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“I’m fine,” she said, hoping to convince her son, if not herself. “But I do need a shower and to get dressed.”
Because maybe if she wasn’t in her pajamas she wouldn’t feel so vulnerable.
“I’m dressed.” Justice pointed to his shorts and T-shirt, then glanced at Ross and proudly announced, “I picked out my clothes myself and can tie my shoes.”
“That’s great,” Ross praised, smiling at the boy with a raw look to his eyes that Brielle had never seen. Her heart squeezed at the monumental events happening around her.
Ross was there. Justice was there. Ross knew he was Justice’s father. Justice knew Ross was his father. How many times had she imagined this moment?
“I’m pretty sure you and I can rustle up something edible that’ll pass for breakfast for us all while your mom does her thing.”
“I can make my own cereal,” Justice announced proudly, puffing out his little chest. “I can pour my favorites without making a mess. Mommy doesn’t like me eating sweet cereals too often, but she’s so proud of me being a big boy and making my own.”
Her son, always a talker, prat
tled on about his favorite breakfast cereal while Brielle could do no more than stare at Ross. He was going to make her breakfast? What, and add strychnine? Because she sure hadn’t expected him to be nice to her. Was it all for Justice’s sake?
“What do you think?” Ross asked, removing his hand from hers and immediately filling her with a sense of loss. “Hungry, Mommy?”
She missed his touch already.
Which was crazy.
This was not about her and Ross.
That wasn’t why he was here. Whatever had been there or might have been between them had ended last night when he’d learned of Justice. Justice was their only real connection now.
She wasn’t her mother.
She’d do well to remember that.
“You shouldn’t call me that.”
“What would you like me to call you?”
Yours.
No, she didn’t want him to call her that.
Not any more. She’d just established that, hadn’t she?
“You are a mommy and he’s the daddy, so it’s okay if he calls you that,” Justice helpfully pointed out, pulling his basket of coloring books and crayons over in front of him. When he found the book he wanted, one full of his favorite caped crusader, he took out a crayon and held the box out towards Ross.
Ross Lane coloring? Brielle just couldn’t picture it, but Ross took the box, selected a color and began to help Justice fill in between the lines as if he did the same thing every morning, as if he’d do whatever his son wanted of him.
Brielle stared at her son in amazement. Oh, the resilience of a four-year-old. Brielle stood, ignoring Ross’s outstretched hand, and pulled out a mixing bowl.
“No.”
She stopped, turned toward Ross, startled at his harsh word.
“Justice and I are going to make breakfast for you,” he clarified in a more normal tone. He glanced at his son’s expectant face. “Right after we finish coloring this page, right, buddy?” His blue gaze went back to Brielle. “Go, take a bath, relax, do your hair, whatever it is you women do. We’ll take care of this and when you’re ready, we’ll eat.”
Brielle hesitated.
Dared she leave Justice alone with Ross?
“We’ll be fine.”
