The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(8)

“I think I can handle it.”

“I’m not much for yard work…” he trails off as we head downstairs. “But I cook a mean pancake.”

“I’ve got the yard,” I offer. “And I’ve been known to fuck up some pancakes.”

“This’ll work out perfect.” He pulls an instrument case from the floor. “I’m off. Make sure you lock up when you leave every time. Non-negotiable. I have a shit load of expensive equipment downstairs.”

“Got it.”

“Welcome to casa de la Houseman.”

“Thanks, man.”

He leaves me to my own devices, and I spend a few minutes looking around. I have little in the way of possessions, a few in my truck due to the demand of my old roommate and his girlfriend for some immediate space. He all but threw me on my ass the minute she accepted his proposal under the Era Tree and gave me until the weekend to get the rest of my shit out. I make quick work of unloading the few boxes I have when Clarissa pulls up. Nerves of the unknown shoot straight up my spine. Bracing myself for impact, I set my box on the porch steps as she hops out of her SUV in a sundress, her auburn hair catching the light as Dante bursts from the back door. She grabs him by his backpack just as he runs past the hood of the car.

“Dante, I’ve told you a thousand times not to do that. You need to look before you leap. You never know what’s going on around you.”

“Gah, Mom, we’re home. Duh.”

“I’ve got your duh,” she grumbles before circling her SUV and pulling a bag of groceries from the floorboard. “I said, don’t do it, so don’t do it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He runs up the porch steps and opens the screen door. “I’ll get the door for you, m’lady.”

Shaking my head, I watch from the yard as she shakes her own head in amusement while trailing behind him. I’ve been waiting for this moment for almost six years, but fear paralyzes me where I stand openly gaping at them both. I’m so close in distance but so very far away. It’s surreal to have dreamt of this day for so long and have it here. It’s a bold move, but the only one to take. I’m about to meet my son for the first time. And ironically, Dante is the first to notice me when he gets the door open for her.

“Who are you?”

Clarissa follows his line of sight over to me, the smile disappearing from her face as the bag slips from her hands.

“MOM! You broke my sunny-sides!” Dante says in a huff, before bending over to gawk at the open carton of eggs.

“Dante,” she chokes out. “G-g-get in the house.”

She grips his shoulders in protective mode, eyes widening when I begin to cross the lawn. I need to play it cool, but years of pent-up longing pound against my chest as I make my way toward my son.

“Hey, little man. I’m your new neighbor,” I introduce myself as I slowly approach the house. Dante moves to greet me stopped short by the iron grip of his mother. “I said, get in the house now.”

“Mom, he’s not a bad guy. He doesn’t even have tattoos.”

“Now, Dante!”

“Fine.” He turns back to look at me with his hand on the doorknob. “What’s your name?”

Dad. Daddy? What would he call me if given a choice? I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, emotions are running rampant inside me. It’s all I can do to even my voice when I answer.

“Troy.”

“See ya, Troy.” I look after him as he shuts the door, aching to bridge the distance and study him up close. A gnawing in my gut keeps me from taking a single step because I know I’ll be denied that privilege as I have been for the whole of his life.

When I’m sure he’s at a safe distance away from the door, I take the few steps up the porch toward Clarissa, who’s glaring at me with tears in her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

I hold my hands up with a, ‘please, just hear me out.’ I bend down and start gathering her scattered groceries. The acid in her voice above me is exactly what I expected.

“I told you never to come near us. I meant it. You know I meant it.”

I lift the tattered sack once I’ve gathered everything salvageable. “I just want him to know me. I just want to know him.”

She gapes at the box I left on the steps behind me at the neighboring house. “You moved in next door?”

“I just want to keep an eye on him. He’s my—”

“Don’t,” she hisses, “don’t you dare say it. You can’t just show up and claim parental rights.”

“That’s not the truth of it, though, is it? I know you’ve seen me. I’ve seen you see me. I’m done pretending, Clarissa. If you move again, I’ll follow. You move then, I’ll do the same. I’m not going anywhere. It’s time we met. Past time. And I have to know him,” I choke on my words because it’s hard enough looking at her knowing she hates me and my chances of making this work are slim to none, but I have to try. “For him, please,” I ask, looking up, my eyes pleading with hers.

She crosses her arms and shakes her head. “He’s missed nothing.”

“You don’t know that.”

She rips the bag from my grip. “No.”