Lie to Me (4 page)

Her deep brown eyes seemed to glow and he wondered if she felt the heat. To his disappointment, she broke the mood. “Go to Miles. It’s time.”

Damian nodded, trying to cool his loins and, at the same time, shake off a case of nerves.

“I’m going to leave while you reacquaint yourself with him,” she said, lowering her gaze.

“What?” He felt his stomach clench. “You’re leaving me alone with him?”

“Yes. I’m going to walk to the coffee shop and I’ll be back in about half an hour. That’ll give you time, but not too much.”

He stared.

“It’s better if I’m not there, trust me.”

“What am I going to say to him?” His panic increased.

She smiled. “Improvise.”

Damian could see the determination on her face. She couldn’t be dissuaded from going. He nodded and put a foot on the stairs, still watching her.

“Delaying it won’t help. I’m leaving—”

“Are you going to meet Sam?”
Shit!
He’d spoken his thoughts.

She shook her head. “Alex. And he’s anxious to see you again.”

He wanted to see Alex too. “Tell him to drop by my hotel.”

“I will.”

He found himself staring into her gaze as she stared back.
Damnation!
What she did to him; what the hell she did to him…

“Mom?” A child’s hostile voice called from upstairs. That derailed the spell.

“Miles, Dad’s here and he’s coming to see you!” she called as she pushed her body against the door, ready to leave him alone with this child.

“There’s no daddy! It’s a fake! My daddy was a drunk!”

Damian winced.
Oh, great. This would be just great.
He only hoped his experience with Reese’s kids would help him over the roughest spots.

“Miles!” Casey sounded horrified. She gave Damian an apologetic look.

Damian swallowed hard and waved her away. “I’ll handle this,” he whispered.

“Faker!” Miles yelled again from upstairs. “I don’t want to see whoever you are! Go away!”

As disheartening as the words were, Damian’s heart contracted. His son. His beloved son. Miles had every reason to hate him.

Damian heard jumping from upstairs. The thudding pounded against his skull. He looked at Casey.

“Miles, enough! Behave!” Casey shot Damian a sympathetic smile.

“No, Dad can’t be here!” There was a pause, then another loud thud. “Grandpa Michael says he was no good anyways!”

That did it. Damian started ascending the staircase.

“Good luck,” Casey whispered to him and he heard the door shut behind her as she left.

From the top of the staircase came the harsher slamming of a door. “I want Mom!” He heard the boy’s muffled voice.

Damian cringed, but continued to the landing, then knocked on the door. At least his son wasn’t afraid to speak his mind. It was a vast difference from Reese’s unusually well behaved kids, but he could deal with it. “Miles, let me in, please. It’s me—your father.”

“You think I’m dumb enough to fall for that?”

Damian tried to twist the doorknob. Locked. “It’s me. Really.”
What now?
“I can show you my driver’s license!”

An eternal pause kept Damian emotionally off balance. Would the kid ever let him inside? Casey certainly hadn’t exaggerated about the boy being difficult. Not that he could blame Miles.

“Miles?” he managed to remain poised, at least on the outside. “It’s been a long time. Will you at least let me see how much you’ve grown?”

To Damian’s surprise, the door swung open and the cutest little boy on earth stood there, looking up at him with the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Short for his age, he had longish towhead blond hair, perfect features, and dimples and wore a red flannel shirt and blue jeans. A toe peeked through one of his white socks. Damian felt an instant and intense rush of protective love for this little human being, and broke into a grin that almost split his face. This child—this little boy—his son—the child who’d resulted from the love between himself and Casey. Awed in his presence, he could barely breathe

Enamored, Damian bent down to lift Miles, but the child twisted away and ran into the apartment. “Don’t touch me!” He threw himself on a sofa, in the fetal position, face toward the cushion. “Did Uncle Sam pay for you to fake it? I hate being rich. You can pay people to lie!”

Damian dropped from his fatherhood cloud and reality slapped him down as he remembered the chore that lay before him—winning back his little boy. He stepped into the apartment and shut the door. He took in hardwood floors, sparse, inexpensive furniture, and a living room attached to a small kitchen. His attention refocused on the little fireball buried on the couch. He pulled out his wallet and opened it to his driver’s license. “Look, son,” he said, keeping cool.

Miles lifted his head long enough to glance at him from halfway across the room. “Don’t call me son! Fake ID! Liar!” He buried his face in the cushions again.

