If he was with me and Mitch wasn’t around, he asked about Mitch all the time. Where was he? What was he doing? When was he coming home? Didn’t I think Mitch’s hamburgers were the best? Wasn’t it cool how Mitch could do multiplication questions in his head without writing anything down?
After our first date, four times in one day he asked when he and Billie could go back to Penny’s house to spend the night. Then, two weeks later, when Mitch and I had another night on our own with Sue Ellen looking after the kids, when he got home the next afternoon he asked twice when they were again going to Sue Ellen’s.
Then, three days ago, Mitch and I were having an inconsequential tiff in his SUV, about what, I didn’t even remember. The kids were with us and I felt something rolling through the truck that made me feel weird. I turned to look into the backseat and I saw Billy staring out the side window, his profile hard, his teeth clenched, his hands in fists, his shoulders bunched but his lip was trembling. He looked terrified and near tears.
It alarmed me and I immediately quit having terse words with Mitch, gave him a look and jerked my head toward the back. Mitch’s eyes went to the rearview mirror then they went to the road and his jaw got so tight, a muscle jumped there.
Later, in bed, Mitch pulled me on top of him and stated, “You get pissed, I get pissed, we have our words private, not in front of the kids.”
“You saw it then,” I whispered.
“Yeah, I saw it.”
I told him something I guessed he already knew considering he was a cop and very insightful, “He’s not right, Mitch, something is wrong with him.”
“You live bad, sweetheart, you taste good, you’d do anything to keep it. You know that.”
I really did.
I nodded.
Mitch continued, saying softly, “He’s terrified.”
I bit my lip. “Yeah,” I agreed then asked, “Should we talk to him about it?”
Mitch studied me but he did this thinking.
Then he said, “Don’t know. He thinks we cottoned on, might cause more anxiety. We play it cool and give him day to day good and steady, he might relax.”
“I’m going to talk to Bobbie at work about it,” I told him and it was his turn to nod.
“I mentioned it to Slim,” he informed me, surprising me. “Slim caught on when we played catch, though it was hard to miss.”
Slim was Brock, Mitch’s partner’s nickname.
Brock was good. Brock had two boys. Brock probably had a wealth of experience.
“And what does he say?”
“He says if he thinks we cottoned on, it might cause more anxiety. If we play it cool and give him steady, he might relax,” Mitch said on a grin.
“Great,” I muttered and Mitch’s arm gave me a squeeze.
“Our play, we give him two weeks. He doesn’t settle in, we talk again and decide who talks to him. You with me?”
I smiled and whispered, “Yeah. But if you ready, break me, I’m going to protest the play.”
His head tilted on the pillow and his lips twitched. “Why’s that?”
I pressed my body into his and told him, “Because I’m comfy.”
“Sweetheart, you can’t sleep on me,” he pointed out.
“Who’s talking about sleeping?” I asked and his eyes flashed.
Then his hands moved. Then my hands moved.
Then our mouths and tongues moved. Then other parts of us did the moving.
By the time we broke, I was way more comfy, in fact, I was nearly catatonic. But, even so, I got up and cleaned up, put my nightie and panties back on and Mitch tugged on his pajama bottoms. We got naked, obviously, but we didn’t sleep naked. It wouldn’t do for Billie to come in and puke and us to be in our birthday suits.
This concerned me. I’d been scheduled for my foster care classes and CPS had not been around again, although Mitch had informed them of the situation with my apartment and told me I could probably expect another visit when we returned to it.
But I didn’t know how they’d feel about me sleeping with my boyfriend every night with the kids in the same house. Even if that boyfriend was nice guy, good guy Detective Mitchell James Lawson. I didn’t need them to have any reason to shake up the good and steady we were giving the kids.
So, curled into Mitch, I sleepily shared this concern.
To which, Mitch, not sleepy at all, replied, “Anyone tries to take those kids from you, Mara, they deal with me.”
I blinked at his shadowed chest then lifted my head to look at his shadowed face.
“Pardon?”
“You got enough to worry about, don’t worry about CPS. I don’t know where they stand on shit like this but they hear you got a sleepover boyfriend and try to place those kids somewhere else, I’ll create a shit storm like they’ve never seen. So don’t worry about it.”
“How will you do that?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Mitch –”
I stopped talking when he rolled into me so he was on me, totally on me. All his weight and his hands were at either side of my head, fingers in my hair, his shadowy face close to mine. Even though I couldn’t see him, I could definitely feel his intensity.
“You didn’t learn this from the one you had but I learned it from mine. Parents do anything to protect their kids. Anything. Whatever they have to do. They exhaust themselves. They bleed themselves dry. They run themselves ragged. They do whatever they have to do. My Mom and Dad are good now but, growin’ up, we didn’t have a lot and I never felt it. I didn’t even f**kin’ realize it until I was out on my own and looked back at my life. I didn’t need for anything, I rarely wanted for anything. They did that for me and worked themselves to the bone to do it. They taught me life lessons and they let me take my share of falls but the real shit of life, they cushioned me from. Bud and Billie have already taken their share of falls. That’s done for them, Mara, and if it has to be me who sees to it, I’ll see to it.”
I was breathing heavy because he was heavy on me but it was more. A lot more.
“I…I don’t know what to say,” I wheezed. He heard the wheeze and took one hand out of my hair to plant his forearm in bed beside me and take some of his weight off me.
“Nothin’ to say,” he told me. “I just laid out the way it is.”
“Mitch –”
He stopped me talking by touching his mouth to mine then whispering, “Go to sleep, baby.”