“The boys will clean up after dinner. You know the drill.” Whoever cooks and preps doesn’t have to clean up and vice versa. The kids know the rules. I’m all for equality in this house, and I have tried to instill the right values in my children. The rest is up to them.
“Where’s Dad?” Ridge asks, ambling into the kitchen from outside, traipsing muck all over my pristine kitchen floor.
I glance at the clock on the wall over the window with a frown. “He should be on his way home now. I’ll text him.” I pluck my cell off the window ledge and tap out a quick message to my husband while I tell my youngest son to go wash up for dinner. Hushed conversation filters in from the hallway, and butterflies race from my stomach to my chest. I wet my lips and fight a fresh wave of anxiety as footsteps approach. “Put the vegetables into bowls and cover them,” I instruct my daughter, hoping she doesn’t hear the slight tremble in my voice. “We’ll keep everything warm in the oven until Daddy gets here,” I add as my phone pings with a message from Curtis confirming he’s just leaving the golf club.
I’m cleaning mud off the floor when West and Vander step into the kitchen. My palms are clammy around the handle of the mop, and blood rushes to my head, making me a little woozy. It feels as though all the oxygen has been sucked from the room, and every hair on my body lifts in potent awareness. I’m not sure I have ever felt someone’s presence in every molecule of my being like this before. It’s like the second Vander enters my space I’m acutely aware of it. As if I’m uniquely attuned to his aura and can recognize it as soon as he’s near.
It’s disconcerting, putting me even more on edge. I’ve been a bit of a basket case since Friday night when Dee sent me into a complete tailspin.
“Mom.” West’s deep voice reminds me I need to get my shit together. “Vander’s here.”
Plastering a smile on my face, I lift my head and stare at my son’s best friend. It’s the first time we have seen one another in months, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to gasp when my eyes lock on his.
I didn’t think it was possible, but he’s even more magnetic. An invisible charge ignites the space between us, and I feel an almost insurmountable urge to run to him. Every part of me strains toward him, as if I’m being drawn by some magical force. It only adds to the confusion I feel.
Vander incites attention whenever he steps into a room. It’s not only because he’s utterly gorgeous—tall and broad with ripped abs and bulging biceps that can’t be ignored. The growing number of tattoos covering his skin showcases his artwork to perfection. I know, for a fact, he has designed and drawn every piece of ink that adorns his tempting body. His tight black shirt is rolled up to the elbows, displaying new ink on his lower arms, and I see more creeping up his neck from the collar of his shirt. He has his nose and eyebrow rings in today too, and his piercing green eyes are smoldering as he stares at me.
No, it’s more than how striking he is to look at. He has this way of carrying himself that commands attention, whether he wants it or not. He oozes masculinity in a way I’ve never noticed in any man before. He’s only eighteen, but he’s definitely not a kid. Vander has always seemed older, in looks and disposition. His dysfunctional upbringing has forced him to mature at a young age, and that’s one of the things that sets him apart from his peers.
“You feeling okay, Mom?” Stella asks, narrowing her eyes at me. “You’re acting weird.”
Heat creeps up my neck at my daughter’s words, confirming I’m being obvious in the extreme. “Apologies. I was daydreaming,” I lie, setting the mop against the wall and plastering another smile on my face. I walk toward Vander with a pounding heart. “It’s good to see you, Vander. We’ve missed you.”
“I have been busy,” he says, thrusting a bunch of roses at me. The deep, rich tone of his voice does strange twisty things to my insides, and it’s a struggle to remain composed. “Thanks for inviting me,” he adds, stabbing me with intense eyes that seem to see all the way through to my soul.
“You know you’re always welcome in our home.” I take the flowers, and a genuine smile materializes on my face. “Thank you. You know you don’t need to bring anything, but I appreciate it.” Especially when it’s been years since my husband has done anything as considerate.
In the aftermath of his affair, Curtis bent over backward to make things up to me. Showering me with affection and gifts, but it all felt fake and forced, and I couldn’t bring myself to appreciate it. By the time I had thawed, Curtis had reverted to form, and the affection and gifts were a thing of the past.
Vander always brings flowers or chocolates when he comes to Sunday dinner, and I know it’s because he’s grateful to be included and appreciative of a home-cooked meal. His sincerity is never in doubt. I don’t know where he collected his manners because it’s not like he’s had any role model to look up to. I think he is just inherently good.
“You’re such a suck-up.” West thumps Vander in the arm while grinning.
“You’re lucky you have a mom who cooks Sunday dinner. Maybe you should be more appreciative.” His eyes pin West in place, and the meaning is clear.
The smile slips off my son’s mouth. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” West turns to me with a somber expression. “You know I appreciate you, Mom, right? I couldn’t have asked for a better mother, and I love you. You’re the best.”
My heart swells at his heartfelt words. I stretch up and kiss his cheek. “I know, honey, and I love you too.” My boys are very affectionate with me, but West did go through a phase, from thirteen to sixteen, when it apparently wasn’t cool to hug your mom or tell her you loved her. He’s really grown up in recent months, and I think his girlfriend, Hazel, is a good influence on him too. I have noticed he is freer with the affection, and I love it. There is just something about the bond between mother and son that is vastly different from the bond I share with my daughter, but I cherish the relationship I have with Stella too.
Opening the overhead cupboard, I stretch up to grab my favorite glass vase when warmth hits me from behind.
“Let me get that,” Vander says, reaching over me. While he is careful not to press up against me, he is so close I can feel his body heat, and my knees almost buckle. I hold my breath, grabbing the counter to steady myself as my heart skips a beat and all manner of physiological tells happen inside me.
“You want me to fill it?” he asks in that low, deep tone of his, and it’s a miracle I don’t melt into a puddle of goo at his feet.
“I’ve got it.” Getting a grip, I take the vase and smile up at him. “Thank you.”
Moving to the sink, I conduct a stern inner talk with myself as I fill the vase with water. I’m acting like a lovesick teen with a huge crush, and I need to get over it.
“Has something happened I should know about?” West asks as I twist the faucet off and turn around to grab the bouquet of roses.
Vander shrugs, but the casual movement is out of sync with the taut pull of his shoulders. “New day. Same ole shit.” He rubs the back of his neck, and my heart aches for him as I fill the vase with flowers. I don’t think Vander has ever had the opportunity to be a normal child because his parents are too fucked up and selfish to think about all the ways they are hurting their son. It makes me murderous every time I think about the shit he has had to endure.
“Are your parents at home?” I softly inquire, setting the vase down on the island unit and smiling at the glorious blooms. Pink is my favorite color, and I wonder if Vander has somehow deduced that. If it’s why he only ever gets me pink flowers.
“Mom’s sleeping. Dad’s away.”
I nod. “That’s right. I forgot Greg was with Leland at the Einhorns this weekend.”
