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Do I want him to be invested in us?
I know why all Mom’s boyfriends were invested in her, and it had nothing to do with Zander and me and everything to do with her body.
But that’s not Cole, right? He isn’t shallow.
Since I came to town a year ago, he’s the only one besides Connie who’s ever paid us any attention. Well, after the initial gossip that surrounded our arrival, that is. In a town as small as Moonshine Creek, gossip swirled faster than flies on dung.
The most popular rumor though is that I’m Zander’s mom— that I had him at sixteen and that my family abandoned me because of the pregnancy.
I never corrected anyone because, in a way, they were right. Our mother passed, leaving us with just each other. I never knew my father, and the same went for Zander’s. The only thing I know for sure is that they were different men. Zander’s the vanilla to my caramel, but we share the same green eyes and sunkissed, golden brown hair color, though Zander’s is more of a dirty blonde—these traits we both inherited from Mom.
Mom was mixed. Her skin color was more like my own. She was so beautiful. I wish she could have found someone who saw past that and loved her for her heart and mind too. She died before she got the chance.
My heart squeezes as her beautiful face flashes before me. She wasn’t perfect, but she never made excuses. Well, aside from our father’s identities.
That doesn’t matter now though. I’m Zander’s guardian and parental figure, and I have been since Mom passed away two years ago. I’m the only mother that he’ll remember.
As I watch Zander now and see how he physically clings to Cole’s side instead of mine, I wonder if I’m doing a good enough job of caring for Zander on my own as both his sister and his mom.
No matter how much I want to be everything for Zander, the fact remains that I can’t wear every hat, though that doesn’t stop me from trying. I know my limitations though. I can’t be Zander’s dad too, and he needs a father figure in his life. Something that seeing him with Cole has made abundantly clear.
But Cole embodies something I can’t possess. He’s a man. All man, with broad shoulders, a full beard, and dark blue eyes the same color as the lake that sparkles down in the valley. His thick, dark brown hair. His tattoos on his biceps, and I can only imagine where else. Everything about him is masculine, and Zander’s like a sponge, soaking up all of his energy.
For a brief second, I see us in the truck’s rearview mirror, taking my breath away. Zander’s between us, leaning on Cole’s shoulder and excitedly chatting while Cole smiles and listens, and I watch them both. We look so comfortable together.
We look like a family.
But we aren’t.
I can understand that, but Zander can’t. He can’t understand boundaries yet or that Cole owes us nothing. It makes me weary and terrified to get close to him because nothing is binding Cole to us, unlike the blood that ties Zander and me together.
Just like Mom’s many boyfriends who were there one month and gone the next with all those promises of ‘family’ and forever. If there’s one thing I learned from my mom, it’s that men come and go, and you can’t trust their promises of forever.
Maybe that’s why I’ve hesitated to let Cole into our lives fully. That’s why I’ve been trying to keep some distance between us. To soften the blow to Zander when Cole eventually grows tired of us and moves on.
The blow to Zander? Just Zander? My subconscious prods, but I snuff it out.
“Cole,” Zander says, sliding out of the truck behind me. Before I can blink, he’s running around to the driver’s door and throwing it open. “Come see my trucks! I have a whole shelf of them right above our bed.”
My cheeks burn at the words ‘our bed.’
I work in a diner, and I’m essentially a single mom, or so Cole thinks, so it’s no surprise that we aren’t rich. Still, what kind of mother can’t afford a separate bed for her kid? Even if we do share a room in the one-bedroom apartment.
“Zander,” I say with an embarrassed laugh. “I’m sure Cole’s super busy—”
“I’d love to,” Cole interrupts, his eyes flickering to mine. “If it’s okay, that is.”
There it is, that firm, commanding, yet gentle tone that weakens my knees. It’s the same tone when Cole said, “Sing to me” earlier at the diner. It’s the same tone I imagine that he’d use in bed.
I shake away the thought, and when I return to earth, Zander’s puppy eyes and pouting lips tell me I have no choice.
My fingers fiddle with the keys for a moment as I try to steady my breath. Opening our door to Cole is like opening another entry point for Cole to get closer to us. That aside, our crappy little apartment is our safe haven—the one place no one is allowed to judge us because it’s our own little bubble.
Will Cole judge us when he sees the secondhand furniture and the constant mess I barely have time to clean?
As we head inside, my eyes are immediately drawn to the mess on the coffee table. Gray feathers from Zander’s Ugly Duckling mask project cover the presswood, as do empty residue-stained coffee mugs I haven’t had the chance to wash yet. But what stands out to me the most is the stack of red notices, half hidden beneath the feathers. Then there’s the letter from Child Protective Services I opened last night—requesting a home visit.
If Cole notices the calm chaos, he ignores it as Zander leads the way to our bedroom. He gives me a look before following Zander across the threshold, and I give a slight nod in approval.
