Stirred (Twisted Fox Book 1) Page 8

  “Nope. Georgia and my friend Archer are covering for me.”

  I glance away, fake focusing on Buzz Lightyear, when I ask, “Which bar do you own?”

  “Twisted Fox Bar.” There’s no mistrust in his tone. No sign he doesn’t want me to know.

  Buzz loses my attention while Cohen reclaims it.

  “Really? You were voted one of the top bars in the state.”

  “Heck yeah, we were.” Pride shines on his face.

  Noah’s gaze whips back to us. “Dad! Bad word!”

  “I said heck,” Cohen argues.

  “My teacher, Mrs. Jones, said we’re not allowed to say heck either.”

  “Jesus,” Cohen mutters. “Mrs. Jones is on my nerves.”

  Noah responds, “Shh … this is my favorite part of the movie. You guys watch, okay?”

  I nod, feeling like a kid in time-out, and talking toys are the only sound in the living room.

  Noah is engrossed in the movie.

  Cohen? Not so much.

  Me? I couldn’t care less about Woody.

  Sorry, not sorry.

  I steal glances at Cohen, and there’s no missing the way his eyes flash to me every few minutes. We’re not snuggling, this isn’t romantic, but I never imagined I’d be on my couch with him, watching—ignoring—a movie. With each peek, I take in the differences in him from the past and how maturity has changed him.

  Dark stubble covers his cheeks and the angular curve of his jaw.

  The old Cohen had smooth cheeks and was cleaner-cut.

  His laid-back clothes are different than when he went to clubs.

  The man who was once the life of the party now makes cartoon character-shaped pancakes.

  Heather never deserved him, his love, and she definitely doesn’t deserve the man he is now.

  How could you turn your back on them?

  If only I’d been older.

  If only he’d seen me as more than just his girlfriend’s geeky sister.

  If only he hadn’t dated my sister.

  But then again, I would’ve never known him.

  Is that a good thing?

  Did fate bring Cohen and me together?

  Did it bring Noah into my life?

  Shaking my head, I mentally slap myself for my stupidity.

  Cohen will never be anything more to me than my sister’s ex-boyfriend.

  I’ll never be anything but the little sister of his ex-girlfriend—albeit less annoying and geeky.

  What made me fall in love with Cohen was how he treated me. He’d give Heather shit when I wanted to watch a movie with them and she’d scream at me to leave a room. My parents were lenient with them and allowed Heather to have sleepovers at his house even though they knew his mom was always MIA. I’m shocked Noah was their first pregnancy. They screwed like teenagers who’d just discovered sex.

  I adored her relationship with Cohen.

  Everyone knew it.

  Everyone teased me about it.

  Noah’s snoring breaks me out of my thoughts. I stand, grab a blanket, and wrap it around him.

  “We should get going.” Cohen lifts to his feet. “He has school in the morning, and I need to make dinner. He won’t be happy when he finds out dinner doesn’t consist of pizza or cupcakes.”

  “What’s on the menu then, chef?”

  “Cheese quesadillas.”

  “Oh, yum.”

  “I’ll have to make you some when you come over sometime.”

  I scrunch up my face. “It’s so weird.”

  “What is?” He turns to look at me.

  “You cooking, being responsible, being a dad.”

  “Hey now, I knew how to cook before I was a dad. People seem to forget I took care of Georgia before Noah. We couldn’t eat fast food all the time. It was too expensive and bad for our health.”

  “Good point. I don’t know why I ever doubted you.”

  His face falls at my words.

  My voice lowers and softens. “I’m sorry, Cohen. From my parents and me, we wish everything had happened differently.”

  “I appreciate that. I grew up with your family. You knew I was the parent for Georgia when I was a teenager. I could take care of a baby in my twenties. I’m not fucking selfish, and it hurt.”

  My parents and I went to the hospital when Noah was born, assuming Heather would change her mind, but nope. That was when they asked Cohen to allow them to adopt Noah.

