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Seeing his mom still standing there, his head tilts as he asks, “Mamma?”
Snapping out of her trance, she smiles and says, “Don’t forget your PJs.” Jumping from his bed, the boy dashes to his dresser and rummages around until he’s got what I assume is a favorite pair. It’s only a few minutes until Ema has everything they both need, and we’re back at the front door putting on Damien’s boots, coat, gloves, and hat.
As I’m helping Ema into her own coat, her mother comes out of the kitchen, from the back of the house, with a towel in her hands, wiping them. Dropping her hands on her hips, she looks her daughter up and down with more censure than I’ve seen a parent give their child. “You’re really going to make the same mistake again, aren’t you? Sleep around until you’re knocked up again. Disgrace this family more than you already have.”
“Mom, please, not with Damien here.” The plea in her voice has me stepping in.
“Go get him buckled in.” I hand her the keys, the car seat by the front door from yesterday, and push them out of the house, keeping hold of their bags. Once the pair is out of earshot, I stare at the woman until she squirms. “I don’t know you, don’t care to, but the way you treat EmaLeigh is beyond fucked up. The fact she gets more consideration and care from me, a virtual stranger, is more telling about your character than hers.”
She scoffs. “She’ll be back once she’s got another brat from you. At least you’ve got money to help care for it.”
The audacity from this bitch. “You’re right about one thing. I’ve got money, which means that they won’t be back. Knocked up or not, I have no intention of letting Ema or Damien near either of you again.” Walking out the door, I see Ema wringing her hands together outside the vehicle, and the stress in her eyes has me smiling to alleviate some of her anxiety.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Tossing their bags in the back, I place my hands on her shoulders and lean down, kissing her lips softer than I want to.
“No need to be sorry. Some people don’t deserve their children. They’re those people.” Urging her in the passenger seat, I buckle her in before taking the driver’s side. “What do you guys need to be holed up on the mountain for a couple of days?”
* * *
EmaLeigh
The embarrassment and shame of my mother’s accusations haven’t left me since we drove away from the house. Before Clayton, before Damien, I would have told the world she was the best mother in the universe. She baked, she made dinner every night, homemade lunches for school. Was always at my cheer practices and helped me work on the routines. And then, I told her I was pregnant and that I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do, and the first thing out of her mouth was that I was going to hell. That she was ashamed of me, and I needed to pray for forgiveness.
I was so stunned I didn’t leave my room for three days. I couldn’t bear to see the shame she felt for me every time I looked at her. Damien will be three soon, and the look has never faded.
“These ones?” Sebastian asks Damien holding up another box of cereal. Dam shakes his head and points to one higher up on the shelf. With Sebastian’s enormous height, he has no trouble grabbing it. When my son squeals his delight, Seb grins like he’s won the lottery or something.
I have no idea why this guy is interested in us, but I can’t deny how good it feels. And after the soft kiss he gave me in front of my house, my attraction to him has intensified. “Mamma, coco?”
“Hot chocolate?” Sebastian guesses.
“Chocolate milk,” I correct him.
“To the dairy aisle!” Sebastian dashes off with Damien in the nearly filled cart, and my little boy’s laughter as they glide down the store has my heart swelling. Damien has never taken so well to another man before. Not even my own father. Not that I blame him.
As I approach the two of them grabbing a huge jug of chocolate milk, I spot a bottle of cold brew coffee in the cooler and nearly grab it until I see the price tag. Inflation has been an issue here for years and prevents me from getting anything I truly want for myself. Everything is about Damien.
“Grab it,” Sebastian murmurs in my ear. When I turn my head, our lips brush across each other’s, and the heat in his gaze has me biting the corner of my mouth. His eyes drop and stare before he reaches in the cooler and picks it up himself.
“I can’t afford that,” I tell him, and I see a thought flicker in his eyes. He wants to say something.
“I’ll buy it; you get the milk.” I have the feeling that’s not what he was going to comment on, but I let it go because I think he understands why I can’t. And why I would pay the same price for the milk.
Damien.
Everything I do, all the decisions I make, they’re all with him in mind and how it will affect his life. I’ve lost friends because of my choice to keep him, forcing me to stay home instead of going to college. I’ve lost my family for the same reasons. Everyone but Chloe.
Walking to the checkout, I’m still surprised at how well Damien has taken to Sebastian. He isn’t talking much, but he watches the older man with such fascination. And Sebastian talks to him as though he’s talking back. It doesn’t seem to matter to him that my son is primarily non-verbal with anyone but me, and even then, it’s only two or three words at a time.
“What kind of movies does he like?” I’m brought out of my head at Seb’s question as he unloads the groceries.
“Anything Marvel. He loves Thor and Iron Man.” Damien has been fascinated with the movies since we watched them when I was sick when he was about six months old. They’re always playing in the background at home in one of our rooms.
“Not Cap, huh?” He looks at Damien, and the way he scrunches up his tiny nose and shakes his head has me laughing. Damien feels all kinds of ways about Captain America because he beat up Iron Man in Civil War. “Alright, alright, I’m partial to the Hulk myself. Big”—he flexes his arms in the middle of the checkout—“Strong.” Turning, I’m shocked when he picks me up and spins me around.
“Oh my gosh.” I can’t hide the blush staining my cheeks.
“Smash!” Damien slaps the handle of the shopping cart.
