Worth the Risk(8)

Contest, my ass.

Logically, I know that she was here for a reason, so if the contest is a sham, what does she really want?

I stare at her car a little longer, waiting for her to pull away.

Modern Family? As in the offices off Main Street Modern Family? I hadn’t known she was even back in town let alone working there.

Not expecting much, I grab my phone and type in the two words and am surprised when the magazine’s glossy website pops up on my screen.

Jesus Christ. That’s my first and only thought when I see the headline at the top of the page: “Coming Soon: Hot Dad Contest—Next Round of Voting.”

I never entered any contest. If I had, why would self-absorbed, can’t-break-a-nail, my-daddy-owns-the-world Sidney Thorton be knocking on my door when she made it more than clear so many damn years ago that I wasn’t worth her time.

People change.

I snort. Not her kind of people.

So, what was she doing here?

“All done,” Luke yells right before the back door slams. There’s the clatter of him rifling through the bin on the patio for his helmet, his aimless chatter to himself. The noises come in from outside, but I’m too busy staring at everything I despise—privilege, silver spoons, and conceit—to wonder what exactly he’s doing.

Sidney Thorton is just like Claire.

Too good for anyone but herself.

Should I expect any less, considering they were inseparable back then, before Sidney left town?

Anger fires anew when I look outside and spot the little boy I made with Claire. The little boy who is my whole fucking world. That anger only gets hotter when I think of how selfish she was to walk away. How heartless she is to hurt him each and every day with her absence.

Stop thinking about Claire. She isn’t worth the wasted time.

Stop thinking about Sidney sitting there at the curb. She isn’t worth the energy, either.

Two privileged peas in a pod I’d rather not think about.

Who likes peas, anyway?

But when I pass the front window again, she’s still sitting in her car at the curb, head down, hands texting.

A contest. Really? What the hell?

She still has you staring, Gray. Still wondering. Just fucking ignore her.

She starts her car, and I force myself to look away. To turn toward the hundred things I have to do before I head out.

The distraction even works for a few minutes. I get lost in the chores. In thoughts about whether I should hunker down and pay bills or wait another day. In the next load of laundry. In wondering if I have enough to put Luke’s lunch together or if I have to go to the store later.

Normalcy.

“Dad! Dad!” Luke’s excited, and when I hear the front door slam shut, I’m immediately irritated.

“Luke? We’ve been through this a hundred times. You don’t go out in the front yard without telling me!”

“But, Dad, listen. I had to get my bike. I had to—the woman . . . Sidney? She said you were going to win a contest. And it has a huge prize!”

If I weren’t already agitated, I would be. Use my kid to get to me? Tempt him with prizes? I grit my teeth and try to remain stern. I grab Luke’s shoulders and turn him to face me. “Did you hear what I said?”

His brown eyes look up to meet mine, and I immediately regret letting my irritation with Sidney get the better of me. “I’m sorry, Dad. I just wanted to get my bike so I could ride in the back, and she said you are going to win, and one of the prizes is a trip. A trip! We’ve never been on a trip . . . and I shouldn’t have talked to strangers.”

Guilt. The one constant of parenthood weighs heavily on me as I pull Luke into my arms and hold tight to him. “You’re my everything, bud. I just want you to be safe.” I nuzzle my nose in that spot beneath his neck where he smells like little boy and sweat and makes every regrettable decision I’ve ever made seem just perfect because they all led to having him.

He indulges me with the bear hug a little longer than normal because he knows he’s in trouble, but even then, eight-year-old boys only let hugs last so long before they wiggle out of them. When he does, his eyes look up to mine and widen.

“You’re a finalist in a contest, Dad!” His excitement lights up his face. “How cool is that?”

“I didn’t enter any contest, though.”

“But Miss Sidney said that you did, and out of hundreds of people, you are one of the top twenty. How cool is that?”

I attempt to ignore the twinge of annoyance over Luke knowing her name. I try to pretend that I’m not mad she just used my son to get to me. But the best I can do is keep it out of my expression.

“And she said she knew you in high school. Is it true? She’s awfully pretty. Like, wife pretty. Maybe you should ask her out on a date—”

“Whoa, tiger!” I put my hands up in surrender and laugh despite his desire for a mother breaking my heart in two.

Again . . . guilt.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Did you know her in high school?”

I think back to our brief interaction back then. To how I was definitely not a part of her crowd, nor did I want to be after how I watched them treat people.

“Vaguely.”

“What does vaguely mean?”

“It means I barely knew her.”