“I guess that would be okay. I wanna go see Daddysoon, though, okay?” She rolls onto her side, tucking her hands under her plump cheek. “I miss him.”
No matter what Christopher has done, I will never interfere in his relationship with the kids. But that doesn’t mean the words don’t taste like ash in my mouth as I tell her, “I know, baby. I bet he misses you too.” I lean down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Sweet dreams, Ginny. I love you.”
“Love you, Momma.”
Her eyes are already drifting closed as I flip on the night-light—one that projects colorful stars onto the ceiling—and my breath catches at Grafton’s thoughtfulness. With one last look at Ginny, I ease the door closed and head for Mase’s room, but slow down when I hear the low murmur of voices.
“...with my friend for a sleepover, and his dad took us to the baseball field.” His voice lowers, and I picture his scowl as he adds, “My dad’s never taken me to the baseball field.”
“Maybe we could go sometime,” Grafton suggests. “I’m not any good at baseball, but I’m sure you can teach me some moves.”
There’s a long pause. “I think I’d be okay with that.”
“What happened after you went to the field with your friend?”
“Well, we were walking back to the car afterward, and I saw my dad. He was standing on the sidewalk, and I thought it was weird because I heard him telling my mom he was working all weekend.” The more words that spill out, the more upset Mase grows. Everything in me demands that I step through the door and yank my boy into my arms, but something holds me back. “I don’t know who she was, but he had his arm around her.”
“Like, in a hug?” Grafton asks quietly.
“I guess, but…it made my stomach feel funny. And then he kissed her the same way he kisses my mom.”
“It’s okay, Mase,” Grafton reassures him softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I did,” he says, and his voice is choked like he’s fighting off tears. “I did. I knew it was wrong. I knew it. But I never told my mom.”
“This isn’t your fault, Mase.” The words are firm but gentle. I press trembling fingers against my mouth, trapping all the sounds inside. “You’re just a kid, trying to protect your mom.”
“When you see something wrong, you’re supposed to tell,” my son argues stubbornly. “I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t tell.”
“Why didn’t you?” Grafton asks simply.
“I knew it’d make Mom sad. I don’t know how I knew, but I just did. And I didn’t want her to be sad.” There’s a shaky inhale of air. “But now she’s sad anyway.”
“Come here, kid.” There’s a rustle of movement, and I can’t stop myself from stepping forward, peeking around the edge of the door. He is kneeling next to Mase’s bed, while my son sits on the edge. Grafton’s holding him in a tight hug, my son’s face pressed to his shoulder and his cheeks wet with tears. His shoulders are shaking with the force of his emotions, and my heart cracks.
This was never supposed to be his burden to carry, and knowing he’s been just trying to protect me this whole time…
“Is my dad bad?” Mase whispers brokenly. “Am I bad?”
“He’s not bad,” Grafton tells him firmly. “He just made a bad choice. And you? No. You might not have told your mom straight away, but sometimes we hold on to truths that might hurt someone, even when we know we shouldn’t. There’s no shame in trying to protect the peoplewe love. You’re not bad for wanting to look after your mom, Mase. And the way you’re feeling now? It’s because you’re a good person. Through and through.”
There’s a long pause, but Mase stops trembling, his body leaning heavily against Grafton’s. I try to remember the last time Christopher hugged him, and come up blank, which only sharpens the pain beating at me.
“Do you love my mom?” Mase suddenly asks, and my eyes lift to Grafton’s face, finding his stare already locked on me. My breath stalls in my throat, eyes widening with alarm, but he doesn’t blink, refusing to let me look away.
“We’re friends, your mom and me,” he tells my son quietly, his attention never moving from me. “But I think I could love her.” My eyes flare with surprise at his candor, but then he shoots me a wide smile before looking back down at Mase. “Bet I could love you and your sister, too.”
“Huh,” Mase murmurs, his brow knitting in thought. “That might be alright.”
“Is that because of your new bedroom?” Grafton teases, and my son lets out a sweet giggle.
“Maybe. And the playground outside, too.”
Chapter 22
Grafton
I’m the first one awake, which gives me plenty of time to order breakfast to be delivered. The knock comes at the door just as three sets of footsteps tromp down the stairs, the kids’ eyes wide as they take in all the containers of food in my hands.
