Page 19 of Mack

He sat and T.J. immediately leaned against him like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Mack went still for a moment, not quite sure what to do with that. He settled his arm along the back of the couch and let the boy get comfortable.

Mallory was watching them from across the room. When he caught her eye she looked away quickly, but not before he saw something in her face that made his chest tighten.

They watched the movie in the warm quiet of the living room, T.J. narrating occasionally when he felt Mack needed guidance.

“That’s Nemo. He only has one good fin but he’s still fast.”

“Good to know.”

“And that’s his dad. He’s looking for him. I don’t have a dad.”

The words landed simply, without weight or blame, just fact.

“I have a pap though,” T.J. added, already turning back to the screen. “He’s really good.”

Mack didn’t trust himself to speak for a moment. He glanced at Mallory and found her looking at her hands, jaw tight.

“Paps are pretty important,” Mack said finally.

T.J. nodded. “Yep.” He leaned a little further into Mack’s side. “You can stay and watch with us.”

Mack looked up and found Mallory watching him with bright eyes. She pressed her lips together and looked down at her hands again, and he gave her the moment without comment. Some things didn’t need words.

****

Mallory watched them from across the room and felt something shift in her chest that she wasn’t ready for.

T.J. had climbed into Mack’s side like he’d always been there, both dinosaurs accounted for, very relaxed, unlike when he was around strangers. Her son had good instincts. He always had. She’d learned to trust them even when she couldn’t trust her own.

She’d been holding herself carefully all evening, keeping just enough distance, staying in the chair across the room instead of the couch, keeping her hands busy in the kitchen as long as she could. It was easier when she was moving. It was harder now, sitting in the quiet with the television flickering and her son tucked against this man’s side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She thought about the dishwasher. Such a small thing. She knew that. But Troy had never once lifted a finger in the kitchen, had never pulled out her chair or waited for her to sit first, and he would never have crouched down to her son’s level and shaken his hand like he was someone worth meeting. The bar shouldn’t be that low, she knew that too. But after what she’d been through, every small decent thing Mack did landed like something significant. That scared her more than anything else.

T.J.’s eyes were growing heavy against Mack’s side. She could tell by the way he’d stopped narrating the movie, which was always the first sign. Another ten minutes and he’d be out completely. She should put him to bed, but she couldn’t seem to move.

The credits rolled and T.J. was exactly where she’d knew he’d be, fast asleep against Mack, Rex still clutched in one hand, the Brontosaurus wedged between them.

Mack looked at her over the top of T.J.’s head and kept his voice low. “Out cold.”

“He never makes it to the end.” She got up quietly, crossed to the couch, and leaned over to scoop up T.J. Mack shifted to make it easier, one hand briefly supporting the boy’s back as she lifted him, and the simple helpfulness of it caught her off guard.

“I’ve got him,” she whispered.

She carried T.J. down the hall to his room, pulled back the dinosaur blanket, lowered him onto his bed, and changed him into his pajamas. He stirred just enough to burrow into the pillow, Rex still in his grip. She tucked the blanket around him, stood in the glow of the dinosaur nightlight for a moment, then slipped back out and pulled the door just a little to leave it ajar.

Mack was in the kitchen when she returned, leaning against the counter with his coat over his arm and his Stetson in his hand. He’d known, she realized. He’d gotten his things so she wouldn’t have to ask him to leave.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said quietly. “It was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

“T.J. will be upset he fell asleep before he could say goodbye.”

The corner of Mack’s mouth lifted. “Tell him I’ll see him next time.”

Next time. She felt her pulse flutter at the casualness of it, the simple assumption that there would be one.

“I will,” she said.

He straightened, turned his hat in his hands once, and looked at her in that steady unhurried way he had. “I’d like to do this again, Mallory. If you’re willing.”