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He hadn’t meant to say it. He definitely hadn’t intended to by design. That name was reserved for someone who had earned the title, and he hadn’t, not yet. He hoped he was on his way, that one day Axl would want to call him that, but man, he hadn’t wanted to force Chloe’s hand.
“Sorry,” he mumbled at her astonished look. “It was an accident.”
“It’s okay.” Swiftly, she brushed back Axl’s wayward hair. “C’mon, buddy. Let’s go get you ready so we can go to the store. Gotta get grocerie
s for the Ax-man.”
“Chopter?”
She had to laugh. “Go fish. We’re going in the car like usual.” She shot Michael another glance and scurried out of the room.
Actually scurried, like a mouse fleeing a certain trap.
Well, fuck.
He went back to the other side of the table to pick up his oatmeal and resume his viewing at the window. Even though it had been only a few minutes, the mood had been broken. From jubilance to a regular family morning to the feeling that he was going to have what he wanted pulled out from underneath him, just because he wanted it a little too much.
Ry had tried to tell him a couple of times that this family thing, it wasn’t real. You couldn’t meet someone who was practically a stranger and build a life with them. Sure, that worked in movies and books, but in real life? No. He was setting himself up for a fall. Setting up Chloe too, and she had a child to think about, so really, he should know better.
But dammit, he didn’t know better. He didn’t want to either. What he wanted was this. Just this. A wife and a kid who he could love and be loved back. A real foundation for the rest of his life. His career was insane enough. The idea of screwing his way through a bevy of groupies had lost its appeal for him that night at the House of Blues.
Maybe most people didn’t fall in love at first sight—or re-sight, in his case—but too bad for them. Because he had, and he was sick and tired of apologizing for it. Especially to himself.
Better yet, he’d fallen in love with Axl too. That had taken longer, probably due to the heap of fear that accompanied many of his interactions with Chloe’s baby. Still, he was getting there. He could figure it out. Other guys had, and he would too. All he needed was time.
“Michael.”
He pushed another spoonful of his now soggy oatmeal between his lips, chewed, and swallowed. Anything to give himself another second so everything he felt wouldn’t be written in chalk paint on his face.
Hey, I love you. I love your son. Please give me a chance to get this right. Just don’t go.
Forcing down the last of his oatmeal, he turned to face her. She’d changed out of her pajamas and now wore jeans and a thermal top. Her hair was in a bouncy ponytail and she wore the scantest amount of makeup.
He’d never seen anyone more beautiful.
“Hey,” he said, putting his bowl on the table. The spoon clattered against the stoneware. Chloe had bought the bowls, a whole matching set of them. She thought he should have sets of things. Dishes, towels, socks. He was starting to agree.
Sets weren’t half fucking bad.
“Hey.” She gripped the back of one of the chairs. “Axl’s playing in his room. I can’t be long.”
“We should get another one of those baby monitors. Sucks the other one broke.”
“Yes. They’re very handy. Not a good idea to turn your back on an almost two-year-old for a second. Did you mean it?”
Her rush of words nearly pushed him off-guard. She’d lulled him into a sense of complacency with the banal talk, then asked him the biggest question of his life.
“Yes.” There was no hesitation. “I think of myself as his father. I know I’m not. I know you don’t think of me that way either, but in my head, in here,” he rubbed his fist over his chest then dropped his hand, feeling like a chump, “I do. And I can’t stop it or slow it down. I don’t want to.”
She released a shuddery breath. “You know we’re asking for trouble here.”
“I know I was in trouble before you came into my world. But this? This is the sanest I’ve ever been. All I’m asking for is something I never got, and never realized how much I craved it. A real home and family. Something that wasn’t created out of money or convenience or social standing.”
“Not created out of convenience?” She laughed, almost hysterically. “We wouldn’t even be standing here if we hadn’t gotten loaded and made out at a club.”
“You’re right. We wouldn’t be, and I would’ve missed out the best thing in my life. So you know, go alcohol.” He skirted the table and walked over to her, taking her cold hands in his. “The way we started was crazy. But the rest of us isn’t. Not at the core.”
“You’re just trying to make up for something in your childhood,” she whispered, eyes far too bright for his liking.
