It’s the only thing that’s consumed my thoughts since I re-met him. But he doesn’t need to know that. “I’ll consider it.”
CHAPTER 21
Victoria
Sweat streams down my ass crack, and all I want is a hot shower and a burger.
What is it about working out and feeling stronger that makes you want to eat all the shit in the whole world? On leg day, my appetite is unrelenting. I haven’t turned into a calorie-counting, protein-obsessed gym bunny—at least not yet—but I try to lean heavier into protein on leg days because otherwise, my muscles get jittery.
I was going to pick Wyatt up from daycare at the gym and eat on the way back to the house, but I stink—like, “What the fuck is that smell? Holy crap it’s me!” kind of stink. And I need to rinse off.
Wyatt won’t come near his mama if she’s a stench-ball.
I can’t help but walk past daycare and watch him through the window for just a minute. Some parents can’t wait to have some time away from their kids, but if every moment of my time was spent with my son, I’d be a happy woman.
He’s playing with a little girl that is leading him across the room by his wrist. It’s adorable. He’s such a sweet boy, so easy going and loves making new friends. Like his dad, I’d guess.
As I turn to leave, movement catches my eye, and I can’t help but stare as Raffi stands in front of a woman with a kid wrapped around her leg. Raffi’s arms are moving as he communicates to them in sign language. Digging deep in the corners of my memory, I vaguely recall him saying that the jail and bail where we met—which raised funds for an ASL charity—was important to him. But I can’t remember why. Is someone in his family deaf?
The girl answers him, letting go of her mom’s leg for long enough to answer whatever Raffi has said and duck back behind her. Raffi squats down in front of her and signs something else. The little girl’s smile lights up her whole face as the mom bites the inside of her cheek like she might cry.
My ovaries might explode.
After Wyatt was born, I said I didn’t want any more kids. Like, ever. He was my one-and-done. Raising a kid by yourself—even with the best mom in the world for support—isn’t easy. But standing here watching the man who made Wyatt with me, I can imagine a whole future together. Green pastures, picnic blankets, kids using Raffi as a freakin’ play horse. And all he’s doing is being adorable and communicating to a shy kid at the gym.
What the fuck is this sorcery?
Grounding myself in late night feedings, exploding diapers, teething, fevers, trips to the pediatrician, and my heart stopping while I watched him sleep to make sure his chest was moving wasn’t easy.
This man is so charismatic, people are instantly drawn to him.
Spoiler alert: It’s me. I’m people.
I was drawn to him the minute he joined me in lock up, and I’m drawn to him now. The more I stare at him and the little girl, the more my heart yearns for that to be our boy. I want Wyatt to have a relationship with his father, I want themto be close, to play T-ball, and soccer, and make sandwiches together.
But one hard knock on the ice could ruin everything all over again.
As far as I know, Raffi doesn’t see me as I make my way into the changing rooms to get ready for my shower. My tears blend with the hot water washing away my sweat.
Am I holding myself back from happiness for myself and my child over something that may never happen? Perhaps.
I’d never make him choose between me and his dreams. He can have a relationship with Wyatt, but I need to keep my heart locked up safe. I can’t let him break me all over again. I can’t go through that heartache. For as long as he plays hockey, Raffi and I can’t be together. It’s just that simple to me.
Once bitten, twice shy.
Once forgotten… I dunno how to finish that sentence, but I’m not sure I’m willing to take the risk.
Is it a deal breaker? It might be.
CHAPTER 22
Raffi
When I get to the gym, my Firecracker is bent over a bench doing single arm kettlebell rows. Her ass is pointed right at me. If I was a lesser man, I’d grip her hips and grind against her perfect butt until I covered her in my cum. But instead, I’m just going to think about it inside my brain and probably rub one out to the memory when I get home later.
“You made me cry again, you fucker,” she’s spitting at Phil, who is undoubtedly losing count of her reps as she talks to him. “That movie made me bawl.”
He smiles despite her venom. “Which one?”
