Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(17)

“I can hear in your voice you’re frantic. It’s fine. Just come by when you’re done.”

She nibbled on her lip. “I really should get him now and drag him—”

“Kara.” His voice was lower, as if he wanted to keep it a secret. The faint sound of the TV was gone now. He must have stepped into another room. “He’s got something eating at him. So I’m going to keep him here and let him unload for a bit. Sometimes, talking to an adult who isn’t a parent just works better when a kid needs to vent. Come get him later. Punish him later. Do the whole Responsible Mom thing later. But give him a little time first. Give yourself a little time, too.”

She should scold him for giving her parenting advice when he had no experience. But he’d once been a young boy. She couldn’t discount that. “I’ll call you when I’m on the way.”

“Perfect. We look forward to seeing you.” He chuckled, then added, “Well, I do, anyway.” Then he hung up.

She set the phone down on the bench beside the duffel and covered her face with both hands. Now that she actually had the time to cry, the tears wouldn’t come. It was as if they knew she could afford the moment to self-indulge, and were stubbornly withholding.

Even her tear ducts were against her.

With a shaky breath, she quickly texted Sylvia to let her know, stuffed the phone in her bag, stood on wobbly legs and made her way to the parking lot.


*

HEADLIGHTS cut through his open front window, waking Graham from the drowsy, relaxed pose on the couch. He sat up, muting the TV as he did, and checked out the window. Definitely Kara’s car, though she wasn’t turning it off and getting out. Was she hoping to grab him and run?

No way in hell.

But even as he watched, prepared to go out there and pull the keys out of the ignition himself, she slowly let her head drop to the steering wheel. He could see the exhaustion and worry from the front door. She wasn’t trying to grab-and-go. She just wasn’t ready to deal with the stress yet.

He gave her another few moments and went to check on Zach. He’d hit a slump at about eight thirty. Early for a kid his age, but Graham had a feeling the adrenaline of running off plus the excitement of being able to hang with him for a while had taken its toll. He’d carried the boy—and what a trusting, humbling weight that had been to hold against his shoulder and chest—to his guest room and tucked him in. It was a school night, so no way would he stay. But until Kara could come back for him, it was a more comfortable place to rest.

Zach was still out, and snoring just a little. Graham smiled, then closed the bedroom door again and headed to the front door. He made it just in time to open it before Kara rang the bell and woke the boy up.

“Hey.” He held it open and let her come in. She wore yoga pants that were cropped at the calves and molded perfectly to her long legs, a flowy tank top that skimmed the top of her spectacular ass, and her hair in a long braid that emphasized how slim and tempting her neck was.

She looked around the living room, then into the kitchen. “Zach?”

“Sleeping in the guest room. He zonked out early, and I figured you might need a few minutes before you got him to go home.” When she just stood there, staring toward the hallway that contained the bedrooms, he added, “I’m sorry. I hope you weren’t worried too much.”

The look she shot him was so maternal, he wondered if she’d ground him.

“‘Worried’ is not the word I would use.” She let her purse drop to the love seat and sank down beside it. Her head flopped forward into her hands. He took the sofa, sitting close enough to reach out and touch her. He wanted to. But he wouldn’t. Not yet.

“‘Worried’ makes it sound like I sort of thought about it, but knew it would be okay. Like how I worry when he’s taking a big social studies test because he hates to read about history. Or worry he’ll leave his EpiPen at home . . . but never has.” She looked at him then, eyes full of tears he knew she was battling hard to not shed. “Terror is probably more accurate. I couldn’t breathe. Graham, I . . .” She fluttered a hand over her chest, and it heaved with the effort to draw in air. “I couldn’t . . . oh, God.” Her voice was thin, and he could see she was a hair’s breadth from a full blown panic attack.

“Hey, hey. Come here.” Without waiting for her to protest, he tossed her purse on the coffee table, sat beside her on the love seat and pulled her against him. When she clenched a fist in his T-shirt, he knew she was so far gone she didn’t even realize who held her. He waited until her breathing subsided, continually rubbing at her back with the palm of his hand and making a lot of low, soothing sounds.

He flashed back to the thought of carrying Zach, and what a humble, trusting weight that had been in his arms. How right it had felt, how amazing. And thought to Zach’s mother, the woman he held now. He wanted that same weight from her. Wanted her to freely hand him her troubles to help her carry them. Wanted to hold her and be humbled by her faith.

After a while, Kara’s grip on his shirt loosened and she sat back, wiping under her eyes. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Don’t apologize.” God, don’t apologize. “You had a scare. If you hadn’t needed a minute to collect yourself, I would have been shocked. It means you’re human, and you love him.”