The front door swings open and Ethan comes running out, arms wrapped around a large white box with bold racing stripes and logos all over it. “Mom! Mom, look what Dad got me!” He stops by my open window, holding the box high so I can see every detail. “It’s the new Pro Racer console with the full steering wheel and pedals! Dad says it’s the best one. We can race real tracks now!”
I step out of the car and crouch down to his level, keeping my smile bright. “Wow, that's huge, buddy. You must've been so excited when you opened it.” I touch the corner of the box, feeling my insides turn and lurch. “Did you already try it out?”He always does this. Every time Ethan comes over, Derek tries to buy his affection. Whether it's fun experiences or candy for supper, or even buying expensive gifts, Ethan loves coming here for the stuff—not for the time with his dad.
I wish both of them would see that thirty years from now, Ethan is going to need the love his father was supposed to give him. And all they'll have to look back on is a pile of rubbish in a landfill that proves Derek had money but no time.
“Yeah! We played for hours after school. I beat Dad three times in a row on the Monaco track.” Ethan’s face glows. His backpack hangs off one shoulder, half open, with a couple of snack wrappers poking out.
Derek walks out onto the porch, hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, wearing a light blue button-down shirt. He gives Ethan a big grin and a double thumbs-up. “Go put your backpack and the console in the car so I can talk to your mom real quick, Champ.”
Ethan hugs the box tighter and runs to my backseat, sliding it in carefully before climbing in after it. The car door shuts, but with the window open. I'm no fool. He'll hear anything I say if I’m not quiet. I take a few steps closer to Derek as I struggle to keep my facial expression calm.
Derek’s smile vanishes the second Ethan's out of sight. He comes down the steps, stopping a few feet away from me. “Ethan wouldn’t stop talking about the tattooed guy next door who fixed his bike yesterday. Some stranger you let hang around our son in the driveway. What the hell were you thinking, Olivia?”
Oh, my God, this? He has the nerve to spoil our child rotten and he questions the kind neighbor next door who has to do his job?“His name is Caleb Ward. He just moved in next door. Ethan’s bike chain was jammed after his crash, and Caleb offered to fix it. I was standing right there watching the whole time. It took him two minutes.”
Derek’s jaw tightens. “So some ex-military guy covered in tattoos rolls up, starts touching my kid’s bike, and you think that’s perfectly fine? You don’t know a single thing about him. This is exactly the kind of careless crap I’ve been worried about.”
“He was polite and straightforward,” I say, still keeping my tone even. “And if you paid a lick of attention to his real needs instead of buying his love, you'd have fixed it yourself." It's painful to say those words with a calm expression, especially since I want to tear into him.
But I won't let our parenting differences bring out the anger inside my chest. This man hurt me so badly, he deserves every ounce of my rage, but blowing up will only make him scream to the judge that I'm unstable. Which wouldn't be good for Ethan.
Derek steps closer, and I feel threatened by how he glares at me. “A neighbor? You don’t know him from Adam. You let a complete stranger talk to Ethan and work on his bike without checking anything. I doubt you were even paying attention."
I feel my shoulders tense but I don’t let it show on my face. “I was ten feet away the entire time. Ethan had his helmet on. Caleb didn’t even touch him—he just used a wrench on the bike. You’re turning this into something huge because you’re still pissed the judge took my side. Face it, Derek, I have custody and you just don't like it."
“No, I’m being a responsible parent,” Derek snaps back. “You’re too trusting. Too busy smiling at every new person who showsup instead of thinking about Ethan’s safety first. A boy needs structure and real protection, not some random drifter playing handyman next door. How do I know this guy isn’t dangerous?”
“He fixed the bike and went back to his own house,” I repeat for the third time. “Ethan was happy and safe. I handled it the way any normal person would.”
Derek shakes his head and snarls, “Normal people don’t let their kid talk to strangers."
I glance toward the car where Ethan's busy turning the console box around in his hands, reading the back. “We’re finished talking about this," I snip, feeling myself starting to lose control. I won't shout at him in front of my boy so I walk back to the car, calling, "Ethan, tell your dad goodbye.”
Ethan leans out the open car door and waves. “Bye, Dad! I’m gonna set up the new game as soon as we get home and beat all your records!”
Derek switches back to the warm dad voice instantly. “You better practice, kiddo. Call me if you get stuck on any levels. Love you, buddy.”
“Love you too!” Ethan settles back in his seat, already fiddling with the box again as I climb into the driver’s seat and back out of the driveway smoothly.
Normally, on the drive home, Ethan is full of chatter and excitement about what he did with his dad. Today, he's engrossed in a video game box and ignoring me. It's sort of painful knowing one day they're kids and the next day they're grown up and ignoring you, but this feels too soon. I'm not ready for him to retreat inward and hide from me the way teenagers do, and Derek's influence has my son pulling away already. Hecan have the video game, but I'm not letting him get so addicted that it's all he wants to do.
I pull into our driveway and cut the engine. “Go on inside and start setting up your new console, sweetie. I’ll come in and make grilled cheese and tomato soup in just a little bit.”
Ethan grabs his backpack and the big box, dashes up the porch steps, and lets the screen door bang shut behind him. I sit in the car for a few extra minutes, rolling my neck to loosen the tightness.
Then I notice movement along the side of the house near the shared fence. Caleb stands there shirtless doing something to the fence. His back muscles shift and flex as he drives a heavy post-hole digger into the ground with powerful, repeated thrusts. Sweat shines across his shoulders and runs down the groove of his spine.
The large eagle tattoo on his left shoulder blade glistens with his perspiration and several old, gray, rotting fence boards lie stacked neatly on the grass. Fresh pressure-treated posts and new rails wait beside them.
He mutters something under his breath as the digger hits resistance and jars in his hands. His jaw is clenched tight, shoulders bunched with focus. The whole scene radiates grumpy concentration—he clearly does not want to be interrupted. But he's working on my property—not his—and after that showdown with Dick Derek, I feel on edge. I can't let this man just horn in on my life and make things worse.
So I step out of the car and walk over to Caleb. After Derek’s words still ringing in my ears, part of me wants to walk straightinside and lock the door. But I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and walk across the grass to find out what's going on.
Caleb doesn’t glance up right away. He heaves the digger hard, trying to straighten a stubborn post that keeps tilting to the left. The metal tool grinds against dirt and rock and I swear I hear him mutter a curse word.
“Hey there,” I call out cheerfully, stopping a respectful few feet away. “I didn’t realize we had fence repairs on the calendar for today.”
He straightens slowly, breathing hard, and wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of one gloved hand. Dirt streaks his chest and forearms, which also ripple with muscles and sweat. Then his eyes flick to me—clearly annoyed at the break in his rhythm—then back to the crooked post. “It’s a shared fence,” he says gruffly. “This whole section was rotting. One strong wind and the whole thing would fall into both our yards. I’m thinking about getting a dog soon, so I need it solid and secure on my side.”
