Max’s face turned sharp and mean. “I don’t hit women.”
No. She had to admit that was one thing he’d never been accused of, and for all their differences she’d never felt physically threatened by him.
“No, but you do have a temper and you do strike out. What did you do to him?” she challenged.
“Not a damn thing. I wouldn’t have let him fall,” Max stated. “He’s mad because he got woken up. He screams when he’s tired or in a temper.”
“Lovely.” The boy struggled in her arms, but she murmured to him as she made her way to the sink. “Where are your glasses?”
Max pointed to a cupboard.
Filling a tumbler half-full, she offered the cup to Troy. He stopped fighting to grab the glass in two hands and drink. Finally he pushed the cup back at her and, breath hitching, demanded, “Donna!”
“Mama went bye-bye,” she told him, “but Daddy’s here.”
“He said Donna. She’s his grandmother, the one who’s in Las Vegas.”
Troy looked at Max, his lower lip trembled and he started to scream again. Her ears rang from the high-pitched cries.
“How long will this go on? Someone’s likely to call the cops.” Her boss would love that.
“Nah. The house is soundproofed.”
At her bemused response, he elaborated. “I bought it that way. It cuts down on the freeway noise. And I’ve seen him scream like that for an hour. I’ve tried everything I can think of to stop him, but the truth is nothing has worked.”
“What about his mother? Do you think you can find her?” She hummed softly and rocked gently back and forth, hoping the soothing actions would penetrate the boy’s distress.
“Her cell is off. I left a message but if she didn’t answer her friend’s calls, she doesn’t want to be found. Probably off with some sugar daddy. I also tagged his grandmother. Donna is the one who usually watches him. I’m sure I’ll hear from her in the morning.”
“Does this happen often?” How could a mother leave her kid with someone and not come home?
“A few times.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
An icy blue glare, sharp as his skate blades, cut her short.
“Right.” She held out a hand. “Let me see your phone.”
“Why?” He reached into his back pocket for his cell.
“I’m going to get the babysitter’s name.” She exchanged Troy for the phone and walked into the living room to make the call. She quickly accessed his call records and hit the call-back key.
A few minutes later she returned to the kitchen where Max leaned against the refrigerator and Troy sat in the middle of the island. Definitely not a happy duo.
“You owe Candi Evans a hundred dollars.” She handed him his phone. “I’ll email you her address.”
“Was that necessary?”
“Yes. She wouldn’t give me her name until I told her you wanted to express your appreciation for her bringing Troy to you. A hundred should do it.”
“And we needed her data why?”
“You never know. But now we have it if we need it.”
“For a hundred bucks.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Listen, can you watch him for a few minutes?”
“You’re kidding me.” The man had nerve. “I have to be up in two hours. You’ll probably roll out of bed around three this afternoon.”
“Come on,” he cajoled her. “Just long enough for me to take a shower. I want to wash the stink of the jail off.”
She sighed, unable to begrudge him a shower. “Okay. You have ten minutes, then I’m out of here.”
He grinned, flashing his famous dimple, and chucked her under the chin. “You’re a peach, Ellie.”
She swatted his hand away with a glower, her bad mood made worse at her automatic response to that sexy dimple. Something about that indentation made her knees weak. “Don’t call me Ellie.”
But she was talking to his back as he loped for the stairs. Mmm. He was grace in motion.
Annoyed she’d noticed, she turned her attention to the two-year-old. “Sorry to tell you this, kid, but your dad is a jerk.”
“Jerk,” Troy echoed, making Elle cringe. Exactly what she needed, for Max, The Beast, to complain to her boss that she was teaching his kid to call him a jerk. Even if he was one.
Thinking of her boss, she moved to the living room and set Troy down next to her on the gray leather couch. A formal room done in classic shades of black, gray and silver, its shining central jewel was the large, mirror-polished black grand piano. For show, no doubt.
“Nice, but I just can’t visualize The Beast playing ‘Chopsticks.’” Not many sports stars were into classical music. Not in her experience. Which was one reason why she didn’t date sports enthusiasts, especially sports stars. To get where they were meant devoting their lives to the sport. She wanted more from life than the next win.
Digging out her phone, she texted Ray Dumond about the events of the night.
Troy slid off the couch and began flipping through a magazine on the table-size ottoman. He crumpled pages and ripped a few here and there, but it kept him occupied and he wasn’t screaming so she let him play. He looked up and grinned and she just wanted to pick him up and hug him.
Oh, no. She hardened her heart against the sweetness of his smile. No getting attached to the little beastie. Her time in his life was definitely temporary.
But she did feel for the little guy. She took such joy from her young niece and nephews that it hurt her to think of any child suffering. And neither of Troy’s parents were exactly winners in her eyes.
Her phone rang. Her boss. That was quick. She hadn’t expected to hear from him for a couple of hours. She answered and filled in the details he asked for. They worked out a strategy for the morning, then disconnected.
She yawned and blinked, really wishing she had time to get in at least an hour’s sleep before hitting the office at a run. A glance at her watch showed it had been twenty minutes since Max had trotted off to the shower. That was it. She’d done all she had time for tonight.
“Come on, kid.” She swooped up Troy and headed for the stairs. “I hope Daddy’s decent because ready or not, here you come.”
On the upper landing she listened for the shower but heard nothing. Turning left she walked down the hall, looking in doors until she found the master suite. And found Max sprawled facedown on a king-size bed.
Just wonderful. Thankfully he’d pulled on a pair of knit
