Page 48 of At His Beck & Call

I stand frozen at the top of the steps, watching James embracing Henry’s small body, his arms going all the way around him as he smiles happily.

The picture of a perfect father. Such bullshit…

I pull my bag higher up my shoulder and walk down the steps. James is always on his best behavior around Henry; he rarely lets his true colors show, but sometimes, just occasionally, I see the mask slip. I can only hope that today won’t be one of those times.

James’s hazel eyes meet mine as he lowers Henry to the sidewalk, and I hold out my hand for my son, who comes over to take it.

“Hey, Lissa,” James says, putting his hands in his pockets. “You look tired.”

Fuck you.

“What are you doing here? Your visit isn’t until next weekend.” I try to keep my tone light so Henry doesn’t detect how angry I am.

“I know, but I wanted to see my little man.”

Henry giggles, gripping my hand a little tighter. He’s not scared, he’s excited to see his dad. It’s perfectly natural that he enjoys seeing him, yet I can’t help resenting the happy look on his face.

“Hey, Hen, why don’t you show me how fast you can run, okay? All the way to the bus stop and back,” James murmurs with a grin.

He doesn’t need to ask twice. Henry bolts away from us, wanting to prove himself to his dad, running at full speed toward the bus stop.

“Why does Henry have an appointment with someone named Dr. Erkhart tomorrow, Lissa?” James asks immediately.

His mouth is twisted in an unhappy line as he takes a step toward me. I can’t help retreating. It’s an impulse, an automatic response to a threat. My body feels as if it’s two seconds from running in the opposite direction.

“It’s a routine appointment,” I mutter. “He?—”

“I smell bullshit,” he says, taking another step.

He is so much bigger than me, and as I stare up at him, I can’t help comparing him to Oliver. They’re both big men, but I can’t imagine Oliver ever hurting me, turning against me, breaking my bones in a rage. Yes, he can be grumpy, but I wouldn’t describe him as an angry person. Now, James on the other hand…

I sniff, wincing as the low wall along the steps hits my calf as I almost topple backward over it.

“You had better not be keeping anything from me about our son, you fucking whore,” he breathes, the low, angry quality of his voice so familiar I feel nausea rise in my throat.

This is the James I know, the man who flips a switch and becomes someone else, who blames me, hates me, twists everything I do.

“I—I’m not k—keeping anything from you,” I stammer, clutching at the bricks behind me, the gritty surface pressing painfully into my skin.

“How quick was I?”

James steps back, turning to Henry, who appears around the wall. His little face is flushed, too flushed, his eyes shining. I look him over. He shouldn’t be running anywhere; the doctors told me to make sure he takes it easy before the operation.

“You were under a minute, Buddy. That’s amazing. Have you been practicing?”

“Mommy says I have to go slow,” Henry says as my stomach clenches.

“Well, Mommy doesn’t always know best, does she?”

Henry tentatively shakes his head. This started before I left, too. The digs at me in front of Henry, as if everything I do is inferior.

James knows best.

“You were so quick!” I say, stepping around James and gripping Henry’s hand. I step deliberately away from my ex, the distance calming my heart. “We’ll see you at your visit next week,” I say as James scoffs at me, his eyes filled with suppressed rage.

“If I find out the truth, and it’s different from what you’ve said, you’ll be seeing me again real soon,” he says, in a tone that’s light enough not to make Henry suspicious.

Hen is staring down the road at something and tugs on my arm. “The bus is coming, Mom.”