-0320:It’s not too much to ask. Promise.
Colt
Whit:No pressure, honestly. If you were serious last night, I know Jonas would love to go fishing with you today.
Colt:Fishing alone is boring as hell. Tell him I’ll be there around noon.
“Hey, any of you guys got a fishing rod I can borrow for the day?” Still tugging my sleeveless shirt over my head, I stroll into the bunkhouse kitchen, where a group of ranch hands are drinking coffee around the table. “Taking Jonas fishing and I don’t know if he has a rod.”
“He’s even your shadow on your days off now?” Rob snickers into his coffee. “Sure hope his mama’s sucking your dick for all this free babysitting.”
