“I might not say it all the time, but I love you. I’m proud of you and you got this, Big Head.”
Shaking my head, I said, “Whatever, Menace.”
I’d given her that nickname sometime around the sixth grade, after she locked me out of the house on purpose and made me wait outside for Dad to get home. To get her back, I sneaked into her room and read her diary, then snitched to Mom that she’d kissed a boy behind the bleachers. For several days, I feared for my life while I waited for her to take her revenge. It wasn’t until I thought she’d given up that she made her move, busting all my game cartridges with a hammer and tossing the pieces into the pond behind my parent’s house. Things escalated from there. The battle lines were set, and she’d declared war by destroying my most prized possession. That summer, we took turns setting elaborate booby traps, ruining property, and starting shit to get each other in trouble.
She gaped. “You tried it.”
“Love you, too, B.” I ended the call and looked at Ezra again. “You good, Chunk?”
As if he hadn’t spent the last several hours crying his soul out, he cooed. And it was the cutest sound I’d ever heard. Picking him up, I nuzzled his cheek with my nose and placed a kiss to his brow. “We’re going to be alright.”
He gummed my nose, leaving thick slobber there.
Groaning, I wiped my face with my sleeve. “What did I tell you about that drool, man?”
Ezra bounced in my arms.
“You hungry?” I walked him into the kitchen. “Alright, let’s get you fed.”
An hour later,Ezra was knocked out in his playpen. I decided to use the free time to wash a load of clothes and change my sheets. Again. I swear I must’ve switched them out three times since he’d gotten here.
I had just finished when the doorbell rang. Shuffling to the front of the house, I opened it.
Rissa smiled. “Hi.”
Wrapping a hand around her neck, I tugged her to me and kissed her. “Hi.”
“I replied to your text,” she said, brushing past me. She dropped her purse on the kitchen counter. “You never responded.”
“Oh, shit. Never mind. Blake helped me.”
“Where’s the baby?”
“Sleeping. Finally.”
“Is he okay?”
“No fever. Blake said he might just be missing his mother. I think he might be a little asshole in waiting, just like the rest of us.”
She walked around the living room, picking up pillows and turning the decorative vases. Peering into the playpen, she brushed her finger over his cheek. “Well, he is a Young.”
I studied her. As always, she exuded class, elegance. In the way she dressed, the way she carried herself. Yet, aside from looking gorgeous in a crisp, off-white button-up blouse tucked into high-waisted, camel-colored slacks, she seemed off. “Are you okay?”
Sighing, she plopped down on the couch. “Long day at work.” She kicked her shoes off. “My bosses are trying to woo me back.”
I joined her on the sofa. “Is that a good thing?”
She eyed me warily. “A month ago, it would’ve been great.”
“What changed?”
“I don’t think LA is where I want to be anymore. There’s too much baggage here. I’m ready to just start over.”
Curious, I asked, “What do you mean by that?”
“New city, new job, new life.” She stared at the ceiling pensively. “I just want to feel like I’m doing something important, like I’m leaving a legacy.”
“I get that.”
