We both turn to find Colt standing in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, a frown etched across his face.Shit.He must’ve heard the commotion and decided to let himself in. Betty’s sitting on guard at his feet, and she gives us a wary look.
Colt levels Jonas with a steady stare, pulling his hand from the doorframe and stuffing it into the front pocket of his jeans. “Don’t talk to your mom like that.”
“Whatever.” Jonas shakes his head with a huff.
Then without another word, nor a full breath, from any of us, Jonas turns on his heel and thumps his way up the stairs. When his door slams, I wince, unable to look at Colt.
“All good?” Colt tilts his head, getting a read on me.
Golden rays of sun stream in through the cracked front door to silhouette his sturdy frame, and his worried expression fosters an unbearable urge to throw myself into his barrel chest. He looks like he’d cure all my problems with a single good hug.
“Y-yeah, it’s all—no,it’s not all good. I don’t know what’s going on with him today.”
“Probably woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“No…” I look toward the empty staircase, the knot in my stomach cinching tighter. “I don’t know if it’s his friends, or his dad, or…or if he just hates me.”
Our relationship feels like a torn and tattered piece of fabric, and each time I pull one stitch tight, another comes loose. We’re unraveling, and I’m too crappy of a seamstress—and a mother—to mend everything.
The quick brush of my foot slides a few of Jonas’s shoesout of the walkway, leading Betty to believe I want her to come say hello. I crouch, petting a line down her furry back, and she licks my free hand.
“I thought…it’s stupid, I guess, but I thought we were past this. He’s been such a good kid since he started hanging out with you.” Betty flops onto her back, demanding belly rubs.
“He’s a great kid, Whit.”
I quietly scoff at that. “Yeah.”
Colt steps closer, then crouches down on the opposite side of Betty to join me in petting her. A near miss of our hands has my heartbeat thrumming in my chest, pleading for the spark of his fingers against mine.
“It’s obviously your call whether Jonas should be allowed to come fishing today after what just happened. But some time apart might be good?”
The intricate dance of our hands rises to a crescendo when his callused thumb grazes my skin; like a gentle breath on an ember, it kindles the fire in my core. I let my pinky loop around his, and our hands fall still.
“He’s never going to talk to me about it,” I quietly admit.
“If he’s still allowed to come fishing, I can try to talk to him…if you want?”
And to think I had to beg Alex to talk to Jonas…and hestilldidn’t do it.
I give him a slight nod. “He doesn’t open up to a lot of people, but he trusts you.”
Which is exactly why I can’t do anything to fuck this up. Swallowing the emotion clinging to my throat, I pull my hand back, letting it fall to my side as we both move to stand. Over the course of the last month, Jonas has found a friend and confidant in Colt. And if I were to explore the way my pulse races and core tightens when I look at him, I’d risk all that and so much more. If I cost him this, my son would never forgive me.
Whether it’s how quickly I stood, or the way my head’s swimming with thoughts of Colt, or the three cups of coffee I drank on an empty stomach this morning, I suddenly feel light headed. Reflexively, my hands press against his firm chest for support, and he catches my elbow. Unfortunately, the feeling of his firm, warm hand wrapped around my arm has the opposite of a steadying effect.
“You okay?”
“Stood up too fast.”
I have to stop touching him. Each time my skin makes contact, the withdrawal becomes harder.
“You don’t need to worry about Jonas. He has a great mom, and he’s going to turn out just fine.”
Blinking back the burning behind my eyelids, I force a weak laugh. I realize my hand is still firmly on his pec, thumb swirling over the thin cotton of his stupid T-shirt. A rumbling resonance from inside his hard chest vibrates against my palm, and I take notice of the way his heart speeds up when our eyes lock.
“Sometimes I’m not so sure.”
“Well, I am.”