  It was wrong.

  We saw how over the moon Cohen was about becoming a father.

  “Trust me, we hate how things went down. My mom recently asked for your number to apologize, but given how private you are, I didn’t want to cross any lines.” I hesitate, my stomach twists, and my head hurts, in fear I’ll piss him off. “She also asked for a photo of him, which I haven’t sent either. I’m following your rules here.”

  A pained expression passes over his features. “Your parents really want to meet him, huh?”

  “You have no idea.”

  His shoulders straighten. “All right then.”

  “What?”

  “They can meet him.”

  I perk up. “Really?”

  “On the condition they don’t tell Noah who they are. You’re Georgia’s friend, they’re your parents, and you’re just babysitting for me.”

  “I understand. I promise.” I clasp my hands together and hold myself back from squealing. “Thank you so much.”

  His voice hardens. “Heather had better not be there.”

  “She’s in Vegas and very rarely comes home. It’s been over a year.”

  “Good.” He runs his tongue over his lips before gesturing to mine. “Ice that.”

  I touch my lips because I’d forgotten about the swelling then salute him.

  He collects Noah in his arms and sends me a polite wave, and then they leave. I snag a cupcake and shove half of it in my mouth.

  I love this new Cohen.

  How he’s coming around and letting me in.

  No longer is he being as cold and callous as he was at the hospital.

  What’s changed in him?

  And what does it change with me?

  14

  Cohen

  My nerves have been on fire since Jamie picked up Noah today.

  My stomach clenches when I ask myself why I agreed to let her parents meet Noah.

  Sheila and Ted Gentry are good people and had been nothing but warm and welcoming since I met them. Even with their wealth and status, they weren’t unhappy that their daughter brought home a boyfriend who came from a broken home and was living off the system. They helped my family and me, and even though it pissed me off, I knew their asking to adopt Noah came from a good place. They were willing to step up and parent Noah if no one else would.

  I glance up at the sound of the front door opening and hear Noah blabbing about how long he held his breath underwater. I smile, knowing he must’ve gone swimming at her parents’ house. Noah comes darting in, ready to tell me about his day, and just as I’m about to ask him a million questions, the sight of Jamie stops me.

  Her face is blotchy, and she’s struggling to hold back tears.

  She’s seconds away from a breakdown.

  I stride to the fridge, pull out a pudding cup, snatch a spoon, and hold them out to Noah. “Go eat this in the living room, and we’ll be in there in a minute.”

  “Really?” His eyes widen as if I grew another head. “I can eat it on the couch?”

  “Just this once.”

  I pat him on the head, and he grabs the goods before dashing into the living room.

  She’s practically shaking when I step closer.

  “Jamie,” I say, “what’s wrong?”

  “Please, Cohen.” A single tear slides down her cheek. “Don’t hate me.”

  Those aren’t good words to hear.

  Especially after where they’ve been.

  I stare at her, trying not to jump to conclusions, and wait for her to continue.

  She doesn’t, but the sobs come.

  “Jamie,” I say, “you’re scaring me here.”

  She opens her mouth, shuts it, and then slowly opens it again. “I took Noah to my parents’ house, like we agreed.”

  I nod and stay silent.

  “I told him they were my parents, like we agreed.”

  “Good.”

  “Everything was going fine.” Her voice, her jaw, her hands—they’re all shaking. “We were swimming and then …”

  “And then what?”

  Her gaze drops to the wood floor. “Heather showed up.”

  A storm rolls through me, an anger I’ve never experienced, and the urge to throw something consumes me.

  I don’t.

  I don’t because Noah is in the next room.

  “The fuck?” I hiss. “You promised me, Jamie.”

  It’s done.

  She’s done.

  It’ll break Noah’s heart but no more Jamie.

  I stepped out of my comfort zone and did this for her.

  And it was all a fucking lie.

