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“Wow, buddy, that sounds really scary. I bet it felt real, too, huh?” he asked, rubbing a hand on his thigh like it was Blaze’s back, willing the intention to travel down the phone to his scared son.
“Yeah, it felt really, really real,” Blaze admitted, but his words sounded stronger.
“And what do we know about dreams?” Ryder asked, deepening his voice the way he knew Blaze responded to.
“That they’re not real, even though they feel real,” his son answered.
“That’s right. Sometimes they’re your imagination playing tricks on you, and other times they’re just ways your mind expresses that it’s afraid of stuff.”
“Yeah. Like mamma said you were riding your motorcycle to Seattle, and that there’s lots of rain and you might skid off the road,” Blaze explained, sounding proud that he’d remembered a good example. “Maybe that made me scared, so I had a bad dream.”
Ryder clenched his phone and mentally cursed Lynne. How the judge thought she was the more stable parent he’d never know.
“That’s right. And you did the right thing to ask mamma to call me so we could talk. Good job, buddy.”
“Thanks,” Blaze replied, and now Ryder could hear pride in his voice.
“I’m only going to be gone for a little while, and then we’ll have lots of time together.”
“Next month is almost Christmas!” Blaze cheered, making Ryder smile. Hopefully Lynne would relax on the rules so he could have Blaze for a full week and not strictly the two days their custody agreement dictated.
“That’s right!”
“You’ll be back for Christmas, right dad?” Blaze asked, and that’s when Ryder knew Blaze was back to 100%—when daddy became dad.
“Absolutely,” he agreed. “Now, what do we do after a bad dream?”
“Sing our song,” Blaze said promptly, and started right intoExit Sandman. Ryder got his voice low and deep and started singing, “Say your prayers, little one…”
The lyrics to the song were mostly about getting back to sleep after a nightmare, and a little about how nightmares might be real, but it was a rocking song. That it drove Lynne up the wall was a small bonus. She was down with the getting back to sleep part, but not with the beast under the bed line.
After the song, Ryder wished Blaze a goodnight and ended the call just as Lynne tried to speak again. When your job was done, there was no need for chitchat, especially with a bitchy ex.
He hopped off the counter and grabbed his duffle, heading to the bedroom. He thought about Blaze and Christmas break, which reminded him of summer break, which opened up the memories he tried to ignore.
They always started with the laughter. Kids screeching as they jumped into the pool, splashing. Birthday cake bits scattered all over the pool deck, Lynne freaking out about it even though it was Ryder’s house and Ryder’s mess to clean up. “Let kids be kids,” he’d told her, only for her to go off on how undisciplined of a dad he was. In mid-rant, they both hear it… the gunshot.
“God,” he whispered, and the sound of his shaky voice in the concrete bunker of an apartment shook him out of his memory. He shoved the rest of that day down in his mind and heaved his duffle onto the king-sized mattress.
He had to hope Blaze’s nightmare was because of what Lynne said about the dangers of riding in bad weather. She was a bitch, but if anything weird was going on at school or with any of Blaze’s friends, she would have told him.
That must be it. He didn’t want to think that it was because this was his first job that was longer than a couple of days. Or that he’d chosen money over his son.
Christ, had he made the right decision?
He heard the hum of the elevator being called down, and another thought occurred to him.
What the fuck was he doing inviting a woman to move in with him? Sure, her help would be valuable, but he didn’t need her around all the time. She’d revert to what women always did, despite how many ground rules he might lie down—pry into his private life and envision a future. His future was his son, nothing else.
Ryder rubbed his tired eyes and sighed. Lately, it felt like he was making all the wrong choices.
He walked out of the bedroom just as the elevator door slid open. Nita appeared, cursing as she dragged two enormous suitcases, several shoulder bags and a small carry case out of the elevator.
As she swung around to look at him, her polka-dot skirt swirled and he caught the image of Betty Boop on it.
Annoyance filled him. Despite her tattoos and over-confidence about sex, she struck him as the kind of woman who would be clingy. And he wasn’t even thinking about how superior she would act with all her lawyerly knowledge she’d be flinging at him constantly.
She marched toward the bedroom and spun to look at him, her skirt swirling again and her hands on her hips.
