Undefeated (Unexpected Book 5) (10 page)

F
rom the kitchen window, I watch Harper and Finn playing outside with their new toys. Three days ago, a tricycle appeared in the backyard along with some other fun things that my kids can play with including a big, pink plastic dollhouse. All slightly used, but clean. My kids think they’re brand new and their daddy sent them over from heaven. I don’t have the heart to burst their bubble yet, but I might have to tell them the truth. That maybe Porter is the one who bought them.

“They look happier than they were three weeks ago,” Aunt Molly mentions, as she chops the carrots. “How’s the job search going?”

I chew on my lip, thinking about the stupid job I need and laugh as I’m washing the spinach. That’s as much hands-on experience I have with plants. “The Department of Agriculture called, they have an entry level offer. I’d love to accept, but twenty-five thousand dollars a year with no benefits is not going to cover much.”

“That’s all?” she replies and I nod.

Then I voice what I’ve been thinking, “The holiday season is approaching. Chances are they’re going to be hiring at all of the department stores.”

As I’m about to hand over the spinach to my aunt, I spot him, Porter. He’s sitting by the tree, strumming his guitar. Finn stops pouring sand and his attention goes to the man who, from what it looks like from here, is singing too. Harper’s head shows through the dollhouse window.

“He’s the whole package,” my aunt says, standing next to me. “Handsome, thoughtful and he can sing.”

“How long has he been living next door?”

“Two years, and no, I have no idea what happened to him.” She moves toward the counter and continues chopping. “All I know is that there’s loss in his heart.”

Diverting my eyes from the sink back to the yard, our gazes collide. I feel as if there’s a part of him that wants to tell me his secret, let some of the weight he harbors inside go. Free himself from whatever loss he carries. And the scary part is that I want to know it all and be the one he trusts—and takes away his pain.

“Finn likes him,” my aunt continues. “Which reminds me, have you thought about taking him to another specialist? It’s not normal that he won’t talk.”

I shake my head. “They tested him in Denver and the psychologist didn’t find anything wrong with him. She called it a phase.”

She sighs and the words she’s not saying linger inside the room.
Two years is no longer a phase.
Something more must be going on with him.

“Well, everything is ready.” She dries her hands. “Go and set the table while I call them.”

I do as she asks, thankful that unlike my mother, she restrained herself from saying something more about my little boy. It already frustrates me that I spend a couple of hours a day working with him and he refuses to speak. With the lack of insurance, I’m just trying to do what I’ve learned on the Internet and the books I got from the library.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands,” my aunt yells. “You too, Porter, that guitar must be filthy.”

As I turn toward the backyard door, our eyes connect again and he gives me a boyish smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

My gut clenches and the uneasiness is back. It’s not fear, or distrust. Whatever his presence provokes is better to ignore. When my aunt enters the dining room I have to ask, “He’s eating with us?”

“Of course, we share a kitchen.” My aunt winks. “And the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. That’s why I’m cooking him three meals a day.” She fixes her hair and sets the side dishes down before heading for the meatloaf.

I don’t know if she’s serious, but I release a loud laugh. She’s about thirty-some years older than Porter is. Would that make her a cougar or a saber-tooth?

Finn approaches the table, looking at each place. Then his gaze goes to Porter who starts placing the silverware I haven’t set yet. Once he finishes, he slides on one of the chairs and Finn follows suit—on the seat right next to Porter. The man smiles down at Finn before we start serving the food. I’d love to think further about their connection; instead, I enjoy the meal and forget about the serious man who has conquered my little boy’s heart.

“Should we write down a schedule? Because you’re cutting into my alone time every night.”

I shake my head when I hear Porter’s voice. “No, I just wanted to thank you.”

“For?”

“The toys that you brought. For the way you treat Finn—my son. You’re easygoing, patient with him. He likes you.”

“He doesn’t speak at all . . .” Porter trails his sentence and doesn’t finish it; instead, he takes a seat next to me placing his guitar on his lap. “Does he have some kind of disability?”

“God I hope not,” my words stumble one after the other without even putting any thought into them. Placing the tips of my fingers on top of my lips, I think about rephrasing. I sounded cold and insensitive. The real answer should’ve been that I’ve prayed every day that whatever my son has disappears one of these nights. Because if there’s something else going on with him, I doubt that I’m strong, or capable enough to help him. I’m emotionally and financially drained. But I can’t explain how fucked up Mackenzie Brooke’s life is. And how much I’ve failed as a mother.

Depressed for the first few months after my husband died—eighteen, or maybe twenty-four of them. I neglected my duties as a mother. I went from president of the PTCO to the mother that always dropped off her children in pajamas and who never waved back at the rest of the perfectly dressed and pristine mothers. Harper can mention at least a hundred ways how I’ve made her life miserable. While Finn hasn’t said a word in so long I can’t remember his sweet, beautiful voice.

“She’ll be alright—Harper.” Porter’s voice sounds like a promise, and I can’t help but frown at him. How does he know that she’ll be alright? “She looks like a smart little girl and kids are resilient.” He scratches his chin and his coffee-colored eyes give me their full attention. “Change is hard and sometimes we show anger when we’re scared. Love her, as a parent that’s all you can do. Finn . . . maybe you can look into some kind of government insurance and have him tested again.” He lets out a big breath and looks at his guitar. “If all fails, I know someone who can help you. She has some fancy degrees in childhood education and special education for kids with disabilities.”

His eyes go vacant for a few seconds and I wonder who he’s talking about. His sister? A friend? “How’s the job hunting going?” I give him a one-shoulder shrug and look into the dark night, wondering if Leo is watching me. Afraid that he’s disappointed with my parenting skills. He was the one who helped me with this ship and right now I’m trying my best to keep it afloat. “Have you checked the flower shop on Broadway St.? They have a help wanted sign posted in one of the windows.” There’s a ghostly smile on his lips. “You’d be using your botanist skills.”

Some boyish smirk appears on his face and his eyes shine. I like that and I wish he did it more often. Feeling bold, I decide to ask him about himself. I’ve shared so much about myself that I figure it’s time for him to at least give me more than a grunt or a few sentences that give zero information. “Why do you work at the gas station, Porter?”

His attention sinks to the floor. “I haven’t found my passion yet.” I laugh, but he doesn’t. “Well, I did but I lost everything.”

“Why not rekindle that old passion?” I dare to ask, intrigued about this passion he had and lost.

“Because I fucked with the wrong people.” His low voice almost lost in the humid air. “Figuratively and literally. Lost it all while pursuing the wrong dreams.” He pulls the sleeve of his hoodie up slightly and stares at a tattoo. Three letters. JGK. Who is that? “It’s late and I have to work early tomorrow.”

Who did he fuck with?

I follow him with my eyes, thinking about my next question. I want to know more about him. The subject I’m studying grants zero information. Next time I should ask better question—the right ones.

Who is Porter? What happened to him?

L
ife is made of dreams of all shapes and colors. Each dream takes you to the next step. My dreams are a reality. Most of them. My records sell like hotcakes or shaved ice on a hot summer day. Plus, I’m dating the girl of my dreams. AJ and I have been going steady for more than a year. I had promised to wait until she was eighteen, but as I began to tour and her seventeenth birthday got closer, I put myself out there. It’s nothing intense yet. She wants to wait for the right moment and I respect that.