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His face fell. “Mommy! Hammer!”
I feigned confusion. “Who has a hammer?”
“I do!”
“And who are you?”
“For, Mommy.” His tone dripped with disappointment that I hadn’t guessed.
“Oh . . .” I drew out the word, and nodded slowly. “I thought I might have seen a little Hulk in you this morning, with the ‘smash’ and all, but I was wrong. You are very clearly Thor.”
He sighed. “Mommy . . . Hulk smashes wiff his hands. For smashes wiff his hammer.”
I bit back my smile and tapped his nose. “Hits. Thor hits with his hammer. He also throws it.”
Keith took a second to take in my words, and then his eyes lit up. “Hammer frow!” he yelled, but just before he could throw an imaginary hammer at me, I threw my arm up in front of me.
“Captain America shield!”
Keith’s hand hit my arm, and grabbed tight. “Mommy!” he whispered in awe, then released my arm to pat it. “Dood shield.”
I pulled him close to kiss his forehead, then asked, “What time is it?”
He shrugged against me. “I dunno. But Uncle J is tryin’ to make breakfast.”
After months away with only weekends to see him, I wanted nothing more than to snuggle up for a few minutes with my son as I had the past mornings; but dangerous, dangerous words had just left his little lips.
Jagger messed up cereal. He’d burn the warehouse down if he actually attempted to cook something.
“Is he?” My voice rose in alarm as I hurried to move Thor off my stomach. “Well, I think we should go put a stop to that before we no longer have somewhere to live.”
Keith froze, and looked up at me with wide eyes once I was standing. “We can’t live here anymore?”
I bit back a curse, and bent so I was at eye level with him. “Of course we can. But Uncle J shouldn’t be cooking. Go stop him before . . . just go stop him.”
I gave Keith’s back a little pat as he turned, and watched him race from our room. “Uncle J, Uncle J! Mommy said stop! Uncle J! Hammer frow!”
A smile lit up my face as I listened to Keith’s voice trailing behind him.
Jagger had been brooding ever since I’d informed him that I was moving back to Thatch three days ago. But I would take his moody pouting if it meant I could wake up every day to “hammer smashes,” and hear my son’s sweet voice echo throughout the warehouse at all hours of the day.
I pulled my long blond hair up into a high ponytail as I emerged from the bathroom minutes later, and padded down the hallways to the front of the warehouse.
This warehouse had been the home of our grandparents’ business when Jagger and I were growing up, but had been cleared out and left to Jagger when they passed since they didn’t trust our mother to hold on to it.
I didn’t blame them.
Our grandparents had left their money equally split among our mother, Jagger, and me. While Jagger used a chunk of his for college and remodeling the warehouse into a place to live, our mom had blown through her third within two years of their passing. For years after, she tried to swindle Jagger out of his, and had even gone after Grey for money when she had spent most of Husband Number Eight’s money.
But we hadn’t seen or heard from Mom in a year and a half, and as awful as it sounded, our lives were better for it. She had never been a parent, only a person who brought endless heartache, and flitted in and out of our lives for as long as I could remember.
Jagger had raised me. I still had him and Keith. I didn’t need anyone else.
My smile from earlier returned when I found Jagger and Keith play-fighting in the living room with Aly crawling after them.
I sniffed dramatically and asked, “Is that burnt water I smell?”
Jagger paused and sent me a sarcastic look. “Ha h-uh! Time out,” he wheezed as he slowly fell to his knees, clutching his stomach.
