Fit for Love (A Stand By Me Novel Book 3) (13 page)

“All right.” I step back and look at the kitchen. “I’ll load your dishwasher since you made breakfast. You can get in the shower. Alone.”

She gives me a cheeky grin. “Maybe you should join me.”

“Go on,” I say, then swat her behind and turn toward the sink. Under my breath, I mutter, “Yes. Miserable.”

* * *

T
he private drive
leading to Jared Jameston’s house is lined with poplars and longer than an airport runway. I wait at the iron gate stamped with musical notes. A keypad and intercom system stand sentinel, guarding against all Jared’s trespassers.

I roll down my window and a blustery wind sweeps in to chill me. Pressing the call button, I wait for him to answer while I silently curse the weather. I could be hanging around with Makenna for a couple of hours. Meeting her mother. Playing with Ryder.

A female voice sounds over the speaker. “Yes?”

“This is Aiden Alesini. Could you please let Jared know I’m here?”

“Yes. Can you state your business?” she asks in a neutral tone.

And what is my business? That’s a great question and one I don’t intend to discuss with a stranger. “He should be expecting me,” I answer.

“I’ll tell him you’re at the gates. One moment, please.”

I roll up the window and crank up the heater. If the asshole had any manners, he would’ve left word to let me inside. The gates suddenly whir to life, and my nerves perform jumping jacks, anxious to complete this task. I drive through the gates and wind through a couple of acres before pulling up to the house.

I ring the bell and a woman dressed all in black answers the door. She’s an attractive brunette, one of those women who could be thirty or fifty. Probably not a girlfriend, but I’m not sure.

“Hi. I’m Aiden. Jared is expecting me.”

She nods. “Mr. Jameston is busy at the moment. I’ll show you into the library to wait for him.”

Mr. Jameston.
Well, not a girlfriend. I follow her into a large room directly off the foyer.

“Make yourself comfortable. He’ll be with you shortly,” she says and exits.

The gigantic room has a fireplace at one end with an elk head over the mantel. An entertainment center lines a wall and features the largest flat screen I’ve ever seen.

A trophy on the bookshelf catches my eye and I walk over to examine the engraving. Celebrity golf tournament. A plaque beside it states the gratitude for a donation to a children’s foundation. I take a couple of steps past more plaques, all praising him for his humanitarian efforts.

Several photos in silver frames line the middle of the shelf. Every image is of Ryder. I scan the entirety, sighing in relief that I don’t see one of Makenna. I pick the nearest black and white photo, a candid shot of Ryder, that looks to be a recent one. He sits beside a sun-burnt Jared on a wooden bench, wearing swim trunks and smiles. Ryder’s bare legs are shorter, thicker, more baby-like.

Both Ryder and Jared wear muscle shirts that cling to their skin, wet with perspiration. Ryder holds a melting ice cream cone with dribbles of chocolate smeared around his mouth.

He’s a carbon copy of his father. A strange flicker of something unidentifiable ignites in my chest. I barely remember my own father. Only images that I can’t vouch as true memories since Nonna talks about him nonstop. But maybe she’s painted them in my head, and I have nothing at all left from my dad.

“Hope you weren’t waiting long,” a baritone voice comments from behind me. I turn around and deposit the photo back on the shelf with a guilty clunk, as if I’ve been snooping.

Jared strolls closer and examines the photo I’ve been studying. “Ry loves being outside.”

“Most kids do.”

“Yeah. True. And I like being outside, so it makes sense that he does.”

Oh right, you asshole. “I don’t think it’s a genetic trait.”
He’s trying to get under your skin. And you’ve just let him.

He grins. “It’s good that he likes what I do. We have some fun times ahead together.”

It’s not a competition between you and me. Unless we’re talking about Makenna, and then it’s a smack down.

“Why am I here, Jared? Why show up at Evolutions?”

“Is there some reason you didn’t want to train me?”

“Let’s drop the bullshit. You don’t want me to be your trainer. You said you had things to say to me. Say them.”

His mouth quirks and I’m instantly annoyed. Why am I letting him get to me? He has an expression like he’s amused by me. I inhale deeply, the kind of breath that might bust a lung.

My exhale slides through thinly parted lips. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three—

“All right, then.” He nods his head. “You’re around my son. I needed to check you out. I have to know who Ryder spends time with. What if you’re just some punk that Mak’s agreed to marry to get back at me?”

If testosterone had a sound, napalm bombs would be going off in the room. “Wow. You are really full of yourself.” I take a few steps back, because if I don’t, it’s a few steps forward right up into his face. “I’m out of here. I didn’t drive over so you could insult me with your inflated ego. You know, this is the real world. You’re probably used to fans of your fame and money, so they put up with this swelled head of yours.”

I turn and stride toward the door.

“Wait,” he says to my back.

