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Cutter takes out his phone and I tell him my number.
I can feel myself actually getting just a little nervous. As though I’m handing out my number to some cute guy in the hopes that he’ll text me for a date.
Cutter puts my number into his phone and then sends me a text.
“Glad I didn’t give you a fake number,” I say.
“I guess I dodged that bullet,” Cutter says. “Go get your kid. Hope the rest of your night is better.”
There’s an awkward moment when Cutter and I stare at each other. Waiting for someone to do something. I think somewhere inside me I’m thinking he’s just going to walk home. Wherever his home is. Which means he would be the kind of guy to just give me his vehicle to help me out for the sake of my son. Which means he’s a decent guy.
Cutter makes a call with his phone and puts distance between us. I can’t hear what’s being said.
Maybe he is calling someone to give him a ride. Flashing his money and his athletic fame.
I feel my lip gently curling, now sort of hating Cutter. I actually feel like handing him his key fob back and telling him no thanks.
I can figure this out on my own. I don’t need him to-
My phone vibrates in my hand.
I look down.
Piper? Hello? Did you forget how to tell time? Saxon is sitting on the top step of the porch waiting for you.
Yup, there’s Hunter.
You’d think he would check in and be a little more… nicer…? Or maybe keep our son distracted a little. Better yet - maybe create an environment where our son would want to be at his father’s house and not have it be like a forced daycare.
On my way.
Now I have no choice but to take Cutter’s vehicle.
I have to forget about Cutter for now.
Back to single mom mode.
Which, trust me, is not a problem for me.
I wish Cutter would have chosen a different small town with a pool to invade for his rehab.
One thing I’ve learned in my life is that you can hope, wish and fantasize about things in the past happening differently. (And the past can be ten years ago or ten seconds ago.) But once it happens… it happens…
You deal with it. You move on. You move forward.
Even if that means driving the vehicle of an injured, rugged, slightly grumpy yet kind of sexy baseball player who decides to help you out without asking you for a thing in return.
I’ve never driven a vehicle as big as this dumb SUV.
Leave it to a rich jock like Cutter to have something this big for just himself.
If that’s not enough, the interior smells like that comfortable new-car smell with a hint of cologne. Warm pine. Sandalwood.
I put the windows down but then the air makes me shiver so I have to endure the stench of Cutter.
When I park outside Hunter’s house, I see Saxon sitting on the top step. His book bag next to him. He’s resting his right elbow on his right knee. His chin in his hand, staring down the steps.
It breaks my heart the way he hates being with his own father.
