The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(33)

“You look great, Troy, really.”

“That’s Bruce,” I correct, “but for you two only.”

“Who’s Bruce?” Dante asks, darting his eyes between us.

I gape at my son. “You haven’t seen Batman?”

“I don’t remember,” he says, wiggling out of my hold.

“Hold on, buddy, smile for Mommy.” On cue, Dante turns to his mother and shows all his teeth. Clarissa and I share a laugh before I set him free and retrieve my phone.

“Ready?” She nods, and I swear I see her eyes shining with tears. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just sentimental. Who knows how many of these we’ll have? He’s growing up so fast.”

“Nah,” I say, the we not missed on me. She’s letting me in for the moment, but I’m not about to gloat. “I trick-or-treated until I was twelve.”

“You’re right. This worry is premature. Let me grab my fanny pack.”

Shaking my head, I can’t help my smirk as she clasps the god-awful bag around her waist.

“What?” She shrugs, “they’re making a comeback.”

“They should have stayed where they came from.”

“Oh, yeah, smartass? Where are you going to put your phone in that skin-tight suit?”

Challenge accepted, I tuck my phone into the compartment on the top of my shoulder, and she shakes her head. “Of course.” Our gaze holds again, and I feel it. The same buzz from the night we met. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and it might as well be a gong to my chest. Her skin tints pink when she realizes she’s just as caught in the moment.

“Hey, Troy,” Dante squeaks from below me. “Can you be my dad, just for tonight?”

Clarissa’s eyes drop. Wordless, she ushers us all outside and locks the front door before kneeling down in front of Dante and adjusting his top hat. “No one gets to know Batman’s identity, baby. That’s why he’s Batman. Call him Batman.”

“Okay,” Dante agrees, nodding as my heart cracks. I’m furious, and it shows when her eyes lift to mine. Reasoning with myself, I rope that shit in. I have to be patient. Clarissa moves to whisper to me in condolence for taking a machete to my hopes, but I shake my head and grab Dante’s hand, tabling it for now.





After going door to door with a mere ‘ribbet’ from Dante for a majority of the night, on the way home when it was just the three of us, our passive frog bursts into an impressive two-song routine, singing at the top of his little lungs. I’d been waiting for the show all night, and even though I expected it, I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. It was the rest of the walk home that bothered me. Two kids Dante’s age passed us, pointing while calling him Weirdo McGeirdo as if it was the norm. Clarissa and Dante both had ignored them as if they hadn’t heard them, but I know they had. When I opened my mouth to speak up, Clarissa shook her head at me, and I had no choice but to let it go, for the moment.

“Bruce Wayne, I get it,” Dante says in a sleep-filled voice, shoveling in the last of his Kit Kat. Clarissa had replaced every piece of his candy with a stash she bought while he changed into his pajamas. She told me that you never really know what sickos were passing out, and I agreed with that. She really is an amazing mother. I couldn’t ask for better, for more. But I want to, and that’s the part that I have to move past. And I’ve been trying.

Last weekend I’d run into my country girl at the Hero party—an annual gathering the weekend before Halloween where you dress up as your hero—and I was shot down, again. This time she was dressed like a senior citizen, but I’d managed to pick her out of a crowd by her accent alone. There was something about her that appealed to me, and I still have no idea who she is. She’d refused to give me her name or the time of day. It’s a challenge, and I was all too up for it, but my mystery girl seemed adamant about keeping me at arm’s length. As of now, I’m not batting for shit, even when I’m trying to take my dating game seriously. I just keep reminding myself that all my sweetest victories have been hard-earned. Time and patience are my friends, my impulsivity problem, my worst enemy.

Dante lays tucked at my side while Clarissa sits opposite me with his feet in her lap. The itch from earlier beneath the latex comes back with a vengeance, and I become increasingly more uncomfortable in my suit, my arm draped casually around the back of the couch as I fight to keep idle and stay in the moment.

I tell myself it’s an illusion of family as I glance over at Clarissa and catch her studying us both, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t bother looking away when I bust her. Clarissa reaches between us as Dante’s eyes start to droop, running her fingers through his fair hair. “Have fun tonight, buddy?”

“Yeah, thank you, Mommy,” he says, exhausted, his eyes half-mast. He looks up at me and grips the hand I have resting on his chest. “Thank you, Troy.”

“Welcome, bud.”

He goes out like a light a few minutes later as the itch rears its ugly head. When Clarissa lifts him from the couch, Dante stirs and looks up at her, “Can I sleep with you tonight, Mommy?”

“You’re getting too old for that.”

“Please?”

“Okay, but just for tonight.”

While she deposits him in her bed, I stand like my ass is on fire. She returns a minute later, catching me as I began to rip at my suit. “Shit.”