Damian stuck the wallet back in his pocket and took bold steps toward the sofa.

“Go away!” Miles shouted into the cushions.

“I have to talk to you.” Damian sat down, a few feet away from him. He wasn’t sure what was going on in Miles head. “Miles, I—”

“Drunk, drunk, drunk!” Miles sat up and leveled him a look to kill. “My dad was a drunk! You a drunk too?”

Damian’s resolve deepened. He’d have to get through to his boy. “Listen—”

“Will you hit me if I don’t listen?” Miles challenged. “Do you hit kids, you faker?”

Shit, does the kid want to be hit? He’s baiting me.
“I don’t hit kids.” Suddenly, he saw something flash in Miles’ eyes.
Fear?
“Miles, does anybody hit you?”

Miles turned his head away. “People hit me all the time, and I hit them back.”

Damian felt his stomach tightening. Sliding closer to him, he put a hand on his son’s shoulder.

Miles tried shrugging him off, but Damian wouldn’t let him.

“Tell me about it,” he said, in a calm voice, feeling anything but calm. “Any adults ever hit you?”

Miles scowled at him and Damian flinched. He saw his own expression on the child’s face. “Grandpa Michael spanked me a few times.”

His father.
That figured.
“Just a few times?”

“Yep. Just twice, but hard. With a belt.” He clapped his hands together with a loud crack. “Didn’t hurt me that much—just my feelings got hurt a little.”

Damian ached for him. “That will never happen again. Does Uncle Sam hit you?”

“No,” Miles said, “but he makes me do push ups when I’m bad. I don’t like that.”

“I wouldn’t either.” He would definitely need to talk with his father and Sam about their disciplinary methods. “I suppose Uncle Alex is nice to you.”

The boy sniffed. “They’re all
usually
nice to me, but they change the subject when I ask about my daddy so I’m mad at them.” He crossed his arms. “I hate everyone.”

Damian’s head reeled. He fought to say the right thing. “Nobody will discipline you by hitting you or making you do push ups again. And I’m here to answer questions about me.” He was almost afraid to ask the next question. “Anyone else hit you, Miles?”

Miles eyes filled with water and he dropped his head. “Kids at school. They’re the ones who do it all the time, every day. Well, they try.” He jumped to his feet and struck a karate pose. “They can’t hurt me ’cuz I know martial arts.” He kicked his legs, Kung Fu style, and chopped his hands and Damian would have smiled, if he hadn’t felt so much alarm. “I learned this from watching Jackie Chan movies.” He kept jumping around and Damian was intrigued by his energy. Miles came to an abrupt halt. “Why are you pretending to be my daddy?”

Damian shut his eyes, briefly. “Son, I am your daddy.”

“I’m the son of a drunk! The son of a drunk!” He used a singsong voice as he danced around and the sheer enormity of his vigor tired Damian. “Kids call me names, like drunk’s son, and they say bad things about all the Ballantines and the paper mill.
Why are you pretending to care
?”

Damian had to shove his guilt aside or he’d be useless to his child. Quietly, he told him, “Miles, it’s true that I used to drink too much, but I stopped. And I’m sorry that the kids blame you for stuff that goes on at the mill.”

“Right!”

“And I care because I’m your father. No tricks. I am.” He gazed into the little boy’s eyes. One thing his own father had taught him; good eye contact shows honesty.

Miles’ voice wavered. “You’re such a liar. My daddy got into a motorcycle accident and died.” He whirled away from him, mumbling several four-letter words. “Stop pretending to be my dad! My dad’s dead!
Dead
!” Miles turned to him, his face red with fury.

Damian stared at him a moment, and then stood up and grabbed the boy’s shoulders.
Dead?
Miles tried to get away, but couldn’t. “Son, where did you hear I’d died?”

“You’re not my daddy! You can’t be!” His eyes brimmed again as his face crumbled. “B-but you look like the man in Mom’s picture.” He stared at Damian for a long time and the world came to a standstill. Miles finally spoke again, his voice shaky. “If you’re my dad, then you hate me for real ’cuz you never came home. Prob’ly because I’m bad and stupid.” Tears spilled onto his cheeks.