Whatever, dude. No wonder Makenna dropped this douche. He may have adoring fans across the globe, but I hope I’m never forced to spend time with him.

“I asked her to marry me a while back. I love her.”

His words hit me like a stray ball out of left field—the kind you wish you’d seen coming—because it’s a miracle I’m still standing. My knees actually buckle a tiny bit, enough for my stride to run out of momentum. I stop at the door.

He continues, “Stop and talk to me for a minute. You owe me that.”

I whip around and point a finger at him. “I don’t owe you a damned thing.”

“Yeah. You do. You came to hear me out. So, listen. I love my boy. That kid makes me see all the things I’m missing, because you’re right. I’ve been living in a lie. Things aren’t real out there on the road. I believed they were, but now I know that this…” He looks around the room before he continues, “…this is reality. Here. Where the people I care about live. This industry’s hard on people. Drugs, alcohol, one-night stands—you see where I’m coming from, don’t you? Talk to me. Do it for Ryder.”

I inhale and my nostrils flare. “We’re not going to swap confessions and braid each other’s hair, are we?”

He gives a frustrated laugh. “You’ll have to grow yours out if we’re gonna do that,” he says, perfectly serious. “I need to know Ryder’s future step-father.”

I shake my head. “This won’t work.”

“Train me then. For real. I need to get healthy and I get to see who you are.”

“You’re serious?” I widen my eyes. “All that hard partying must’ve killed too many brain cells.”

“I can pay you. A lot.”

I hold up my hand and my lip curls. “Are you honestly trying to bribe me?”

“No. I’m trying to make it back into the lives of the people I care about. Makenna would want us to get along. For Ryder’s sake. For her sake.”

He sounds sane, but his idea spells trouble. I look out his front windows so I won’t have to face him. Horses gallop along a white fence in a side pasture. The sight reminds me of Ryder’s thrill over being at Gunner’s place before the emergency room visit.

Jared walks to stand beside me near the door and his gaze follows mine. “I bought a horse.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Um…I’m pretty stupid. Makenna told me that Ryder talks about your friend’s horse nonstop.”

“Horses. Gunner has two.”

“Hm. Now I need to buy another one.”

I pivot and glance at him. My bullshit meter doesn’t register a blip. “I’ll talk to Makenna. If she says it’s OK to train you, I’ll think about it.”

“You let a woman tell you what to do?”

One corner of my mouth lifts. “And now I fully understand how you lost her. No, she won’t tell me what to do. But I’ll respect what she says.”

He chuckles under his breath. “Right. Well, give me a call and let me know.”

I give him a chin nod. “I’m leaving now. This is as friendly as we’re getting today.”

Opening the door to let myself out, I glance over at him one last time. He stands watching the horse and not paying attention to me.

“Jared?”

He looks at me and raises one eyebrow. “You change your mind already?”

“Ryder doesn’t care if you have a horse or not. Just be a dad to him. That’s all a kid wants.”

And with that, I step outside and close the door.

M
akenna

M
ama’s house
smells like lemon cleaner and fresh coffee, the way it always does. These are the habits I love about her. She has this thing about starting every morning with a clean kitchen and a pot of coffee. She grinds whole beans, makes the pot, and waits for me to come join her.

No morning news railing in the background about terrorist attacks and politics. No phone conversations or texting. Nothing but us looking out the back glass and enjoying the good smells.

She’s proud of what she calls her little bungalow.

Mama points to the carafe. “Make yourself a cup. I bought that liquid creamer you like. It’s on the top shelf.”

I busy myself with making my coffee. “Thanks. How did last night go? Ryder go to bed without a fuss?” I smile and curl my fingers around the handle of the mug I always use. It’s the one I bought her last Mother’s Day marked
Keep Calm and Carry On Accounting
in bold letters.

“Is Aiden good in the sack?” Mama perches on her bar stool with a mug coffee.

I slosh coffee on my hand from my full cup. “Mama! You’re not supposed to ask me stuff like that.”

Grabbing a paper towel from the counter, I wipe my hand and set my cup down. My breath quickens and my face warms. Mama takes a sip of coffee, the corners of her mouth still pulling up a wide grin despite the look of horror I must be giving her.

I glance toward the hallway and listen for Ryder. He loves snuggling with his stuffed animals in her bed while watching his favorite DVD about monkeys.

“He can’t hear us,” she says. “I don’t want to know the details of exactly what you did with him. All I want to know is—”

“I’m leaving. You know what? I think I’ll take Ryder grocery shopping. I have to write a jingle later for a new gluten-free cereal, but—”

“Why Mak. You’re blushing,” she coos with pleasure. “It’s about time. No denying what I see written all over you face. He’s lighting your fire. Good. You need more fun in your life than Ryder. Someday he’ll grow up and you’ll be all alone.”

I heave an exaggerated sigh. “Says the pot.”

