Last Call (16 page)

As we eat, Royce looks out to the ocean and watches the other beach goers. His face is at peace as his eyes take in the beauty that surrounds us. The ocean is vast and blue, the waves hypnotic, immediately putting me at ease, especially when I look at my son. My little boy with dark brown hair; a bright, shining smile; midnight blue eyes, and the cutest dimple in creation pushes away all my anxiety regarding Jason. This little man, right here, is the best thing that’s ever happened to me and nothing will ever change that. No matter what journey life takes us on, Royce and I will be in it together. And we’ll be happy.

I lean down and kiss the dimple on his cheek. “You know what?”

Royce looks up at me, peanut butter blobbed on the corner of his mouth, and smiles. “What, Mama?”

“You’re my favorite,” I say and kiss the side of his head. One very big benefit to having one child, you can call them your favorite and not mentally damage the remainder of your kids.

“You’re my favorite times one hundred.”

I swipe my finger over the peanut butter, wiping it off his face then bend down and kiss him. If I succeed at one thing in this life, it has to be raising this little man the right way. So far, I think I’m doing a pretty decent job.

“Catch, Mama!” Royce shouts as the leather pigskin of death is soaring toward me. We’ve been tossing the ball for the last fifteen minutes. Granted, I’m in decent shape, but I’m winded because Royce has me running like a maniac to catch the ball. My son is only six, but the child has a hell of an arm. Control, not so much, but he can definitely throw the football a great distance.

I run back, trying to catch the football before it lands on the neighboring person’s picnic again. The first time, it was cute and they smiled as if they understood. The second, I was awarded with a mean smug and a roll of the eyes. If it happens a third time, they’ll surely be ready to drown me in the ocean.

I run faster than before, turning by body just enough to tip the ball away from their area, making it land on our blanket. However, my dumbass doesn’t see the cooler, and I do a sweet face plant into the sand. My sunglasses break on impact, and I’m pretty sure they left a permanent indentation on my face. But my less than graceful moves and broken glasses are not what’s concerning me at the moment. There’s a shooting pain, stabbing my left ankle.

I lay with my waist still resting on the cooler, ass up in the air, and my face remaining on the sand. It takes all of my willpower to keep myself from screaming out loud. I don’t want to worry Royce, but in my head, I’m shouting,
Motherfucker, son of a bitch! That fucking hurts
!

I take another second to control my anger and agony just enough, then roll my hips off the cooler and hit the sand with a thud. Damn that hurt. I move to my back and practically get blinded by the sun until a very sweaty, half naked Jason Cain shadows my face.

What. The. Fuck?

J
ason

It’s Saturday morning and I’ve been up since six a.m., dealing with the mess at my club in LA. The repairs are costly, but what’s worse is it will take an additional forty days to get the club up and running. The damage was significant enough to practically be considered a severe loss. This is all I fucking need right now! It’s one of my biggest moneymakers behind Toxic, and I’ve been losing money for the last six weeks on it.

After a very long and heated discussion with Kurt, senior property manager, we are better off dealing with the insurance company to finish the repairs than completing them on our own. At least I can recoup the cost somewhat. However, if they extend the repair process even one more day past their targeted completion date, I will have Kurt’s ass. He was the one strongly advising I go through the insurance company.

After the stress of the phone call, I needed to work out with my trainer to shed some of this pent up anger. This is one of the things I love about being wealthy—anyone will do what you want, when you want, but it does have a price. I called Keaton and he was here within an hour. Then, over the next two hours, Keaton and I lifted weights, boxed, and did some major cardio. Now I am feeling slightly better over my early morning business issue, but I am still reeling with my decision to leave Mariah. Even with my long workout, I still can’t clear my thoughts of her.

Covered in sweat, I walk to my room to get a shower and fresh clothes, but end up sitting on the edge of my bed, running my hands over my head. I feel like I actually miss her. She floods my mind at every moment, most of them inopportune. I think about her smile and the way she laughs. I like her quiet demeanor, yet I’m dying to know more about her. I love that she doesn’t ask anything from me, although a part of me wishes she would. I keep toggling back and forth with what I should do and what I want to do. For the first time, I’m actually considering letting someone into my very private world.

“I can’t,” I whisper into the palm of my hands. I can’t allow someone in. The protective exterior I’ve surrounded myself with has never wanted to crumble until I met this woman. I’m not sure what to do with the thoughts running through my brain. All I know is it’s starting to fuck with me, and I’m starting to invest too much time thinking about her.

I stand from my bed, snag my iPhone from my dresser and cap from my closet then abandon my penthouse for a run. Whenever I need to clear my head and nothing else works, I will blast my music and run along the beach. Normally, I don’t like to run in the middle of the day, as the night offers a more peaceful atmosphere, but I’m a little desperate to get out of my house. I just want to get the hell out of my head and think of nothing.

I make my way to the beach and start to run down the shoreline. The air is warm, yet the breeze coming off the ocean provides some relief from the heat. The beach is a little busy, though not too bad for as warm as it is.

I pull my hat farther down my head to shadow my eyes from the sun and keep my head trained forward. My iPhone is blaring in my ears, and I am oblivious to anything around me. With each plod of my foot, I can feel my mind clearing and the music smothering my thoughts of Mariah.

Just as I begin to get into my stride, I happen to look to the side and watch as a woman topples over her cooler and falls head first into the sand. My initial reaction is to laugh. I guess the asshole exterior is still somewhat intact. Watching her fall did make me smile somewhat, but when I hear a little boy yell toward the woman, I feel bad for thinking it was funny.

The little boy shouts something and starts to run toward the woman. She hasn’t moved yet, making me concerned that she may truly be hurt.

