Page 3 of Cruz

I’m always happy to see Liam, but my big, motherly smile dies a hard death when I note the man my son is with.

Big, thug-like, muscular. A total meathead. He could give a grizzly bear a run for its money when it comes to size. He’s rocking what most meathead thugs rock: a heavy leather jacket, stained, faded jeans, and big boots. His hair is cropped on the sides and longer on top in that typical I think I’m a badass, but really, I’m just a total dickhead haircut that’s popular with total dickheads. Under his clothing, I imagine that he’s as covered with bad tattoos as he is of bad attitude and even worse decisions that he exudes. He’s built. I’m guessing he belongs to Satan’s Angels MC, the biker gang that runs the town.

Okay, I’m being a judgmental bitch. I swear that I’m not usually, but when anyone walks in with my son… yeah. I’m going to judge whether Liam is safe with them.

Also? I might be a little bitter when it comes to meatheads. I get that not everyone is into the whole asshole brotherhood, locker room talk, toxic machismo vibe, but the ones that are, really are.

The wannabe badass beefcake flips the deadbolt into place on the glass door and reaches over to flip my electric open sign off.

Oh, hell no.

“It’s the middle of the day!” It’s a stupid thing to protest, because when Macho Meathead turns around, he’s clearly got something brewing on his face that is all shades of wrong.

My eyes quickly sweep to Liam. He lowers his head, refusing to meet my gaze, which speaks volumes as to what’s going on here. He has something to tell me, and it’s so bad that he felt the need to close the store in order to have my full attention.

I cross my arms, mirroring the thug’s stance. There’s a scowl on my face, and I’m trying to ignore the way my heart is hammering in my chest. Not just because there’s clearly something my son wants to talk about, but because I’m trying to ignore his companion’s piercing gray eyes, bone structure that would make an artist weep, and a body made for sin.

Damn it.

“Liam?” I turn my attention back to my son and very pointedly ignore the way my libido, which generally ranges from disinterested to full on MIA. “What’s going on?”

Liam’s always had that sheepish look when he’s done something wrong, but the way his whole face drops right along with his shoulders and the rest of him seems to wilt in a chain reaction? This is reserved for the insanely bad. The stuff I might not even want to know about but will inevitably learn to live with because he’s my son and there’s nothing in the world that will make me stop loving him.

I promised myself I’d never be the kind of parent that my mom was, or even my dad. The kind who turfs their daughter out to fend for herself when she’s still a minor and needs them more than anything.

I’m only human and I’ve made plenty of my own mistakes. I only ever wanted to give Liam two things: a better life than I had, and unconditional love. I’d say the usual parental wishes, but some parents don’t wish those things for their children.

“Mom,” Liam breathes. He’s nineteen years old, but he still has his baby face. It’s a little at odds with his long, shaggy hair and his massive six-foot-four frame. “I think you need to sit down for this.”

“Hmm.” I step over to the coffee machine. “Not going to happen.” I don’t need to do the cliched thing and park my ass just to hear bad news. I’d like to think that I’m a little more seasoned than that. “I’ll make you a coffee.”

I’m already reaching for the bag of beans. I try to keep my face neutral, for Liam’s sake. It’s something I’ve always done. I don’t like freaking out. Melting down never helped anything. Tears don’t solve problems. As a parent, I’ve always tried to keep it together. Not toxically, but enough that Liam can depend on me. Even if I can’t help, or I’m not wise enough to know what to say, I try to figure out someone who can, and is. I’m not a big believer in faking anything, so I don’t muster a smile for the stranger.

Whatever Liam got himself into, this guy knows something about it or he wouldn’t be here. He might even be the reason for Liam looking as though the sky just caved in on him and rained down liver and onions.

Still, there’s no reason to go full force toxic waste. For all I know, this man could be trying to help. Probably not, but I’ll give it the slim benefit of the doubt. “Can I get you a coffee?”

Liam cuts in front of the larger, older guy. Grizzly Bear Central has about four inches on my son and he’s about two feet wider. “Cruz doesn’t—that is, sure. Yes. Thanks, Mom. Whatever you make is fine.”

Cruz. Of course his name is Cruz. That’s the perfect asshole name.

I dip down and get the milk and cream out of the fridge. This, I can do. I’m good at this. The world could be ending, and I’d be in here making coffee, and it would somehow feel right. “Allergies or intolerances?”

“Not that I know of.” Liam keeps answering for the goon. Maybe the guy’s not much of a talker. Maybe he prefers crushing skulls, knocking people out cold, and other general thuggery to polite human interaction.

“Sorry. My mom hates most men due to the fact that my sperm donor was a total asshole.”

My eyes nearly cross. I rip the milk away from the steamer. “Liam! I don’t hate men.”

“She has a type that she extra dislikes. Jocks are number one. Bikers number two. Guys with lifted trucks, three. Guys in suits, four.”

Jesus Christ! “That might be true,” I tell Liam, holding out his cappuccino in one of my funky shop mugs. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t treat people with respect. That’s important.”

“I think that trust shouldn’t be given until it’s earned.” Liam’s eyes wander over the shelves of fun mugs behind me. They’re just as eccentric as my sweater collection.

“That’s a great policy, until you have to work in customer service. The customer might not always be right, but it takes a lot for me to kick them out and not take their money. Fortunately for the world, there’s this thing called the internet. Great marketing tool. Unfortunately for the world, there’s this thing called the internet. Great bad review tool.”

I glance over at Cruz. I’m surprised to see his lips twitch. “Cappuccino okay?”