Desmond
Perfect.
All right for Micky to come with us?
My phone rings, startling both me and Parker. His spoon clatters against the side of his bowl, and he squints at my phone in mistrust.
“Is it that lady?” he asks, eyes darting toward the door again, expression tightening with fear.
“Nope, just Nico. Give me a second,” I request, sliding my chair back and answering as I walk to my bedroom. “Hey, Macca.”
“Sorry. Texting is infuriating, and I’m old enough that I can still manage phone calls.”
Snorting, I take a seat on my bed, glancing around my room and finding it undisturbed as far as I can tell. I wonder if Lorna Myers peeked in the bedside cabinet drawers, and whether she was disappointed to find them empty of anything but my extra pair of reading glasses.
“Anyway, dinner on Sunday is fine. As is go-carts with McIntire. Invite the whole team, if you’d like.” He sighs, and I can picture exactly how he’s probably rubbing his temple, the way he does when we’re seated in the office together. “Look, a handful of years ago, there was a well-publicized scandal involving a softball coach and several of his players—after that, we were all a little more hesitant about how we interacted with the athletes. However, the bottom line is, as long as you’re not exploiting them or engaging in a sexual relationship, there is no issue. All that is to say: laser tag is allowed.”
“Figured I’d make sure.”
“I’m glad of that. It’s all right to be close with the team, as long as we don’t use our position to…take advantage of them. Inviting Micky to play laser tag for Parker’s birthday is fine—forcing him to go is not.”
“Noted. Parker thinks he’s the coolest thing since sliced bread—didn’t want to invite a single person his own age. Apparently, all he wants for his birthday is Jack and your puppy.”
Nico chuckles softly. “I can provide the puppy and dinner. Any favorite foods that he’d like for a birthday dinner?”
“His favorite thing is spaghetti Bolognese, and frozen pizza with ranch dressing on top.”
“Well, I think even Anthony and I might be able to manage that in the kitchen,” he replies dryly.
“Don’t worry about food, mate, I’ll just pick up something on the way over. A few pizzas or something easy.”
“We’ll handle dinner,” Nico tells me. “Sunday at six.”
“Thank you. Really. He’s going to be excited.”
“No need to thank me. I’ll go ahead and send over the information for the breeder we used for Drou too, while I’m at it,” he adds slyly.
I hang up on a laugh, feeling, if not happier, at least a little bit better than I was an hour ago. Life might be out of my control right now, but at least I can do my best to give Parker a happy tenth birthday.
Parker comesout of his room the morning of his birthday, eyes rimmed in red and expression downcast. He’s wearing an old T-shirt I know used to belong to his dad, far too big for his skinny, ten-year-old frame.
“Happy birthday, Parks,” I greet him, tactfully ignoring the fact that he was obviously crying. He wavers for a second, eyeing me up like we’re two combatants in a boxing ring.After a moment, he walks over and hugs me. I wrap my arms around him, and do my best not to squeeze him to death.
It’s less of a hug on his part than a collapse. He’s leaning more than anything, cheek pressed to my middle and arms so loose around my hips that I can barely feel them. It’s the best hug I’ve ever received, and the only one he’s given me since he was placed in my custody.
He pulls away after a minute, cheeks dusky with embarrassment. I squeeze his shoulder and steer him toward the kitchen, determined to make this the best day it can be even though I mostly want to curl up in bed and curse the universe.
“Pancakes with chocolate syrup?” I offer lightly. His expression brightens and I think,bingo.
“Can I put the syrup on?” he asks slyly. “Since it’s my birthday?”
“Sure, little man.” I push the plate of pancakes and the bottle of syrup his way, trying not to cringe when he upends it over the stack. If Lorna Myers was here, she’d probably shit herself.
Parker, not yet old enough to be chill about the prospect of pressies, opens everything with the sort of enthusiasm I would expect from a tasmanian devil. I almost expect another bout of crying when he opens up a second PC monitor, eyes shiny as he looks at me. I probably shouldn’t be buying him something so expensive—let alone something he already has, and really doesn’t need a second of—but if a dual-screen gaming setup makes him happy, then who the fuck am I to deny him?
“Wow. Thank you,” he says, hands tight on the box. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. Not sure we have time to set it upnow…” I check the clock on my phone, wanting to make sure we’ve got time to hop over to the university campus to pick up Jack.
