Dirty: The Complete Series (Secret Baby Romance Love Story) (133 page)

“You know, if you have a guest you’d like
to bring, we’ll welcome them too—and of course they can stay even if you have
to step into work for a few hours,” Mom suggested. I tried not to sigh at the
obvious undercurrent to her comment.

“If I have a guest, I’ll make sure to let
you know so that you’ll have enough food for five guests to come with me,” I
joked, brushing aside the question she hadn’t quite asked.

“We’ll make sure to have your favorite
cookies,” Mom continued on, and I let her sweep me along in conversation for a
while, listening to her plans for the different dishes she would serve for
Christmas. “I was thinking that maybe this year we could to a
feast of the seven fishes
theme,” Mom
told me.

“That sounds like fun—but probably pretty
expensive if everyone’s going to be there. What about the kids?”

“Well we’ll have some of the normal stuff
too,” Mom said, “and your nieces and nephews will eat anything that isn’t
moving.” I thought that was doubtful, but I didn’t say anything about it.

“What are you thinking of making?” My
hands were starting to go stiff in spite of the gloves, and I could feel my
toes becoming numb in my boots. I didn’t want to talk to Mom for too long; I
still had to go home and get dinner made. But I knew that she’d think I was
just brushing her off if I didn’t ask the question.

“I was going to do a bouillabaisse,” Mom
replied, “and some chilled raw and steamed seafood: shrimp, crab, maybe some
lobster if I can get it for a good price. And smoked fish dip. I am still
working out all the details, but if you can get here a day early maybe, I’d
love your help.” I grinned to myself, rolling my eyes slightly. Mom wanted me
to spend as much time at home as possible at every holiday.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I promised.
“Look—Mom, I’m outside right now and I’m freezing my ass off. Let me call you
back, okay? I need to get on my way home before I turn into a Popsicle.”

“Okay, sweet pea,” Mom said, sounding
mostly content. “Let me know if you need me to help you out with anything. And
make sure you get me your Christmas list!” I agreed to call her and then
managed to finally get off of the phone, slipping it back into my pocket. I sat
on the bench for a few minutes longer, in spite of the cold that cut through my
clothes, and I stared out at the park. I took a deep breath and sighed.

I thought about the overtime signup sheets
in the office and wondered if I should sign up again to cover any emergencies.
It was always hard to tell if we would be busy—and there were emergency
physical therapy cases, as well as those who really couldn’t risk the setback
that would come along with skipping a session or more. Some of our patients
came in several times a week for long-term health conditions, and they needed
to keep making progress even though they might prefer to simply go sledding or
hang out at home. Some of the other therapists at the office I worked in were
occupational therapists too; they had patients who had been born with fetal
alcohol syndrome or other conditions that had long-lasting effects on motor
skills and other functions. Occupational therapy wasn’t my specialty, but I
knew enough to be able to cover a shift, at least.

I finished off my hot chocolate and threw
the paper cup into the garbage bin when I stood up. The cold was starting to
get into my bones; I needed to get moving or I would—as I’d joked to my
mom—freeze up and just stay there until I could find someone to help me up. As
I started to walk back towards the office and my car in the parking lot, I
thought to myself that just for once it might actually be nice to have someone
to take home to meet my parents and siblings. I didn’t want it badly enough to
fake it, but almost. It would be nice to have a break from people worrying out
loud that I was working too hard and missing out on my best years of adulthood.

“If I had a boyfriend—even if I didn’t
date him enough to be able to bring him home—it would probably help matters,” I
said, thinking out loud. In spite of how cold I was, I admired the fresh layer
of snow that had coated everything sometime after lunch but before the end of
day; it was obviously going to be a beautiful holiday season—I just wished I
could enjoy it as much as I always wanted to. “Oh well,” I told myself,
starting to think about all the other things I had going for me to keep from
getting into any kind of slump. “I have my health and I have my work and the
kids are great. I am way too blessed of a person to go around moping because I
don’t have time to date.” I was sure that I’d be saying almost exactly that to
a handful of questions in a few weeks; but for the moment at least, I was happy
to get in my car and get back to my warm apartment. Everything else was just an
extra.

Chapter Two - Pat

“Hey, Pat. You’re in a rush to get out of
here.”

I gave Alicia at the reception desk in the
lobby a quick smile, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to keep going, even
though I was in a hurry. “How’s Landon?” she asked.

“He starts physical therapy today,” I told
her, smiling a little more warmly. “That is actually why I’m cutting out early.
I need to get him to his PT appointment.”

“Don’t let me hold you up then,” Alicia
said, beaming at me. “I hope he makes a full recovery!”

I nodded and continued on my way, heading
for the revolving door at the front of the lobby. My son was almost as excited
about doing physical therapy as I was dreading him having to do it; he wanted
to make sure he could get back to practicing with his team as soon as the
league started up again.

I walked up the ramp to the parking garage
outside, my keys already out of my pocket.
I’m
cutting it close,
I thought irritably. I had wanted to leave fifteen
minutes before I’d actually walked out of the office, but something had come
up—something always seemed to come up whenever I had plans of some kind.

I unlocked the car and climbed in,
thinking about Landon waiting for me. He was the only thing I had left of my
wife, the only thing that made sense in my world since she left us. He was
getting to the age where kids always think their parents are too protective—and
maybe he was right in my case. He was at the best private school in the city,
and I’d found a PhD-holding tutor for him before he’d even gotten in, just in
case he ever fell behind or ran into trouble. Without his mom around, I had to
take on both roles—mother and father.

