mind was on Jack right then, his poor little digestive system in knots because of his grandfather’s negligence. And because Jack didn’t seem to take his own allergies as seriously as he should, either, if she had to be completely fair.
She glanced at Ben. She’d have to tell him soon—she knew that. But not yet. She had this under control, and when Ben knew that he was a father, everything would change. Working together would be more tense than it already was, and she’d have no escape. She couldn’t afford to lose this precarious balance just yet.
“Thanks,” she said with a smile. “I appreciate it.”
* * *
She has a son. That little fact seemed to hit Ben in the gut like a sucker punch. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him before that she’d have children. In the time since high school, he’d gotten married and had a child, too.
He swallowed against the tightness in his throat.
He’d married Lisa four years ago. They’d met in a coffee shop when her car wouldn’t start. He’d given her a jump from his cruiser and gotten her number. Six months later, they were married. Lisa had always wanted a baby, and they’d tried for two years before she finally got pregnant. It was supposed to be free sailing after that, and neither of them had expected the complications. Before she’d even had her first baby shower, Lisa was admitted to the hospital for high blood pressure. The baby was born via emergency C-section at six months, and his wife had died on the operating table. His baby girl died two days later in the NICU. At barely two pounds, she was too tiny to make it.
And Sofia had a son.
Was this jealousy he felt? Mandy was frozen at the newborn stage in his mind, but from time to time he wondered what little Mandy would be doing if she’d lived. Right now, she’d be a year and a half. She’d probably be toddling around and calling him Dada.
His daughter had been the reason why he wanted to clean up this town. When he’d found out his wife was pregnant, he’d gotten this sudden protectiveness at the very idea of this little person. He wanted Haggerston to be the kind of place a kid could grow up safe and happy. His own upbringing had been neither. When he’d lost his daughter, his drive hadn’t changed. There were other kids growing up here—kids growing up just as poor as he had—and he wanted to make a difference for them, too.
“So how old is your son?” he asked.
“Eight.”
He glanced over at her, frowning slightly. “Eight?”
She nodded. “Yes. He’s in the third grade this year. And he’s a smart kid. He started reading really early. And he loves jokes—they drive me nuts...”
“Jokes, huh?” he said absently.
She’d said the boy was eight. She’d been gone nine years... The mental math wasn’t rocket science. Had she met someone right after him? That was a possibility. Sofia, with her almond skin and smooth, dark waves—she wouldn’t have trouble finding someone else. He’d never tried to deceive himself in that area. He hadn’t seen her in nine years, had a rocky history with her and had good reason not to trust her again, and he still found himself feeling things he didn’t want to feel when looking at her. Imagine some poor guy who didn’t have his defenses up—he’d never have a chance.
“Kid jokes.” She shrugged. “He’s a regular little comedian. Like, what do you call a flying police officer?”
Ben looked over at her mutely.
“A heli-copper,” she concluded, giving him a wan smile.
Ben cracked a grin and shook his head. “Okay. Cute.”
They were coming up on her father’s street. It felt weird to be driving her back there, almost like the old days when he could feel her arms tightening around his middle as he took the turn around the corner. He could still remember the creak of his leather jacket as she held on tight, and the sound of her voice coming from behind, mingling with the growl of his motorcycle’s engine.
Except they weren’t seventeen now, and she was a mom. That changed a lot of things in his head, somehow. Time had passed, and there was no pretending otherwise.
“Thank you for this,” she said as he slowed to a stop in front of the familiar old house. Her cell phone rang again, and she picked up the call as she got out. “Dad? Look, I’m here. Is he still throwing up?”
Ben got out, too. She hadn’t exactly said that she wanted privacy for this, and he found himself more than a little curious about her son. What was she like as a mother? So far, he could see the matter-of-fact side of her coming out, all concerned with vomiting and allergies. He’d probably be the same way if things had turned out differently. Lisa would have been the same way, too, although she’d never had the chance to even see her daughter—
He pushed the unbidden thoughts back and picked up his pace. He caught up with her at the side door and stepped inside after her. It had been a while since he’d been in Steve McCray’s house. When Steve’s wife had left him, he’d been a wreck and spent way too much time in bars. Ben had personally escorted Mr. McCray home again several times, and he’d always been struck by how different the old house looked with the women gone. It had gone from a somewhat cluttered but homey little place to a dank and dismal hole seemingly overnight.
The side door led into the kitchen, and when he glanced around he could already see Sofia’s touch around the place. A vase of daisies—Sofia’s favorite flowers—sat on the counter next to a stack of library books that looked to be a mixture of kids’ books and murder mysteries. She’d always liked a good who-done-it. The kitchen table had an assortment of boxed foods, all of which had “gluten-free” written in big letters on them in some prominent place. The box of cannolis sat open beside the gluten-free fare, like the forbidden tree in the garden.
“Hi, Sofia—” Steve McCray stopped when he saw Ben. He nodded in Ben’s direction.
Ben nodded his hello in return.
“Where is he?” Sofia asked, putting her hands on her hips and looking up at her father. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and Steve looked smart enough to take the warning.
“In the bathroom.”
Sofia marched out of the kitchen without a backward glance, and Ben met Steve’s gaze with a wan smile.
“So...” Steve said. “How’re things with you?”
“Not bad.” Ben shrugged. “Hanging in there.”
Steve regarded Ben in a tense silence, then gestured to the box on the table. “Cannoli?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Each man took a cannoli and bit into the sweet, creamy centers. They chewed silently, the sound of Sofia’s voice filtering through the walls while she talked with her son. She sounded gentle and sympathetic, although her words were too muffled to make out. A moment later, she came back into the room.
“He’s done vomiting now,” she said. “For the next couple of days he’ll be still feeling pretty sick, though.”
“Where is he?” Steve asked.
“Changing
