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The word feels weird on my tongue, the letters wrong. But her name feels more right than anything ever has.
It's gotta be because she represents help. Help that I need for my son. Yeah, that's definitely it.
And I'm just not going to think about the way she felt clinging to me on the back of my bike.
Or the way she laughed when I opened it up on the highway.
Or the way I fucked my hand in the shower that night to fantasies of her pouty pink lips stretched around my cock.
I'm not going to think about any of that. I'm going to keep it professional.
I straighten my shoulders and march through Ma's house, careful to not let the screen door slam behind me. I want to see if I can observe her with him for a few minutes.
People mostly show their truest selves when they don't think anyone is looking.
I turn the corner and stop just outside the kitchen and take in the scene.
Evangeline is sitting at the table with Hunter, a massive pad of paper spread out in front of them. They're both hunched over, their heads bent low, as they work on something together. Hunter holds a purple marker, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration as he carefully draws something. Evangeline is watching him with a soft, patient expression on her face.
My chest tightens as I watch them, something warm and protective stirring in my gut. This is my son, and this girl is a stranger. But something about the way they're working together, so in sync, like they've known each other for years, makes me feel like I'm intruding on a personal moment. Which is fucking ridiculous, considering he's my kid.
But then Hunter looks up and sees me, his face lighting up with a huge grin. “Dad!” he exclaims, jumping up from his chair running to me.
I bend down and scoop him up, bringing him to me for a big bear hug. He's five now, and I'm not sure how many more years I'll get where he wants me to lift him up in big hug displays like this. So I try to take advantage of them when I can.
Evangeline stands, her cheeks going pink as she looks from Hunter to me. “Silas,” she says, her voice soft and lips parted.
I tuck that expression away for later.
“Evangeline.” I try to be polite, but it comes out more gruff than I intended.
I set Hunter down on his feet and he dashes back to the table, which I can see now is covered in various papers.
“Dad, come look at what me and Eve made today!” he says, waving me closer.
“I—I didn't know Hunter was your son,” she says, clasping her hands behind her back. It only serves to push out her chest further. It doesn't matter if she's completely covered by a faded tee, I remember the way those perfect tits felt pressed against my back.
I arch a brow and stop a foot in front of her. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”
She arches her neck to hold my gaze. There's a spark of defiance there, and I find it all the more alluring.
“Is it going to be a problem foryou?” she murmurs.
“Look, Dad,” Hunter says, tugging on three fingers on my right hand.
I drag my gaze from her to focus on my boy. “What am I looking at, bud?”
Photos torn out of magazines, colorful pieces of paper, words written in marker and crayon, and shapes outlined in some kind of puffy, glittery paint.
“It's Hunter and Eve's Summer of Adventure!” he exclaims, raising his arms up high in the air. “We're going to find seashells on the beach and go to rummage sales and play kickball and bake cookies every day!” His volume increases with each word until he's nearly shouting with glee by the end.
I notice everything he said represented on the collage somehow.
“That sounds like fun, bud” I say, my throat tight.
“I know,” he says, eyebrows wiggling. He’s grinning so wide it takes up half his little face.
I curl my palm around his shoulder and pull him into my side for a hug. I look at Evangeline and murmur, “It sounds like a lot of fun.”