I started up the car and waited for the
heat to come up, slapping my hands together to keep the circulation going. I
pulled out of my parking spot and navigated the parking garage, thinking about
the crazy situation that had led to Landon needing physical therapy in the
first place. Traffic’s never really light in Chicago, but I was at least
beating the worst of it by getting out early; I slipped out of the garage and into
the street, matching the speed of the cars around me. Landon had been such a
trooper—he’d barely even cried. In fact, I’d cried more than he had.

I shuddered as I remembered the game when
Landon had broken his leg. He had been playing as well as I’d ever seen, really
going for it on the AstroTurf. His coach had been teaching him more evasive
maneuvers, and Landon had really brought them all together, darting and
weaving, making me proud. I was cheering for him in the stands, on my feet,
acting like a madman. Landon had looked up into the stands more than once to
see me there cheering for him; it felt good to be there for my son, especially
since I missed out on so many other things going on in his life.

I’d missed the game the week before—which
was why I’d made such a big point of going to his game that day. I was glad
that I’d taken the time away from the office, especially when Landon tried to
pivot to get away from the other team’s defense and instead of darting left he
moved right, and I saw him moving in slow motion as he fell over. At the time,
I almost imagined I could hear the snapping sound as Landon hit the turf on his
side.

In an instant, I had started up the row,
heading for the stairway. I almost screwed up my own leg tripping over my feet
as I pounded down the stairs in my rush to get to my boy. He didn’t get up; he
was obviously more injured than some twisted ankle. I remember thinking of how
worried his mother would be, of how her heart would have been in her throat
just as much as mine was. I stumbled onto the sidelines and looked around; the
coach had already hurried out onto the indoor pitch, and I followed in his
wake. Landon’s other teammates were clustered around him, one of the refs
hovering. Someone signaled a medic and the man arrived just as I came to a
stop, dropping to my knees at my son’s side. “Landon! Shrimp, are you okay? You
took a bad fall there.”

The medic came in on Landon’s other side
and started asking questions. My little boy, my five-year-old son, was on his
back, his hands wrapped around his leg right underneath the knee. My heart
pounded in my chest as the medic said the words I was dreading to hear: “His
leg is broken. He’s going to need to go to the hospital and get a cast on it.”

I had lifted Landon into my arms and
hurried him out to the car. My little boy—who always made a fuss about having
to put on his seatbelt—didn’t even argue with me strapping him down in the back
seat to get him to the hospital. We waited for what seemed like days instead of
a few hours, but finally we went back to see a doctor. The diagnosis wasn’t
great; Landon had fractured both bones in his lower leg, just under the knee.
If it didn’t heal properly, he could have trouble just walking for the rest of
his life.

Now, two months later I pulled into the
pickup loop at Landon’s school and spotted him next to one of the teachers.
Once the bone had started to knit, the doctor had said that the best thing
Landon could do when he was able to get the cast off would be aggressive
physical therapy—several times a week, for a couple of months. The doc had
recommended a place and I’d set up Landon’s first appointment there right away,
before the cast had even come off. Landon took one hand off of his crutches and
raised it to wave at me as I drove up to where he was standing. Now, even
though the bone was whole, my little boy still had a lot of healing to do.

I put the car in park and jumped out,
smiling at my son.

 
“Almost makes breaking your leg worth it, to
get out of school early, doesn’t it champ?” I looked at the teacher; she was
tall, with blonde hair, and absolutely dedicated to the kids. She’d worked with
me as much as the school rules allowed when Landon had had to take a few days
away from class during a bout of strep, making sure that my son was able to
catch up. I wasn’t surprised to see her standing with him to wait for me.

“Landon has been waiting very, very
patiently,” the teacher informed me, smiling a little. “He’s been so excited
for physical therapy.” She turned to me, frowning slightly. “You’ve explained
that it’s going to be hard work for him, right?” I nodded.

“Landon knows it’s probably not going to
be very comfortable for him for the next few weeks at least,” I said, reaching
out and tousling my son’s hair. He giggled. “But he’s so excited to finally get
rid of the crutches and the cast, and hopefully be able to get back to the
team.” The teacher’s smile came back and she turned to head back into the
building.

“We’ll see you tomorrow Landy,” the
teacher said. I helped my boy get into the back seat of the car, putting his
crutches off to the side.

“We are running late, buddy,” I told
Landon as I climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car back up. “We’re
going to have to make good time to get there for your appointment.”

“Will they give us a tardy?” he asked
quietly.

I laughed.

“Something like that,” I said, pulling
around the pick-up loop and heading back towards the streets. “The most
important thing though is that we want to make a good impression. You only get
one chance at that.”

“Are you going to be in trouble at work
for leaving early? Ms. Fitz said that it’s important to have an excuse if you
have to leave early.”

“They know I’m taking you to get therapy,”
I told my son. “I’m sorry I was late though, bud. Someone needed me to help
them with something right when I was getting ready to leave.”

“Everyone gets you to help them, don’t
they?”

I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw
Landon playing with one of his Skylander figures.

“Is it because you’re the boss?”

“I’m not
the
boss; I’m one of the bosses,” I told him. “People want to make
sure they’re doing things the right way, so they come to me to make sure before
they keep going.”

“Like when I needed your help with the tie
for Grandma’s party?”

“Just like that.” I smiled.

Traffic slowed a bit and I forced myself
to take a deep breath, to stay patient. “How was school? Did you talk to that
girl you like—Jessica?”

“Jessie is nice,” Landon informed me. “She
was sad that I wasn’t allowed to keep my cast, because she’d spent so long
drawing on it.” I laughed.

“That cast smelled nasty,” I pointed out.
“You don’t want to hang onto something like that. It’d stink up your whole
room.”