Bringing Home the Bad Boy (Second Chance #1)(68)

“Rae was right. I can’t be a good father and embrace this other side of me at the same time. Drawing takes everything I have. It takes away from my son. Erases all reason. Sucks every last brain cell out of my head.” He banged his palm on the steering wheel, making Charlie jump. “Damn it! I should have been looking out for my kid, not f*cking around in the studio with Asher.” He tossed a hand in her direction. “With other shit that doesn’t matter.”

Wow. That hurt worse. A physical pain curled up next to the worry and lack of sleep and settled in for the long haul.

He fell silent and Charlie didn’t say another word.


*


Lyon was crying and hadn’t stopped, according to Pat, for the last hour. That was when he’d insisted on a mirror. She finally relented and handed over a small compact from her purse.

It hadn’t been the stitches to send him into tears, though Evan was not surprised. Lyon was half Rae. Rae had a stomach of steel and had always been fascinated by blood and guts. Their kid, as it turned out, was like his momma in that way.

No, what had Lyon’s bottom lip dragging the top of the hospital sheet was what they’d done to prep him for the stitches, and soon, the MRI.

They’d shorn his hair.

“Poppa has short hair.” Cliff gestured to his graying head.

“You have no hair!” Lyon argued, more fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

“It will grow back, sweetheart,” Patricia said, running a hand over the part of his head not sewn together. “I think you look handsome.”

“I don’t want to be handsome. I want to be cool!” This sent him into another slack-jawed crying jag. Evan couldn’t take it one more second.

He climbed into bed with his son, scooting him over and wrapping an arm protectively around his small shoulders. He addressed Pat. “Can you get Charlie? She’s in the waiting room and would probably like to come back.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” Her hand left Lyon’s head.

“I’ll come with you,” Cliff said, following her out.

Lyon’s tears stopped like a shut-off water main. “Aunt Charlie?”

“Yeah.”

“Aunt Charlie came?”

Evan smiled down at his son, feeling like a royal *. His kid got it. Got it like that.

“Of course she did,” he said, stating what should have been obvious to him over the last two hours. “She loves you. She wants to make sure you’re going to be okay.”

And she wanted to make sure Evan was going to be okay. Which was why she’d talked for most of the trip and had unwrapped a granola bar and practically fed it to him. Shit. He’d been a prick.

“Do you think she’ll like my hair?” His eyes had gone wide, tears drying on his cheeks. Evan shook his head at his boy. This kid. Never would he cease to amaze.

“Oh my gosh! Who is that handsome devil in a hospital bed?”

Charlie, a hand to her chest, her mouth open but smiling, said exactly the right thing, proving to be better at handling pressure than Evan was.

“Name’s Evan,” he teased with a wink, though for all he knew she felt like punching him in the nose for his behavior earlier.

She threw a hand at him. “I’m talking about the very suave younger man with the awesome haircut.”

Lyon beamed, his dimple denting his cheek. “I have a hundred stitches!”

“Not that many, bud,” Evan corrected.

He frowned. “The doctor said girls think stitches are cool, so I’m going to say I have more of them. Then I’ll be more cool.”

Charlie lifted her brows. “Can’t argue with that logic.” She bent and inspected the stitches, only showing her worry when Lyon wasn’t able to see her expression. She exchanged a slightly concerned glance with Evan but when Lyon lifted his head, she promptly plastered a smile on her face.

Good at handling pressure, good at easing the tension in the room, good at drying his son’s tears. And she hadn’t broken a sweat.

“Very cool,” she commented after her inspection.

“Did Terror eat today?” Lyon asked.

The fish. Evan had totally forgotten about it.

“He did.” Charlie took the chair by the bed. “I put flakes in his tank before we left and he ate every last one.”

Saved. Evan sent her a smile of gratitude. He watched her talk, shaking his head at himself. Beneath her faux upbeat chatter, and the happy face she’d put on for Lyon’s benefit, his girl looked beat. Not only from the car ride, but from her not sleeping much last night, which she’d mentioned in passing on the trip here.

He hadn’t had a chance to consider why she hadn’t slept—he’d absolutely crashed, satisfied and beat—and hadn’t asked her to elaborate, his thoughts firmly on his son’s welfare and not at all on her feelings. His mind went to the mini rant he’d gone on about Rae being right, about how he’d messed up. And, now that he thought back to it, he’d balled Charlie into that group of things he’d regretted doing this week while ignoring his son. The comment about getting into her pants may have been accurate, but wasn’t the least bit charming.

No good, he thought with a frown.

The doctor came in a few minutes later to explain the MRI was for peace of mind, but they suspected Lyon hadn’t sustained a concussion or any permanent damage.