Page 4 of Cruz

He nods, and I get right to work, paying attention to what I’m doing so I don’t have to go straight into a writhing, messy nest of intrusive thoughts. If Liam can sass me, that’s a good thing. There were times in the past when he’d been so sick with nerves after doing something wrong and having to tell me, even though I was never a hard parent to talk to and was never angry or sharp with him, that he was almost non-verbal.

I don’t know what the big guy’s deal is. Can he talk? Does he just not like to? I don’t want to admit it, but when it comes to men, Liam’s right. It’s not that one bad apple spoiled everything for me. It’s more than I wanted to focus on raising my son and giving him everything I could. That didn’t involve me having time to date random guys, hoping to find a winner in a pool of ones who were usually… not. I realized early on that whoever I dated meant that eventually, I’d have to introduce them to Liam. I wasn’t more protective than the next parent, but that never sat well with me. I didn’t want Liam to get attached to someone and then have things not work out. I didn’t want to put Liam into a position, where someone could hurt him.

So, other than a few dates over the years, most of the time it was just us and we were happy. It felt like we were building something that was entirely ours. It might not be everyone’s dream, but having some money set aside, being my own boss, and putting Liam through college were the only things I ever truly wanted. To me, this place is home and it’s a big fucking deal.

I finish two cappuccinos. I slide one across the counter for Cruz and take the other for myself.

I don’t want to say that my eyes linger a little bit too long when Cruz steps forward and his jacket parts to reveal a t-shirt stretched tight over a massive, hard chest, but I’m also not into lying to myself.

I fully confess that the only times I ever take notice of a man, it’s always the wrong kind, walking bundle of red flags edition. I don’t think I have a type, but if I did, it would be all the men that are totally fucking wrong in the wrongest of wrong ways. Yet another reason that never dating again and not having to go through all the drama and bullshit is appealing.

I never even considered getting back up on that horse after Liam moved to Seattle to work a year before college. I hated being an empty nester. Hated the silence of not having him in our little apartment on top of the shop. I started listening to podcasts and audiobooks instead. I wasn’t going to go out and find someone just because I was sort of… lonely. Liam not being at home, didn’t free me up to do anything. I still work just as much, and I can make myself happy. Liam moving was an adjustment. That was all.

“Mom?”

I realize that I’m standing here, frozen and staring at nothing. “Sorry.”

“Will you please sit down?”

“I’d rather stand.”

Liam inhales deeply, his cheeks getting a little red. “That’s rude.”

“What’s rude is coming in here and switching my open sign off during business hours.”

“This is important. It couldn’t wait. You’re not going to like what I have to say. You’re not going to like it a whole lot. So… please. Come here.” Liam sits down in the book nook corner. He pats the spot beside him on the couch. “Please.”

I walk over, but my body feels numb and there’s a rush in my ears that makes me feel a little bit faint. I clutch my mug as though it’s a lifeline.

Cruz takes one of the chairs across from us, though his huge frame causes the poor piece of furniture to do some very animated groaning.

“Okay…” Liam says as soon as Cruz is seated and shoots him a loaded look. Liam’s eyes track to me and there’s so much there, guilt, worry, sorrow—that my stomach churns and my chest tightens. “I’m going to explain everything. You’re going to be mad and upset and you’re going to be disappointed. I get that. Let me finish and you can be all those things at the end once we get there, okay?”

I swallow hard and vow that I won’t interrupt. Not now, when I want to remind Liam that I’ve never raised my voice. I’ve never even punished him without talking to him about what was happening first. I’ve tried to be fair. To be an adult and still be someone he can love and trust. I’ve tried to protect him without being restrictive. I’ve tried to explain that I’m human and I have emotions too, so that he can understand why I might be hurt, or disappointed in some of his decisions. I’ve also explained that I’ve made plenty of my own mistakes, and that I’ve wounded and disappointed myself too.

“Okay.”

It’s a dreary day behind us, drizzling, the drops collecting on the windowpanes. There’s a green truck parked down the street, but close enough to the front of the café that it might belong to Cruz. Liam drove his old car into work this morning. That’s one bonus of him working at a shop. His high school first car is in better condition than it’s ever been. I didn’t see it pull up, and I doubt it’s parked around back. Some twinge in my stomach tells me that Cruz gave Liam a ride. Maybe that’s how they know each other. I’ve driven by the garage Liam works at multiple times, always in the evening when I’m out doing errands, since it’s pretty much the only time I have off.

Another twinge coils in my stomach. Motherly warning. Concern. Worry. It spools out and turns into apprehension long before I drop into my seat and take a fortifying breath to fill up my burning lungs. Liam waits for me to brace myself, and then he starts talking.

Chapter 3

Cruz

This is going badly. No, that’s wrong. It’s not going. It’s gone. It’s so far gone that we’re not even in the territory of bad anymore.

Ten minutes ago, I leaned forward in this chair, ready to catch Sloane if she fainted and pitched forward. Liam is wrapping things up, but he hasn’t even given his mom the news yet. She’s gone from pink cheeked to gray to ashen, but throughout it all, she’s never lost that proactive, motherly look that says she’ll do anything for Liam, even if it means taking on the whole world.

After Liam’s done, he falls silent. Sloane is a lovely woman. She’s bright. Vibrant. Not just in her clothing choices with the funky sweater and her tight blue leggings that peek out where the knit sweater with a big cow on the front ends, but all over. Her dark green eyes and naturally sandy hair are lovely. She’s done her makeup subtly, but she’s stunning. Her heart shaped face gives her a sweet, youthful appearance, even though I know from Liam that she’s in her late thirties.

She bites down on her lip so hard that it changes from soft pink to an angry red.

She’s gone through ten shades of terrified but not once have I seen true anger flash across her face. She’s horrified, but as we sit in silence, our coffee forgotten, her expression hardens. She stops gnawing at her lip. Her hands clench around the mug she’s rested on her knee. I can already see her figuring out how to make this right. Liam’s told her the bad parts—about the gang, about prospecting for the club, about telling Sloane the wrong name of the garage he works at because he didn’t want her to know it was club owned, but he hasn’t told her why I’m here yet.

“It’s okay.” Sloane leans forward, sets her mug on the vintage oval wood coffee table and pulls Liam into a hug. Her tone wavers, like she’s trying to convince herself. She wraps her arms tightly around Liam and holds him like he’s five years old.

It’s not surprising that he starts sniffling. If my mom ever tried to comfort me that way, whether I was a kid or a grown man, I’m pretty sure that I would probably sob too. Maybe not. It’s hard to speculate when my parents were drunk half the time, and the other half just naturally cold and nasty.