No. Not going there.
I’m about to fire back a retort when I catch sight of Alex’s face. He’s grinning from ear to ear, eyes sparkling with excitement. It hits me then: he can’t wait to get out there, to play, to explore. To just be a kid.
For a moment, I’m frozen, one hand on my bag, the other clutching my keys. When did my little bean sprout turn into this fearless explorer?
“Wren?” Lenny’s voice snaps me back. “You coming?”
I shake it off, grabbing the rest of our stuff. “Yeah, yeah. Keep your pants on.”
We pile into my beat-up truck, Alex secured in his car seat. The engine coughs to life, protesting like an old man forced out of his La-Z-Boy.
“You working both jobs today?” Lenny asks as we rumble down Main Street.
I nod, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. “Yep. Slinging hash at Maggie’s, then over to Pinecrest Pines. Gotta make Mrs. Hendricks do her physical therapy.”
“Cool. I’ll grab the squirt after school, then.”
We pull up to Little Pinecones, the daycare run by Pam, a woman with the patience of a saint and biceps that could crush walnuts. Must be from wrangling toddlers all day.
“Alright, Lexi Bear,” I say, unbuckling him. “Time to terrorize Miss Pam.”
“No terror,” Alex says solemnly. “Be good boy.”
I snort. “Yeah, we’ll see how long that lasts.”
Pam greets us at the door, her smile warm enough to melt the frost off my windshield. “Good morning, Wren! And hello there, Mr. Alex!”
Alex buries his face in my neck, suddenly shy. This kid, I swear. One minute, he’s ready to take on the world; the next, he’s clinging like a koala.
“Hey, Pam,” I say. “Fair warning, he had Fruit Loops for breakfast. Sugar high incoming.”
Pam laughs. “Nothing we can’t handle. Right, Alex?”
Alex peeks out, one eye visible. “Play trucks?”
“You bet, sweetie. We’ve got a whole fleet waiting for you.”
I set him down, and he’s off like a shot, beelining for the toy corner. So much for being shy.
“Thanks, Pam,” I say. “I owe you one.”
She waves me off. “Please. That boy’s a joy.”
I watch Alex for a moment, his little hands already covered in paint as he mashes trucks together. A lump forms in my throat. Damn kid’s turned me into a sap.
“Alright, I’m out,” I say, clearing my throat. “Gotta go flip pancakes for the breakfast crowd.”
As I climb back into the truck, Lenny eyes me. “You good?”
I nod, not trusting my voice. Three years ago, I was slinging drinks and breaking noses. Now I’m dropping my kid at daycare and worrying about sugar highs. Life’s funny like that.
We pull up to Pinecrest High, a building that looks like it was designed by someone who really loved rectangles.
“Later, sis,” Lenny says, hopping out. “Try not to poison anyone with your cooking.”
“Bite me,” I retort, but there’s no heat in it. “Stay outta trouble.”
He grins, all cocky teenager. “Where’s the fun in that?”
