“Yeah, kid,” I say once I catch my breath. “I bet she’s after his firetruck.”
In the same lightning speed, Charlie changes the subject to his new favorite TV show. I know two songs from the show by heart by the time he follows me outside to throw away the pizza boxes in the trash.
“. . . and I’m gonna sleep in my Darf Vadar tent in daddy’s room so I don’t see Santa.”
We’re back on Christmas again.
“That sounds like fun,” I say, tossing in the boxes. “I loved tents when I was younger too.”
“Yup.” Charlie swings his hands as we turn back for the door, but my breath catches when one of his hands reaches up and snags mine.
A knot tightens in my chest. Not in a bad way. Sort of like warmth blooms from my center to my limbs.
Until it ends.
“Charlie.” Drake stands on the walkway leading to the front door when we come around the house. He’s still in his fire shirt, and there is fatigue written all over his face.
He says his son’s name, but his eyes are locked on me, then slowly,painfully slow, his attention drops to the way his kid is clinging to my hand.
If Charlie senses the sudden shift in mood, he doesn’t show it.
“Daddy!” He releases me and sprints as fast as he can over to Drake.
For a second, Drake forgets to be a jerk and crouches so he can hug his son. “Hey, buddy. I missed you. Did you have fun with Auntie A?”
“Yup. And Ryder got me peetha.”
Drake gives his son a smile, but when he lifts his eyes, there is little love in them for me. I cross my arms over my chest. I meant what I said to Ava. If he can’t handle this, that’s on him. He’s not chasing me off. Again.
“Why don’t you go get your stuff,” he says to Charlie.
The kid doesn’t even argue. He hurries away like he can’t wait to go home and hang out with his dad. Sign of a good father, I guess.
“What are you doing here?” Drake asks the second the door closes.
“Not really your business.”
“When my kid is involved, it is.”
Okay, fair. “Ava and I had plans tonight before she found out she needed to watch him. They asked me to stay. I did. Are we done here?”
I make a move to head for the house.
“Did you get my calls?”
I stop. My eyes close for a heartbeat, but I don’t answer.
Drake takes a step closer. “Did you? Did you even listen to my voicemails? Or did you see my name and delete them?”
I should tell him those two messages are still there, unheard, taunting me. I should say it, but I don’t. “Why would I ever answer a call or keep a message from you? Call me crazy, but I wasn’t in the mood to hear what a disease I am, or how no one really wants me, or how I was—what was it you told me—oh, I was a convenient friend. But you never really liked me.”
Drake drops his chin. “Ryder, I said a lot of things and—”
“But did you saythosethings?”
We both spin around. Ava is on the porch, blue fire in her eyes when she looks at her brother.
“Avie—”
