Capturing Peace (Sharing You 0.5)(31)

“I’m fine.”

He nodded, but just kept staring at me.

“See? All better.” I smiled and stood from my spot on the floor to reassure him, and finally he nodded hard twice.

“Yeah, well, when Coen’s my dad he can make sure you’re better.”

My stomach churned again. “Buddy. You—I don’t think you should tell Coen that you want him to be your dad.”

“No, its okay, Mom. He wants to be.” Grabbing my hand, he pulled me out of the bathroom. “Come on, I’ll make you waffles so you’ll be better.”

He couldn’t make waffles. And I wasn’t sure if I could eat. But I loved my son, and I loved his heart. I was just terrified of what his wants for Coen in our lives was going to actually do to Coen in our lives.





Chapter Seven

Reagan—September 3, 2010

I GLANCED ANXIOUSLY over to my left, as I had so many times this morning, and tried not to lose what little breakfast I’d managed to eat when I saw Coen running in this direction off in the distance. I hadn’t told Coen we would be here, I’d just hoped he would have called if he was going to show up. Looking back at the playground, I easily found where Parker and Jason were playing together and tried to stay focused on them instead of seeming like I was avoiding Coen.

Which I was.

“Morning,” he said through heavy breaths as he came to a stop near me.

“Mmm” was my only response as I tried not to eye him standing there.

“Um . . . are you just going to act like you can’t see me now?” he asked a couple minutes later when I still hadn’t said anything to him.

I turned toward him, my eyebrows bunching together. “I said good morning, didn’t I?”

He laughed hard once and eyed me curiously. “Are you okay?”

I huffed and turned to face the playground again. “I’m making sure Parker’s safe.”

“Hmm . . .” Coen mused next to me. “Sitting on the concrete playing with figurines. That’s some dangerous shit right there.”

“Language, Coen.” I groaned and rolled my eyes as I faced him again. “And like we’ve declared, you don’t have kids, so you don’t know how fast something can go wrong.”

“Coen!”

We both turned at Parker’s voice and Coen braced himself just in time for Parker to launch himself at Coen. “What’s up, bud?”

“Did you come to play?”

“Not today, I was just on a run and thought I’d come say hi. Are you having fun?”

“Yeah!” Parker said excitedly and threw his arm straight out in front of him and pointed at the temporary tattoo. “And everyone thinks I’m the coolest because I’m just like you now.”

Coen’s smile widened and he held up his fist for Parker to hit it. “You do look pretty cool, bud. I’m not gonna lie. If it stays on through next week, you’ll be the coolest first grader too.”

My chest warmed watching them interact, and I felt my lips spread into the most ridiculous smile. Remembering this morning, the smile quickly fell from my face and I crossed my arms over my chest—as if that could ward off the warmth I felt watching them together.

“Are you coming over again soon?”

Coen shrugged and nodded toward me. “I don’t know, that’s up to your mom.”

“Mom, can Coen come over again?”

Looking over at me, Coen lowered his voice so Parker couldn’t hear him. “Yeah, Reagan . . . can I come over again?”

I didn’t miss the suggestive tone in his question, and just as I was about to give him a look telling him to cool it in front of Parker, he started wrapping his arm around my waist, and I jumped away from him. Coen’s arm fell, as did his expression before confusion settled over his face.

“Uh, we’ll see, honey. Why don’t you go back to playing with Jason . . . unless you’re ready to leave?”

“No, Mom, please? Can we stay longer?”

I just nodded and smiled until he turned and ran back to where Jason was still sitting, and sighed in relief—knowing we’d gotten through a conversation without Parker mentioning the dad thing.

“Hey,” Coen said softly, and reached for my hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Stop,” I hissed, and moved away from him.

Coen looked at me in shock, his mouth slightly open as he tried to find the words to say. “Rea—”

“You can’t just touch me like that in front of Parker,” I whispered, and looked around to see if anyone was near us.

Coen’s eyebrows shot up, and he blinked slowly at me. “You’re . . . you’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not. He’ll start getting used to seeing that, and I don’t want him to.”

“Are you—I don’t f*cking understand where all this is coming from, Reagan. Just last night I kissed you in front of him. Fuck, you kissed me in front of him. You were lying in my arms in front of him while we watched the movie. And now all of a sudden I can’t put my arm around you? I can’t hold your damn hand? Something I did the first night we all hung out together? What has changed since last night that I don’t know about?”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat, and focused on Parker instead of Coen. “I just think that all of this is too much. You spending time with us, being around Parker, him getting used to you . . .”