  “I know,” she cries out, keeping her voice low. “No one knew she was coming. It was out of the blue—”

  “Bull-fucking-shit,” I snarl. “Maybe you didn’t know, but your parents did.” Out of the blue, my ass. “Heather lives in a different state, and you want me to believe she was just in the neighborhood?”

  Her green eyes are pained, anguished, as she gapes at me. “My parents were as shocked as I was. She came to surprise my mother for her birthday. We tried to hide Noah. Trust me, we don’t want to mess up seeing him, nor did we want her to say something that’d confuse him.”

  “Did she see him?”

  She nods. “She did.”

  I grind my teeth. “Did she talk to him?”

  The thought of her telling Noah who she is sends a bitter taste in my throat.

  The thought of my son’s head being fucked with is a stab to the heart.

  “At first”—she stops to level her breathing—“I told her he was a kid I was babysitting, but then Noah introduced himself.”

  “Did she tell him anything?”

  “No.”

  My anger falls a level.

  “She stormed out of the house as soon as she found out who he was because she didn’t want her husband to know Noah was there. You have nothing to worry about with Heather. I promise you. She was mad that he was there.” Every muscle in her body is tense. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  I pace in front of her. “This is what I was scared of.”

  “I’m sorry,” she mutters again.

  Jamie doesn’t deserve this anger.

  This hurt.

  The respect and the compassion I have for her calm me.

  I run my hands through my hair, taking the last of my anger out on the strands before blowing out a long breath. “It’s not your fault.”

  She frantically rubs her arms up and down.

  “That asshole wasn’t around my son, was he?”

  “No,” she rushes out. “He was chain-smoking outside, and I hurried and got Noah out of there. They were driving to his family reunion.” She steps forward and rests her hand on my chest. “I give you my word, Cohen. Nothing has changed for her. She’s no threat to you … to Noah.”

  I rest my hand over hers, the warmth of her skin underneath mine settling me. “I trust you, Jamie.” My hands move to her shoulders, and I squeeze them before slowly massaging them for a moment. “Relax.”

  Her eyes are watery when I finally step back, my arms falling to my sides before I raise one to cup her jaw in my hand.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper. “I trust you.”

  She bows her head. “Thank you.”

  Time to make light of this situation.

  My dad mind shoots straight to how I help Noah with his tears.

  “Looks like someone might need a quesadilla,” I say, my tone teasing.

  She laughs, wiping her eyes. “You mean, looks like someone needs some tequila?”

  Turning on my heel, I reach into the tallest cabinet above the fridge and extract a bottle of tequila I save for moments like this.

  Moments when I need to clear my head.

  I pluck two shot glasses from another cabinet, fill them to the rim with tequila, and hand one to her. “To us not giving a shit about Heather.”

  She picks it up without hesitation. “To us not giving a shit about Heather.”

  There’s a clink as our glasses hit together, and the tequila burns as it seeps down my throat.

  Fuck.

  It’s been a minute since I’ve drunk this shit.

  Blowing out a breath, I wipe my lips with the back of my arm and groan. “Tell me that helped.”

  Instead of answering, she pours another and shoots it down. “Now, that one helped.”

  I chuckle and rub my hands together. “Now, how about the quesadilla?”

  “A quesadilla sounds amazing.”

  Without thinking—because I’m an idiot—I kiss her forehead. “Everything is good. Don’t worry about it.”

  Her mouth drops open, and Noah, with perfect timing, comes stomping into the kitchen.

  “Pudding cup is gone!” He holds it up. “But my belly is still hungry.”

  I snatch the tequila and shove it back into the cabinet while Jamie places the shot glasses into the dishwasher. With how flustered we are, I’m shocked one of us didn’t drop anything.

  “How about a quesadilla?” I ask Noah, raising my voice and forcing it to be as playful as possible.

  At least, I’m hoping it sounds that way.

  “Woohoo!” Noah shouts. “I love quesadillas!”

