Where We Belong (A Touch of Fate #1)(57)

Christ, I was so wrong. I should have just asked. I should have put her on the spot and asked who the hell Max was. Instead, I pulled away. The look on her face when she said I rejected her is burned into my memory. I don’t ever want to see that look on her face again, and it kills me that I’m the one who put it there. She needs to know how I feel; she needs to know I would never reject her again. Ever.

I’ve called her at least a dozen times, left several voicemails, and I’ve even texted her. No response…nothing. Well, I’m done giving her the option to ignore me because it’s going to be kind of difficult when I show up at her door. Thank God I didn’t have to work today, because I’m not sure I could’ve waited much longer. I should have f*cking showed up the next morning. But I’m an idiot—pretty sure we've already established that.

Putting the car in park, I take a deep breath and wipe my hands down the front of my pants. Why am I so nervous? This is Harley and her son. Nothing to be nervous about. I know I’m going to catch her completely off-guard and she probably isn’t prepared for me to meet Max, but I just hope she doesn’t slam the door in my face.

Walking up the sidewalk, I notice a kid’s bike propped against the side of the house and a ball in the middle of the yard. Were those here last time? I knock softly three times and steel myself for Harley’s wrath. Crap, this is going to piss her off. Who am I kidding? Right now, I don’t give a shit. This is going to happen sometime, so it might as well happen now.

“Welcome to my dungeon!" I hear a little voice roar. “You must answer three questions right or you must go!" I can’t help but smile…I already love this kid!

“What are the questions, good sir?" I ask, using the deepest voice I can muster. I can hear him giggle through the door and it’s such a great sound. I want to hear it again.

“What president is on the United States penny?” he asks with authority.

“That would be the sixteenth president of the United States. President Abraham Lincoln," I answer proudly. There’s that giggle again.

“What great Cardinals player wore the number six?" Yup, he’s definitely Mr. Thompson’s grandson. Thank God I spent enough time at Harley’s house growing up to acquire plenty of Cardinals baseball trivia.

“Stan Musial," I reply, adding a “DUH!” at the end, which elicits an even bigger laugh from the opposite side of the door.

“What is the name of a butterfly’s tongue?"

“It’s called a tongue?" I half-ask, half-state, hoping that I didn’t get outsmarted by a child.

“Ehhhh!” he yells, doing his best impression of a buzzer. Well shit. I’m not sure how old Max is, but he has to be younger than five, so how in the hell would a five-year-old know the name of a butterfly’s tongue?

“It’s called a proboscis,” he yells through the door. “Now, I unleash the dr—”

“Wait!" I holler. “You have to give me a bonus question, it’s part of the rules!”

“Hey!” he scoffs, flinging open the door. My whole body is frozen in place as I take in the little ball of fire in front of me. His eyes…his eyes are what completely catch me off-guard. I know it’s impossible, but his large, coffee-colored eyes and thick black lashes are exact replicas of my brother, Dallas. Holy shit. I rub my fists over my eyes quickly, thinking that maybe I’m just missing Dallas so much that now I’m seeing him everywhere I go.

“You can’t make up rules!” he says firmly, pointing his Styrofoam sword at my chest.

“Max!” My head snaps up when I hear Harley’s voice, and Max drops his chin in defeat. She’s coming around the corner while wiping her hands off on a towel, so she hasn’t seen me yet. “Max, what did I tell you about opening the do—" Her words cut off when she finds me standing in her doorway. She inhales sharply and her mouth forms the most perfect 'O.' Max uses the silence to his advantage.

“Hi!” he says cheerfully, sticking out his hand. “My name is Max, and don’t you dare call me Maximus." He’s attempting to give me the ‘stink eye,’ but it’s just so damn cute that I laugh.

"Hello, Max." I grip his hand firmly and pump it dramatically a few times, causing him to giggle. “My name is Tyson, but you can call me Ty." I quickly glance at Harley, who is watching Max and I with a look of horror, and for a moment I feel like maybe I’ve overstepped my boundaries.

I look back down when Max taps my arm. “I know you!” he says excitedly.

“You do? But we haven’t met until now. How do you know me?" I ask, squatting down to his level.

“You’re in the picture book,” he chirps, grabbing my hand and tugging. “Follow me, I’ll show you." I turn to Harley, who is still watching us. Some of the terror has drained from her face, but she still looks incredibly uncomfortable. I stop dead in my tracks at the thought that I’m causing her more pain, because that isn’t my intention. Her eyes flit from Max to me and then to our joined hands.

“Is this okay?” I ask her. “I can leave if—”

“No, no,” she says, waving the towel that’s gripped tightly in her hand. “Go ahead. It’s okay." Her voice is timid and soft and I’m not sure if it’s really okay with her, but I’m not going to argue. She’s letting me stay so I’m staying. I smile softly and nod my head.