Hard Rules
“I’m working on it.”
“Then why call me repeatedly rather than leave me a message?”
“I was about to come over there before your mother does.”
“What?” Shane asks.
“She called me when she couldn’t reach you, insisting that it’s imperative she talk to you and indicated she might go to your apartment.”
Shane runs a hand over his face. “Why?”
Why is right? Why am I listening? I try to get up. Shane catches my arm, and gives me a look along with a shake of his head, while Seth answers. “She wouldn’t tell me.”
I mouth, “I can hear everything.”
Shane nods his understanding but seems to dismiss any concern, turning his attention back to his call. “Of course my mother wouldn’t tell you what she wants,” he concludes to Seth. “That would be too simple. I’ll deal with her.”
“I’ll have a report on the security feed by morning.”
“And the woman,” Shane amends. “We’re paying enough people to get me an answer by morning.”
Woman? Does he mean the one he saw his father with tonight? Surely not.
“Until she goes home,” Seth replies, “I have no way of tracing her.”
Damn. That sure sounds like he’s talking about the woman his father is with and it’s a slippery slope he’s headed down.
“Try,” Shane orders, ending the call to look at me. “I need to deal with my mother. It’ll be fast.”
“I could hear every word of both sides of your conversation,” I quickly say, “not just your part. I should go to the balcony.”
“I want you right here.”
“No you don’t, because I’ll tell you that you shouldn’t be looking into that woman, Shane. And yet I know it’s none of my business.”
“What it is, is more complicated than a simple affair.”
“Like I said, I should I should go to the balcony.”
“Stay,” he says, and while he says it like one of his commands, which I’ve come to realize are simply second nature to him, I sense an undertone of a plea I don’t believe he’d ever issue.
I give a choppy nod and resettle on the barstool. He wastes no time punching a button on his phone and almost instantly says, “What’s going on, Mother?”
“I heard you saw your father tonight,” I hear her reply.
“I see him daily,” he says, obviously treading cautiously.
“At the restaurant, Shane. Susie said you obviously were not pleased.”
He’s silent several beats, as if weighing his reply. “Did she tell you why?”
“I know your father’s having an affair. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“You know he’s having an affair?”
He sounds incredulous. Been there, done that, and I never came to terms with why my mother accepted my stepfather’s affairs.
“Of course I know,” his mother confirms. “It’s fine.”
Shane looks at the ceiling, seeming to rein in whatever emotion she’s stirred, before saying, “We’ll talk tomorrow.” His tone short and absolute.
“Son,” she begins. “Your father—”
“I have company, Mother.”
“Oh. Well. Good. You need to fuck some of your frustrations out. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Okay. Talk about embarrassing, and from his mother of all people.
“Tomorrow,” he bites out, ending the call and for a moment he just sits there, his spine stiff, his gaze fixed forward. I wait, giving him space and time.
He scrubs his jaw, no doubt trying to shake off a mire of emotions I know pretty well, but I doubt he hopes to share with me, or anyone. “I’m sorry you heard that,” he says, shoving his phone in his pocket, and standing to press his hands on the back of his stool.
“I’m thick-skinned,” I say, rotating to face him, finding his stare fixed on me, his expression unreadable, but that is expected from a man who makes a living hiding his reactions to things.
There are a million things that come to my mind that I could say—like how people have coping mechanisms—but he’d said this was more than a simple affair and anything I say could negate me respecting the implications of that claim. And I don’t have time to weigh the smartness of that decision as he steps to me, his hands coming down on the back of my chair, his arms caging me. “This thing between us is not about two kids, PTA meetings, and four dogs in our future.”
“Four dogs. That’s a lot. I do want a dog though.”
“Emily.”
“I don’t need PTA meetings. This thing, as you call it, is a one-night stand, Shane.”
“That’s not happening.”
“What’s not happening?”
“This is not a one-night stand. Neither of us will be done with each other that fast, and we both know it.”
“You can’t decide what we are on your own.”
“You’re running, but not from me.”
“Let me up.” I shove on his unmoving arm to try to break free. “Damn it, Shane.”
“Do you want this to be a one-night stand?”
“I’m not capable of more right now.”
“We’re keeping it simple. We’re going upstairs to my bedroom to fuck.”
“And tomorrow?”