The Singles Table (Marriage Game #3)(12)
That had been the day Jay’s mother had been declared cancer-free. They’d had a quiet celebration at home, but the next morning, overwhelmed with emotion, he hadn’t been able to go into the office. Somehow Elias had known what he was going through, and within a few hours they were on a plane to Vegas for a weekend of pure debauchery.
“Vegas was one hell of a good time,” Elias said.
“I wish I remembered it.”
“I wish you did, too.”
* * *
? ? ?
Jay’s mood lifted the moment he walked into the Sunny Days Childcare Center. Four-year-old twins Mia and Eve ran to take his hands, and five-year-old Adrian—a born acrobat—climbed on his back.
“How are my little monsters?” he asked.
“We’re not monsters,” Eve protested. “We’re kids.”
“I’m a monster.” Adrian lifted his head and bellowed a roar.
“Indoor voices, please.” Annalise Abbott, the daycare manager, greeted Jay with a smile. “Take Jay into the other room. Miss Padma is reading a story. And keep an eye on him. I recall he had a loud monster voice when he used to come here as a boy.”
Worried that Annalise might share some less-than-flattering stories about his years in the daycare center when he’d been young, Jay led his entourage past the brightly painted bookshelves and toy bins to the preschool room.
He spotted his mother in the reading circle with ten toddlers in various stages of attentiveness. Her dark hair, cut into an easy bob, was liberally threaded with gray and fell softly around her face. But her eyes, a deep brown flecked with gold, sparkled with youth despite the first lines of age fanning out at the corners. Exercise and chasing after toddlers had kept her trim over the years, and when she smiled, she looked no different to Jay than she had when he’d been a boy. She wore a red polo shirt with the daycare logo on the back, sturdy running shoes, and a pair of well-worn jeans that had survived everything from runny noses to spilled paint.
Jay hunkered down, letting Adrian scramble off his back before he took a seat on a tiny red chair at the edge of the reading circle. “What story are we reading today?”
His mother grinned. “The Cat in the Hat.”
Jay bit back a groan. He had never enjoyed the nightmarish story of an impulse-driven cat who barged into a home determined to have fun without thinking of the consequences of his actions. The only sensible creature in the story was the fish, the voice of reason and order who stayed safely in his bowl and insisted that the house be tidied before the mother got back home.
After story time, Jay watched spaceship battles and car races. He held dolls for their “mommies,” fixed broken airplanes, and lent his body to the advancement of children’s climbing skills. As always, he was a passive participant, rarely leaving his little red chair, but the children never seemed to mind.
Many sticky kisses and good-byes later, he helped his mother and the rest of the staff tidy away the toys.
“I’ve invited a friend to join us for dinner tonight.” His mother wiped down the kitchen counter. “His name is Rick Sanchez. I met him at a bar after my book club meeting. We’ve been out a few times and I thought it might be nice for you to meet him.”
The skin on the back of Jay’s neck prickled in warning. His mother sprung these surprise boyfriends on him only if she knew Jay wouldn’t approve. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Oh, darling. You worry too much.” She left him to finish up and returned shortly after in a soft black sweater, her hair freshly combed and her lips glistening red.
Jay followed her out the door. “Just tell me he’s not a criminal.”
“He’s a biker.” She shrugged on a leather jacket he hadn’t seen before and turned to show him the back. “His club is called the Diablos . . .”
Jay’s heart skipped a beat when he saw the Diablos patch on the back. “Jesus, Mom! They’re a motorcycle club.”
With a chuckle, she zipped up her jacket. “They aren’t an outlaw club, if that’s what you’re thinking. They’re just regular guys who own Harleys and get together for weekend rides.”
“You’re not . . .” Jay sucked in a sharp breath, bracing himself on the nearest wall. “Going to ride on his bike?”
Jay had just completed his term of service when his mother was first diagnosed with breast cancer. He had returned home to look after her, determined to ensure she had the best possible care. Until this moment, he’d thought he was over the fear of losing her. But the frantic pounding of his heart said he was wrong.
“I’ve been on his bike several times already. He can’t stand being in a ‘cage.’ That’s what he calls a car.”
It took several deep breaths before Jay could speak again. “What happened to that nice accountant who drove a Honda Civic and bowled on Tuesdays?”
His mother shrugged. “He didn’t make me feel alive.”
“I want you to feel alive and be safe,” Jay grumbled. “How am I going to sleep at night if you’re riding through the streets on the back of a biker’s motorcycle?”
“You don’t need to look after me, Jay.” Her face softened. “Not anymore.”
“It’s who I am.” He had completed multiple combat deployments in Iraq and Afghanistan as a decorated combat search-and-rescue pilot and tactical officer and then channeled that desire to serve and protect into providing security nationwide. He couldn’t just turn it off, especially when it came to the only person he loved.