Damian’s confusion equaled his despair. “No, Miles don’t ever think that. I left because of
my
behavior, not yours—”

“If you’re my dad—you hate me!” Miles voice grew higher and more agitated. Tears continued. “
If
it’s really you. If you’re not a fake, like a clone, you left me!” Miles started striking his chest, and Damian, shocked and horrified, grabbed his son’s small fists. A moment later, the boy’s arms were wrapped around his waist as he said one beautiful word over and over again. “Daddy.” Damian lowered himself to his knees to get down to his son’s level. Miles grabbed him in a stranglehold around his neck. “You’re alive,” he mumbled, wonder in his voice, speaking into his shoulder. “You’re my dad—and you’re alive.”

Damian felt all choked up and maudlin as he lifted his son and brought him to the couch. While he settled him on his lap, Miles never let go of him. After a few silent minutes of hugging one another, his child finally asked, “Why didn’t you see me all this time? Didn’t you like me?”

Oh, hell. How could he explain? “Miles, I love you. I’ve always loved you.” Staring down at the blond head of his son, he’d never loved anyone more in his life. And he’d never felt like a bigger jerk.

The boy wiped his eyes and looked up at him. “I thought you died ’cuz you never came home.”

He cursed himself and his decision. “I told Uncle Alex to make sure you never knew about the accident, Miles. I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

Miles sniffed. “That was dumb. I found out anyways. Uncle Alex came over and told Mom. They thought I was sleeping and they talked soft, but I heard. Mom was crying.” He gave Damian a look of disdain. “Why did you drink and go on a motorcycle? That was even dumber.”

Damian tightened his arms around him. “It was dumb,” he said, resting his cheek on top of the little boy’s head. “I did a lot of dumb things at one time, Miles.”

“Drinking and riding the motorcycle was the dumbest! Lots of nights, I’d hear Mom calling your name in her room. I thought she was crying because you died. Then I’d feel sad and cry too.” Tears rolled off his chin.

Damian cradled his son gently and rocked him. It was bad enough to learn that his son had thought him dead. Worse to learn that Casey had called out his name at night. Crap, he loved them both so much.

“Mom made you come back, didn’t she?” Miles said, speaking into his shirt.

Damian didn’t know how to answer. Finally he just said, “Yes.”

Miles tried to stem his tears.” Mom worries about me a lot. I try not to tell her stuff or she gets all scared about me.”

“So you just handle it yourself,” Damian mumbled. “Brave of you, but you’re a kid. Parents want to know if you’re hurting.”

“I don’t like when Mom’s all worried. And I didn’t want her to think I’m a wuss and can’t take care of myself.” He watched Damian with a flat expression. “You weren’t here. There was no one to tell.”

“I’m sorry.” He swallowed hard. “Guess you wanted me around, even though I wasn’t a very good father.”

“You were a shitty father.”

Damian accepted the criticism dully, and didn’t correct his language.

“I loved you anyways,” Miles said. “I didn’t want you to be dead. I remember you were nice to me when you weren’t drunk.”

Damian almost lost it, but stayed the adult, the one in control. “Did you-did you ask Mom if I was dead, Miles?”

“Yes. And Uncle Alex and Uncle Sam and Grandpa, and they all said no, but, when you never came back, I thought they were lying. And Grandpa confused me. He said that you’re dead to him. Uncle Sam said the same thing.”

His damn father and brother!

Damian squeezed him to his body, angry with himself for putting his son through such agony.

“Grandpa said—” Miles coughed and Damian rubbed his back. “Grandpa told me you were dead to all of us.”

Damian would be visiting his father. He had a lot to say to the bastard. Unfortunately, that probably meant visiting Sam again too. Sam was always at his father’s side. He changed the subject. Other things were more important right then. “Will you tell me more about school?”

“Nobody will play with me. Most of the teachers and kids know people who got laid off from the mill, and they don’t like me because I’m a Ballantine.” He made a face. “Plus I have learning disabilities—I need the resource teacher. Kids call me dummy. I am.”

“No, you’re not. I needed the resource teacher too, and I graduated from college.” This little boy reminded him so much of himself that it scared him. “I’ll talk to your teachers and we’ll come up with a plan to help with you in a better way, and the teachers will be nice to you from now on.” Again, he bristled. Damn right they would, after he finished talking to them.

“Promise?” Miles looked at him with such pleading and hope in his eyes that Damian melted.

“I promise. Maybe I can help you learn how to make friends too.”

“The boys play sports at recess. I suck at sports. Oops!” He covered his mouth.