“Pot?”

“The one calling the kettle black. Maybe you need a man. You seem to be the one thinking about it all the time.”

She laughs at me. “I’m an old woman. I have you and Ryder and my clients. It’s all I want. But if someone fell into my lap, I’d work hard to make sure I hung on tight. Which is what you should do. You’re young. You have your entire life ahead of you. More children. More sex and then more children. More fun times with somebody to make you happy. Marriage. Maybe I should’ve put that first. But you know I’ve always been open with you. Get to know a man really good before you put the ring on.”

I lean my elbows on the tile countertop and study Mama. Tiny crow’s feet tip the corners of her brown eyes. Kind eyes. Dreamer’s eyes despite all the tragedy she’s endured.

My own dream is to save enough money that I can comfortably buy both our houses from the company that owns them. After Daddy killed himself, we lost our home and lived out of our car for six months. Home ownership means everything to me.

Safety.

Space.

Shelter.

I’ve stashed almost enough royalties for a good payment on a house. Jared’s hit songs started me off on a career track that I have to be savvy about, so I save money like I don’t have much. Just in case the dry days come along and I’m not able to produce a hit.

People would think I’m bananas if they found out I have six figures in the bank while I live in a small, rented house. That’s what Jared’s Grammy did for me.

And the royalties are still coming in from that first hit song.

Aiden. I conjure his image in my mind and can’t help but smile. “I’m having a nice time with Aiden. I am. But Mama, don’t get your hopes up. I’m not interested in more.”

“Why not?” She reaches across and pats my hand. “I want you to have everything that can make a person happy.”

“I’m happy.” I shift uncomfortably while I examine her rings, but I’m sure my voice isn’t strong enough to convince her.

“So the sex is good and—”

“Stop right there! Sex is a taboo topic between us. You’re my best friend, but you’re also weirdly my mama, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Baby, sex is how you got here in this world. The best thing that ever happened to me. And sex is how you have that beautiful baby in there.” She looks over her shoulder as if she can see through walls. “Sex is natural. As natural as wanting to eat and sleep. But there’s always more if the good times are going to last. Is the communication good? You’ve told him about Jared of course, but have you told him about…your daddy?”

“Of course. Yeah. I told him.” I smash my lips together in a tight smile.

“When? Last night?”

“Oh sure. Yelled it out right at the point of orgasm. Yeah, baby. That feels great and did I mention my dad was a suicidal maniac?”

She shakes her head at me. “You don’t have to get smart about it. I’ll go check on Ryder if I’m getting on your nerves.”

She’s irritated with me, a rarity.

I flip through a magazine on her counter. “I told him,” I mumble.

“Everything?”

“Mama, how much does the man have to know?”

“Does he know what your daddy did before he shot himself?”

I turn my back to her and walk to the kitchen window. A squirrel hops onto her bird feeder and pokes his head into the seed container. “I told him enough.”

“You need to tell him everything. He needs to know what you’ve gone through.” She stands and walks around to my side of the bar and strokes the back of my hair. “Tell him. Don’t sabotage yourself.”

It’s not sabotage to guard my heart. It’s smart and sensible.

“Do you think it will ever get easy?” I don’t have to explain what I mean. Mama and I speak in half-thoughts on a regular basis, our connection built by something akin to being survivors of war.

“It’s already easier. See? You want to tell him, don’t you? Four years ago, I bet you’d rather have danced on hot coals than share our story.”

The squirrel abandons the bird feeder and hops onto a dead branch that shouldn’t hold his weight. It sways up and down in a threat to snap at any moment. I hold my breath as I watch him. I was a lot like the squirrel before Ryder. Taking risks that could plummet me to my death.

Except my limb consisted of boys and alcohol. Occasionally some weed. Often boys mixed with alcohol and a fast car on a dark road.

“Mak?”

I exhale and turn to her. “Hmm?”

“Do you want me to watch Ryder again tonight? Maybe you can ask Aiden over. Cook a nice meal for him. Talk.”

“Oh. So my love life is more important than your job? Don’t you have some accounting to do? This is your busy season.” Mama tends to hole up in her home office from January through April, the months when she works on the year end books for her clients. The rest of the year, she’s generous with her time—taking Ryder for half days so I can work without distraction.

Mama grins at me. “I may not have a sex life, but I’m not a bean counter all hours of the night. Plus, you should do one of those selfie things of you and Aiden if he comes over. Or better yet,” she says, her eyes wide and twinkling. “I’ll cook. You two can come over and leave Ryder here. Then you can go to your house afterward.”

“You are relentless. You know that, right? But I can cook for him. And Ryder stays with me. You had him last night. He’s going to forget I’m his mother.”

“Poo.” She pretends to be angry. “I’m going to be sad when that boy gets old enough to go to school. We have such fun.”

