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“Thanks.” I sighed and sat at the now-clean table.
His hands spread on my shoulders and he began massaging, much to my delight. “No problem. Dylan’s asleep upstairs. Dexter dropped him off while you were gone.”
I stiffened slightly under his touch. Part of me was sad I missed seeing Dexter. But it was for the best.
I usually made sure I wasn’t present for the handing over of the kid. The first few months of Dylan’s life had been hard enough, seeing Dexter, knowing we both wanted each other. But I wouldn’t do that to myself anymore. Not when I had Dylan to think about.
I had to be responsible for him. I couldn’t give everything to Dexter anymore because I had someone who needed me more. And Dexter—when he had me—had tossed me aside like I was nothing. To Dylan, I was everything.
“I have to head to the hospital. Don’t wait up.” He kissed the top of my head and I sat at the table, still watching the wall in front of me as I heard him leave.
My world had gone from one of color and passion to me staring at a slate gray wall. I knew it was slate gray because Theo had insisted on it for the kitchen. The gray that reminded me of Dexter’s bedroom—the one I’d spent my teenage nights in.
I was obsessed, making connections to that boy and that time.
The doorbell rang, and I got up to answer it, a small frown on my face. It couldn’t be Theo. I heard him grab his keys.
I pulled the door open and blinked. Hair still longer than acceptable, smile still sinful, eyes still sweet. Dexter Andrews stood on my front step, his arms crossed over his chest easily. He’d chucked his suit jacket and tie somewhere and I could only stare at the sight of him in his white dress shirt, its collar open and sleeves rolled.
“I was hoping I’d catch you, Blue.”
He’d catch me all right. If he kept looking at me that way, he’d catch me right before I hit the floor. The smile that stretched my features wide as I leaned my head against the door was involuntary, and I let it drop the moment I realized how inappropriate it might seem.
I walked back inside, leaving the door open for him to come in if he wanted. I prayed it looked like I wasn’t affected by him. If only he knew I walked away to avoid facing the scent of him.
“What’s up?” I grabbed a can of ginger ale from the fridge and looked at him.
He didn’t speak at first, his eyes taking their time, perusing my features. He wasn’t standing close to me, something I appreciated but also hated more than I would have liked to admit. The charge I felt whenever he was near hadn’t faded over the years. If anything, it only increased. Like my body was telling me,you idiot, he’shere.
He opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by a wail. My eyes went to the baby monitor, and I set the can down and walked quickly toward the stairs.
“I got it,” Dexter said as he touched my arm to keep me from continuing.
I was branded; that’s what his touch felt like. It lit me up and burned me alive. When I was sure he was out of sight, I let out a hiss of air.
He had to leave.
I straightened when I heard him slowly coming down the steps. I turned, faced with an image that melted the bits of my heart that felt more and more like ice. Dylan was wiping at his sleepy eyes, his tufts of hair sticking up. Dexter was looking at him with adoration, and I knew I was in dangerous territory. Though Dexter’s touch on me was weakening, seeing him with our child knocked me flat.
“Mama,” Dylan whimpered, holding his little arms out to me.
In that moment, I was his favorite. It was subject to change, dealing with toddlers, but it felt nice. I took him in my arms, kissing the top of his head and remaining silent as he battled his sleepiness.
“He looks more and more like you every time I see him,” Dexter said from his position against the wall behind us.
I tried to set the baby down, only for him to scrunch up his face and cling to me.Well, there go my arms.
I looked down at him. It was true; Dylan looked like me. The dark wisps of hair, the complexion, his lips. He looked just like his mama. But those peepers? His eyes were all Dexter. They were unnerving. Sometimes I’d catch him looking at me and I’d have to fight the flashbacks.
Dexter’s eyes were probably my favorite part of his face. All that sparkly blue. Dangerous, despite knowing the depth of his love. The danger wasn’t necessarily Dexter’s fault. It was the way he was—all or nothing. Intense emotion that made you forget yourself. And Dylan couldn’t suffer from that obsessive love we’d shared.
“Okay, papa. Let’s see what I can put together with you in my arms.” I rifled through the cupboards, pulling out the ingredients for dinner. Midway through my preparations, Dylan squirmed out of my grip, content to scoot around, despite having the ability to walk.
My crazy boy,I thought as I grabbed the chicken I’d defrosted.
Dexter stood there the entire time, keeping me fidgety. “You’re different,” he said with his head slightly tilted the way I always did.
They say people tend to pick up the same habits as the people they love. I picked up his thoughtful silence and it screamed of my love for him. Did that gentle tipping of his head mean the same thing?
