Dylan's Daddy Dilemma. Tracy Madison
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well. That was her kid. He just sort of went with the flow—though the way life had treated them since his birth almost demanded such a disposition. Nothing had gone easy.
Disowned by her parents, which honestly had been more of a blessing than a curse, abandoned by Henry’s father and left to her own devices to figure out all the messy details. Where to live. Where to work. Whom to trust. How to be the mother that Henry deserved.
And every damn time she thought she’d made a little progress, something would go wrong. Her apartment building had caught on fire. The best job she’d ever had, which wasn’t saying much, had been eliminated. Her purse was stolen. Her car broke down.
One thing after another. She’d barely recovered from one disaster when a new one would occur. It was as if fate had decided that nothing—meaning not one thing—would ever go as planned. So, she supposed, not only had Henry learned to go with the flow, but she had, as well.
But this? Accepting help from a strange man and trusting he wasn’t going to turn into a monster the second he had them alone was a new, frightening obstacle. Her gut told her he was safe and trustworthy, but her brain insisted she had just made a gigantic mistake.
So as they trudged along, she considered what she had in her purse that could be, if needed, used as a weapon. Her keys, maybe. If she could get them spread through her fingers just right fast enough. There was the minibottle of hair spray. Might work well enough if she could get the spray to hit his eyes, to blind him momentarily. Give her a few seconds to...what? Run?
She tried to imagine running with Henry at her side or in her arms and knew they wouldn’t get very far. Her keys, then. She’d use the hair spray to gain enough minutes to get to her keys, which she’d then use to protect herself and her son. After that, she didn’t know, but stupid or not, she felt considerably better having any sort of a plan.
“My parents used to keep an apartment upstairs,” Dylan was saying as they approached the back door of the restaurant. “All of us kids lived there at one time or another. Now it’s more of a space for family meetings, but there are sofas and blankets, and it’s warm.”
“Sounds considerably better than the car,” she said, her thoughts still focused on defense. And whether she fell into the cautious-but-smart category or the too-stupid-to-live one. She hoped the former. The too-stupid-to-live women always ended up dead in the movies. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
They stepped inside, and Chelsea dropped Henry’s hand to fish through her purse. The second she found the hair-spray bottle, she pulled her son close to her side and, at the same time, put a little more breathing distance between them and Dylan. Just in case.
“Back so soon? I told you that Gavin is on his way, big brother, so there’s no reason to... Oh!” The waitress who’d served them earlier rounded the corner, stopping short when she saw Chelsea and Henry. “I see we have company,” she said. “Let me guess...car problems?”
“Hey, Haley. And yup, you guessed right,” Dylan said. “This is Chelsea and Henry, and their car doesn’t seem to like the cold weather all that much. They...ah...didn’t have anywhere to stay, so I figured they could sleep upstairs. Just for tonight.”
Relief filtered in, wiping out most of Chelsea’s nerves. Someone else was here, and that made all of this seem much more normal. She loosened her hold on Henry.
“Okay,” Haley said, as if such an occurrence happened on a regular basis. And hey, as far as Chelsea knew, strangers often slept upstairs. Then the woman knelt in front of Henry. “Hello there,” she said. “Remember me? I brought you your hamburger and fries for dinner.”
“’Course I remember. You forgot the dip,” Henry said. “But you got it after I told you.”
Haley laughed. “That’s right.” A series of raps on the door had her straightening into a stand. “That would be Gavin,” she said to Dylan. “Are you all set, or...?”
“We’re good. Go home and get some sleep.”
“I think I will.” Haley waved at Chelsea and Henry before giving Dylan a quick hug. “See you all tomorrow,” she said, unlocking and opening the door. “Sleep tight and don’t—”
“Let the bedbugs bite!” Henry said, finishing Haley’s sentence. “Mommy says that all the time, except she tells me to let the love bugs bite.” He scowled. “I don’t want any bug bites!”
“Aw, that’s cute,” Haley said with another laugh. “Well, then, just sleep tight.”
Dylan locked the door behind his sister and Chelsea’s former apprehension returned. Not as strong, but still potent. Sensible, she knew, even with the normalcy of the exchange between Dylan and Haley. Better to be on guard and prepared than oblivious and taken by surprise.
“Anyone need anything before we head upstairs?” Dylan asked.
“It’s too late for soda,” Chelsea said to Henry, anticipating his response. “If you’re thirsty, you can have water.”
“Can I have a root beer tomorrow with lunch?” Henry asked. “You won’t let me have soda for breakfast, so I won’t ask for that.”
“Yes, Henry,” she said, too tired and nervous to worry about tomorrow.
“He really likes root beer, I take it?” Dylan didn’t wait for a reply, just gestured toward a door on the other side of the kitchen. “Let’s go on up and get you settled.”
“I like this new fresh start, Mommy,” Henry said, following Dylan without a second’s hesitation. “The other house was nice, but this one is better. It has the biggest kitchen I’ve ever seen and they have burgers and fries and real live fights! Pow, pow!”
“We left right after that fight started,” Chelsea explained as they climbed a narrow flight of stairs, pretending with everything she had that she was as comfortable as Dylan seemed. “And he was a little bummed to miss the excitement.”
“You know, Henry,” Dylan said, opening the door at the top of the stairs. He reached in and flipped on the lights. “Fights might seem exciting, but they’re dangerous and not the best way to settle a disagreement. Typically, anyway. So you didn’t miss much.”
“To him, it was noisy and fun.” Wrong, probably, but Chelsea felt the need to defend Henry’s enthusiasm. “He’s just a child and hasn’t yet connected fights with violence, because he has had zero exposure to violence. Which is how it should be.”
“Yup, that is exactly how it should be. I wasn’t condemning his view, just pointing out a different one. That’s all.” Herding them into the brightly lit room, Dylan said, “When I was a kid, me and my brothers were almost always in some sort of a skirmish. It’s natural.”
“Right. I just... I thought you were... Never mind.”
“You thought I was remarking on your parenting skills or something along those lines?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” To change the subject, she asked, “You said your brothers, as in plural? How many? Older or younger?”
“Two. One older, one younger.”
She waited for additional details, but he didn’t offer any. Disappointed, though she couldn’t put into words why, she said, “I have one sister. Younger.”
“That’s good. Family is important.”
“Depends on the family,” she said, thinking of her upbringing. Her father’s near-constant state of displeasure, with just about everything, really, but most often focused on Chelsea. Her mother’s passive disregard or worse, when she chimed in with her own cruel words in an effort to appease her husband rather than standing up for her kids. And Chelsea’s inability to succeed in their eyes, despite her many attempts. “Some families aren’t very family-like.”
Dylan gave her a question-filled look but didn’t comment. That