“I know.”

She returns to her bar stool and pats the seat beside her. “Come sit. Let’s enjoy our morning.”

I grab the platter of pastries from her stovetop and carry them to the counter. “He’s really, really a nice guy.”

Mama removes the plastic wrap from the breakfast treats and nods. “Good. Now which do you want, the bear claw or the scone?”

And then she places the scone on my plate, because she knows it’s my favorite. It doesn’t matter that it’s also hers. Mama always puts me first.

Always.

So, every decision I make—will ever make—will also be about keeping Mama in my life. That’s one reason why I couldn’t go with Jared on the road when he asked me to before I learned I was pregnant.

I’d never leave Mama behind, because she didn’t desert me when I needed her most. She saved my life.

* * *

I
sit
in my living room, rocking nervously and pretend to read e-mail on my cell phone. It’s noon and I haven’t asked Aiden to dinner. I’m concerned about the invisible line of relationships—the squiggly line that people cross between cool and clingy. One communication too many in the early stages and you’ve graduated from cute to creepy.

He could be busy. Not everyone owns their day like I do, working when the muse hits. So, no phone call. A text, then.

Ryder, a few yards away from me, talks to himself while he plays.

My finger slides across my phone and I unlock it and stall. The screen goes to my background image of Ryder. After three more times of hesitant unlocking and phone staring, I open the text conversation and find our last conversation. Entering the message box, deliberate on what exactly to say.

Me: Hey, I was wondering if you might want to eat.

Delete, delete, delete.

Me: I love Italian food almost as much as Italian guys…

Stab, stab, stab on the back button.

This is another reason I don’t date. Too much thinking involved and I need my focus on taking care of Ryder and my career.

I want to see Aiden, but the trepidation of telling him everything about Daddy causes me to set my phone back on the end table without sending the text.

Ryder sits on a tiny stool with his feet planted wide, his belly pressed against the coffee table. He colors in wide strokes of orange and purple only. The paper is filled with circles and lines. An occasional dot.

“This is grass,” he announces of the orange waves, more to himself than to me. “Grass,” he repeats.

Hm…The grass must be on fire.
But I don’t correct him.

He draws a very round blob in purple high above the fiery grass. “This is Mommy.”

I definitely need to lose some weight.
“Good drawing. I love it.”

He glances up as if surprised I’m around. Then he nods once in a very adult-like manner.

His attention returns to the paper. He draws a larger blob—
circle, circle, circle
—and looks up to meet my gaze. With a wide grin, he waits.

“Oh. Um…It’s Grandma.”

His eyebrows lower into disappointment bordering on irritation. He brushes one curl out of his eye.

“Not Grandma?”

Ryder shakes his head slowly and adds a “No,” in case I’m being slow on the uptake.

He’s drawing Jared? “OK. It’s Daddy.”

His gaze returns to the paper. “No.” Now he purses his mouth. “Mommy,” he scoots his tiny finger to the top of the small blob. Then slides it over to the second one. He looks up expectantly.

The kid only knows so many adults, or bigger blobs. He heaves a very grownup sigh and shakes his head, then returns to coloring the paper.

“Aiden? Is it Aiden?” I sit a little straighter. Amusement and pleasure and triumph color my tone.

Ryder jerks his head up and grins like he’s ready to award me with a gold star. “Ade,” he confirms with a long ‘e’ ending the name.

I kneel beside him and give the drawing a long, hard look worthy of a museum painting. “Yeah. Can I show Aiden if he comes over tonight?”

“Yes,” he says. “Ade comes over.”

I fold him into my arms. “It’s time for a quick nap.”

“No nap. Ade comes over.” He struggles to free himself.

“I shall smother you with kisses if you attempt to escape,” I say, villainous intent dripping from my fake accent. I plant a loud smacking kiss on his cheek.

He wiggles his spidery fingers into my side to tickle me.

“No, not the super weapon!” I fall back and pretend I’m defeated.

He pounces on top of me, giggling and poking tiny fingers into my middle. I thrash enough to make it feel real, then roll him over. “The smoochy monster says naptime.”

I kiss both his cheeks and drag him to his feet with a plop.

“Oh, alwight,” he says. Marching to the bedroom, he mumbles the lyrics I wrote last week and sang to him every night. The words aren’t clear and I’m sure some are intelligible to anyone but me.

I tell him

Movie stars, fast cars, gold bars,

Don’t matter to me. Don’t matter to me.

Ryder is a little sponge. For a while, I worried that he’d never talk much. Now, he’s repeating something. And I sense that it’s exactly my words, but without the enunciation and comprehension. I join him singing while I follow him down the hallway.

He says

Baby cribs, tiny bibs, ticklin’ ribs

It matters to me. It matters to me.

He hops onto his bed and pulls a stuffed elephant to his chest. “Mommy.”