Page 17 of His Holy Chaos

Ford's expression cycles through about six emotions in two seconds, none of them comfortable. I watch every single one.

"Mom, I told you not to take your eyes off her for even a second," he says, his voice sharp.

His mother rolls her eyes, and I mean a full, dramatic roll that would put any brat to shame, and clutches Angel tighter. "Don't tell me how to raise kids. I raised the four of you."

She shoots me a kind look and walks away, Angel babbling over her shoulder.

I chuckle, and Ford frowns at me again. It seems to be his default setting around me.

"What happened?" he asks, even though his mother just explained it.

I shrug. "I was here and saw her pulling herself up on the bench. She was about to go face-first into the stone, so I grabbed her. Rocked her for a bit. She calmed down fast. She's a tough kid."

Ford is quiet for a moment. Something shifts in his face, something softer than I've seen before.

"Thank you," he says, and he lets out a breath.

"You're really badass, you know that?" I say. "You scold even your mom."

He gives me that exasperated look, the one I'm starting to collect and love, and I grin back at him, because what else can I do? I just held his baby, or grandbaby, or whoever Angel is to him, and charmed his mother, and we both know that changes things, even if neither of us is going to say it out loud.

☐

There are some things in life that aren't worth denying. I know I'm cute. I know I'm a good sub. I know I'm funny, and that I can be nice, charming, and kind when I want to be. I know I'm good at my IT job, fixing bugs, the best on my team, and that's saying something, as I work with Alfie, and the boy is a genius.

And I know that I can sing.

When I was a kid, my mom made me take lessons every day because she thought my voice was the most impressive thing ever. She used to make me sing My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion to all of the guests at house parties, and she used to bribe me with chocolate, so I didn't bolt. It worked. And deep down, I enjoyed singing, even when I was a stupid ass teen that hated everything.

So, when I see the chance to sing to Angel in front of Ford, I take it. I'm sitting at the back. I kind of love that he's a Catholic. No disrespect, but some of the kinkiest people I've ever met were religious. And me sitting there enduring a whole two-hour lecture about Jesus just to impress Ford has to show him how much of a masochist I really am, and how I can endure suffering for a long time, and even like it.

Martha and Angel are right by us after the service ended. She's trying to put Angel down for a nap in the stroller, and Angel is having none of it. She's fussy and crying. It's the cutest thing. I never minded babies crying in public spaces, because, first, she's a baby, and we're adults, who should get a grip and control our nerves, they don't cry because they want to. Second, if I could, I'd be making a fuss and crying in public too. I'd scream at any minor inconvenience at the top of my lungs and get everything I want doing that.

"May I, ma'am?" I ask her with my arms stretched to get Angel. She breaks into a smile. She remembers me from last time.

"None of that ma'am nonsense, I told you, sweetie. And you don't need to," she says, but she's passing me the baby already. Angel giggles when she sees me, and it's the cutest thing in the world. It melts my cold and lonely heart.

I see Ford eyeing me while he talks to some parishioners. Good because I don't want him talking to other people who aren't me. I push the thought away because I know his whole focus is on me, even at a distance.

It's showtime. I rehearsed the song at my house. I planned this whole thing. And it's time to shine. I start gently rocking Angel, while looking at her beautiful baby eyes, and start singing, softly, but doing my best to sound as good as I can make it.

It's Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen, and I'm not sure if this song is really religious or not, but it sounds really good.

It's just like at my mom's old dinner parties. People start to pay attention, shocked or surprised, maybe both. I pretend I don't notice. My whole focus is on Angel, who stopped crying and is fascinated by me.

When I finish the song, people are still staring, Angel has drifted to sleep, and Martha has her mouth open in awe.

"Sweetheart, this was unbelievable! You have real talent. What a voice! Has anyone ever told you that?"

"I do?" I say, faking it. People eat that shit up. "Oh, why, you're too kind, ma'am." I say again, giving Angel back to her arms, because I know Ford is close to us now, and I know he must love this whole honorifics deal, Mr. Dom.

"And it's so impressive how much Angel calms down with you. You should join the choir, honey! Fordy-bear runs that. He'd love to have you there!"

"Mom!" Ford protests, flushing. It's so funny. I let out a huge laugh. "Please don't call me that in front of other people."

"It's alright, Fordy, I won't tell anyone," I say, making fun of him. Something primal and feral flashes in his eyes but he controls himself, his nostrils flaring. "Ma'am, I'd love to, but unfortunately, your son has informed me that sign-ups are closed. I'll have to wait until the next trials."

"Nonsense!" she exclaims. "We always need extra help. And we can't ignore a voice like yours. Consider yourself part of the choir, honey, and if he has something to say, he'll say it to me!"