The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(15)

“I know. Mommy, yours is on the counter!”

Checkmate, Fido.

“Thank you,” I shout through my grin. Point Mom, thanks to little man.





The next morning I’m scrambling around the house as my son watches me at a standstill from the door.

“Don’t just stand there, son, we’re late!”

“I’m not late,” he taunts from the front door. “You’re late!”

“I’m not late, we’re behind!”

“Behind is late!”

“Uh,” I scan the living room. “Where’s your bookbag?”

“Got it,” he says, lifting it up as I frantically load my purse.

“Oh, no! Your lunch!”

“Got it,” he says, patting his backpack.

“No, you don’t got it.”

“Bread, jelly, crunchy peanut butter, and an apple. I didn’t cut it because I’m not allowed to use a knife. It’s so hard to make peanut jelly with a spoon. For snack time I put a bag of Sun Chips and one cookie not two.”

I stand, stunned. “You made your own lunch?”

“You’re late!” He reminds me.

“Right. And no, you can’t use a knife.”

He rolls his eyes. “I could put your seat belt on for you too, Mommy.” The look I give him scares him into backpedaling. “I went too far?”

I can’t help my laugh. “Yes. And even if I’m laughing, I’m not happy. Let’s go.”

We both burst through the front door and nearly trip over the bags of clothes and shoes on the porch.

Dante rummages through the boxes, his face lighting up. “Size seven and a half! Are these for me?!”

Eyes bulging, I look through the bags briefly before I put them into the entryway and attempt to lock the door, but Dante stalls me, tossing his shoes to the side of the porch and pulling one of the bags into his lap.

“Can I put these on? Puh-lease?”

Hiding, I turn to lock the door, wiping a stray tear away. Troy had to have dropped these off after his shift, leaving them at the door to avoid waking us and blowing his cover. Thoughtful.

You hate him, Clarissa.

“Mommy, can I try these?”

“Of course.”

“Where did they come from?”

“Just something I ordered,” I say as he ties them, admiration clear in his features before we make our way down the porch steps.

Dante looks up at me skeptically. “They weren’t in a package.”

“New service.”

He doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t either. I’m a horrible liar. I climb in behind the wheel as Dante buckles in. “These are the kind I wanted for school, like Austin’s!” I had assumed Troy forgot or ignored my request for help with the clothes, but clearly, I was wrong because Dante now has hundreds of dollars’ worth of new gear. I look back at him, marveling at his animated face while trying not to burst into tears.

“They’re so awesome.”

Whoever said money can’t buy happiness, forgot what misery is like on piss-poor days. Unable to help myself, I glance at the house next door and see it’s lifeless from the outside. I want my anger back. I want it back so much. But gratitude is all I feel as we pull out of the drive.

A large part of me does hate Troy, but for Dante, I’ll try.





Troy



It’s been three weeks since I’ve moved in next to Dante and I’ve made a little progress. Between my shifts at UPS, practice, school, and our first away game, I’ve had little time to do much more than catch Dante a few hours after school. I’m still the neighbor, so I can’t see him every day, but in doing what I can, I’ve made enough headway that my presence is no longer questionable but more routine. I’m hoping it’s a start. Clarissa has yet to look at me like I’m not shit on her shoe, but she’s no longer watching our every move. Dante comes over once in a while with permission to play Xbox with me. I make good with the time, careful with my words. “Take that, sucker,” Dante utters from his seat next to me, working the controls like a pro as I study him. We look so much alike it’s uncanny, and I take pride in that.

Mom will never forgive you for this.

I’ve never told anyone that I’m a father, not even my mother, who I’m closest to. I have a few reasons. The first is because I’m ashamed of what I’ve done. The second is that she very well would have reprimanded Clarissa for something that was entirely my fault. Pamela Jenner invented the phrase ‘mama bear,’ and in her eyes, her golden boy can do no wrong. But the most important reason is that if I told her, I know she would make it her mission to be a part of Dante’s life, and I have yet to earn that privilege for myself. I don’t want Clarissa to hate me more due to a confrontation with my mom because she is a force to be reckoned with. She’s my best friend, and when I finally do confess, I know it will irreparably break her heart. She’s missed nearly six years of her grandson’s life. But to be fair, so have I. Still, she won’t understand, and there’s no way she’ll ever fully forgive me.

As with Clarissa, there will be no redemption, but I’ll try my damnedest to make amends with them both.

“Did you know?”