I stride over to the woman just as she’s rolling onto her back and come face to face with Mariah. I kneel down beside her and pull the ear buds from my ears, looking down at her. She is absolutely breathtaking, even with sand stuck to the side of her face, her blue eyes huge when she looks up at me.

I smile. “Are you okay, Mariah?”

Before she can answer me, the little boy falls down beside her and grabs her cheeks in his hands, concern masked over his face. He starts to brush the sand off her skin and then looks deep at her. “Mom, you crashed.” He is pushing on her cheeks, squeezing them between his little hands. Her lips purse up in a duck-like fashion and the sight is rather adorable. “I don’t think you broke your face.”

Wait a minute. Did I just hear him right? I’m momentarily stunned. Mariah’s a mother? Why did it take this very second for me to realize this?

I’m not an idiot. I knew Mariah had a very good reason for wanting me to stay out of her personal life—we all have those—but I never thought it had anything to do with a kid. Which makes me wonder, who’s the father?

She looks a little freaked out as she glances between her son and me. I can tell she’s unsure what to say or if she should say anything. Frankly, I really don’t know what to say, either. I’m still stunned she has a kid.

Mariah slowly sits up and starts dusting the sand off her body, her movements turning me on. She’s sitting there, looking unbelievably sexy, in a bikini top and shorts, and her tits… God, they look delicious.

When her son looks at me, I immediately feel like a jackass for checking out his mother while he’s kneeling right next to her.

“You’re okay, right, Mama?” the kid asks as he looks over at her happily. He’s a pretty cute kid, and I can tell he is the center of Mariah’s universe. A twinge of pain filters through my body because that’s something I never had. I didn’t have a single person who gave a shit about me when I was growing up or even now. I’ve only ever had myself, which is why I need to maintain this wall between the two of us.

“Yes, baby, I’m fine.”

I stand to my feet and extend my hand to help Mariah up. She looks at me before hesitantly grabbing it. I hoist her up, and when she makes it to her feet, I look down to see she is unable to put any pressure on her left foot. Mariah makes a slight whimpering sound and a grimacing look appears on her face. Surprisingly, it pains me to see her look like this.

“Hold on to my shoulder.” I kneel back down and look at her ankle. It’s doubled in size. She looks to have a nasty sprain or she may have broken it. I carefully hold her foot in my hand and ask, “Can you move it?”

Cautiously, she twists her foot, but whimpers again in pain.

“Ouch!” she shouts and fumbles on her other foot. I quickly reach my hand up to prevent her from falling over again.

She turns to her son and gives him a kiss on the cheek, calming his anxiety over her injury as he hugs her back. “I’m okay, buddy, but I think we need to leave so I can get this looked at by a doctor.”

As his eyes glaze over with tears, I can tell he’s trying not to cry, but there’s also disappointment in his face. The sadness cuts me to the core, weakening my resolve. I remember feeling disappointment every fucking day of my life when I was a kid. Day after day, every second, I was constantly let down by someone; therefore, I can relate to his hurt.

For the first time ever in my life, I do something for someone else. It’s today’s mission to make sure this little boy has a great day at the beach. Against my better judgment and everything I know to keep me withdrawn from actually letting someone into my little world, I finally crumble in the slightest.

“I live right over there.” I point to my building, and she looks off in the direction. “Let me take you to my house to have a doctor come look at your ankle.”

“I don’t know, Jason.” She motions with her eyes to her son then connects them back to mine. “I’ll be fine. I just need a second to let the pain subside.”

“Mariah, you can’t walk. I’m not going to watch you face-plant on the sand then leave you wounded on the beach. It’s the least I can do.” I stand up and look her in the eye, letting down my guard and giving the sincerest look possible.

She smiles and looks to her son, who is begging her with his eyes to take me up on my offer. Mariah caves when she looks deeply at him.

“What about our stuff?” She waves her hand over their blanket and other beach items then stumbles slightly on her right foot. I grab her arm and hold it, helping her get her balance.

“Let me worry about that.” I pull out my cell phone and text Glenn. He’s a part of my staff and happens to live in my building. I can count on him to keep my fridge stocked and plenty of his special, readymade meals for me to eat during the week; as a result, I know I can trust him with this. “Come on.”

“Wait, but what about our stuff? We can’t leave it here; someone will steal it.” Mariah is concerned and tries to pick up the cooler in her hand.

“Mariah”—I pull her close to my body and look into her eyes—“I said I’d take care of it.”

She glares at me. Apparently, that is not the answer she wants. It’s a look I’m familiar with and has been given to me many times before. Case in point, the night she tossed a thousand bucks in my face. I’ve never seen a woman so pissed in my life.

“Glenn works for me and is coming down to watch over your stuff. Okay?” I point to Glenn as he makes his way down the shoreline. He’s a good guy and the type of man who is at my beck and call. He manages the housekeeping staff when they’re inside my house during the week, overseeing their duties. He also cooks and will do random errands for me when needed.

I turn to the boy, wondering how I’m going to manage her and him at the same time. She won’t be able to walk, but will her son freak out if I carry her to my house? I make sure Mariah gets her balance before kneeling down to her son, deciding it’s time to introduce myself to put both of us at ease.

I stretch my hand out and say, “Hi, I’m Jason, and I’m a friend of your mom’s.” I don’t suspect Mariah wants me introducing myself as her fuck buddy, but in all reality, we really are not friends, either. We’re just… complicated. “What’s your name?”

The kid looks me over, almost glaring at me. Yes, this look is very familiar, a scowl he comes by honestly. It’s Mariah’s glare to a tee. His eyes are serious as they assess me, and my intentions toward his mother. It’s an unsettling feeling; however, it makes me smile knowing the two of them have a bond that will never falter.