  I gesture for Jamie to sit down, and she does. Noah starts rambling about school and random shit while I get to work. Jamie listens to Noah, engaging in his conversation as if she were being told the world’s secrets while I drag out the quesadilla essentials. My mind is on the kiss as I warm the flour tortillas in a skillet.

  It was a friendly peck, I tell myself while topping one with cheese.

  One I’d give Georgia or one of her friends if they were upset, I think while flipping it over.

  I remove the quesadilla from the skillet, drop it on a plate, and start on another.

  That’s it.

  Innocent.

  I’ve convinced myself our relationship is nothing but platonic when I drop the plates in front of them and grab the salsa, and then we dig in.

  I believe Jamie.

  I saw the pain in her eyes, the honesty in her words, and the fear.

  No way is she capable of faking that.

  She never even had to tell me.

  That’s why, while we clean up, I invite her to Noah’s basketball game.

  “Noah is going to kick some ass today,” Finn says, sliding down the bleachers in the YMCA gymnasium until he’s sitting next to me.

  “Hush,” Grace, Georgia’s friend, warns behind him, slapping his shoulder. “There are kids around. Use your PG voice.”

  Finn groans, throwing his head back. “Just because you use your PG voice at all times doesn’t mean I have to.”

  Georgia, who’s sitting next to Grace, smacks the back of his head. “She’s an elementary school teacher, dimwit. She has to use her PG voice.”

  “And I’m a bouncer at a bar. I don’t.” He rubs the back of his head. “And you’re brutal, Georgia.”

  Most of the gang is here for Noah’s basketball game. We erupt in cheers when he runs onto the court with his team, wearing his red uniform and matching tennis shoes. I love the support we have.

  Georgia will be at our side, no matter what. She calls us The Three Musketeers. After our father left and our mother fell victim to addiction, I was there to pick up the slack. I was her big brother, and if my parents weren’t going to care for her, then I was. I fed her, made sure she was at school every day, helped her with her homework, and provided anything she needed.

  Lola and Grace are always a help to us and love Noah to death.

  Silas, Finn, and Archer are the same.

  Maliki, one of my best friends, is here too. He owns Down Home Pub, a bar in the next county. It’s nice we can visit each other’s bars, and we’ve never felt a sense of competition.

  We all have fun together.

  During the summers, we regularly have cookouts at my house.

  “Hi,” Jamie whispers, squeezing into the spot on the other side of me. “I tried to get out of the hospital as fast as I could.”

  I glance over at her with a smile. “You’re good. The game hasn’t started yet.”

  The woman behind Jamie taps her shoulder, and we both peek back at her.

  “Hi. You’re Noah’s mom, right?” She points at Jamie. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” She presses her hand to her chest. “I’m Mary, the teacher’s assistant in Noah’s class.”

  Jamie’s face pales while I nearly fall off the bleachers.

  “Oh, no,” Jamie stutters, “I’m not his mom.”

  Mary blinks. “That’s what he said when you picked him up from school last week.” Her head tilts to the side. “You’re a doctor, right?”

  Jamie nods.

  Thank fuck no one else is paying attention to us.

  My heart batters against my chest. I wish it’d fall out, and I could give it to my son, so he’d have more. I believed I had it all figured out, playing the role of both parents.

  I was wrong.

  Just as they say a daughter needs her father, a son wants his mother.

  Hell, I want that for him.

  The memory of the first time he asked me why he didn’t have a mom slams into me. He was four, and I hadn’t been prepared for it. I froze, words not coming, and it took me a moment to get my shit together.

  I knew whatever I said would break his heart.

  She didn’t want you, was what I wanted to say.

  That way, Noah would never track her down.

  It’s what my mother had told me and Georgia about our father, and I gave no fucks about finding him.

  He hadn’t wanted me, so I didn’t want him.

  Sure, it’d crushed me when she told me, but it made me stronger. I never held out hope that he’d return one day, and I was thankful she’d fed me the truth.

  Would my son feel the same way?

  Would he appreciate the truth, or would it break him?

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