“I didn’t want to have to leave after I got here, so I got a little bit of everything.”
“I can see that.” I smile then start putting stuff back. “I don’t need any of this,” I tell him, handing him the bag.
He takes it and puts it on the floor. I pick up the Nyquil and he takes it from me, opening it and pouring it into the little cup before handing the cup to me. I take it immediately before handing him the empty cup back. He puts the stuff on the table next to him before lying down, pulling me with him.
“Thank you for coming and taking care of me.”
His hands wrap around me tighter and his lips touch the top of my head. “It’s my job to take care of you,” he tells me, and I can hear the seriousness in his tone.
“And I get to take care of you.”
His body stills and he takes a deep breath. “I’d like that,” he says quietly.
I know about his dating history, and I know that he never wanted to get close to anyone again. However, I also know that, even if he told himself that all of his previous bed partners were long term and that he might not have been looking for love, he was not sleeping with a different woman every night. He wanted to connect with someone, but somehow, he never did.
I burrow deeper into his side and angle my face towards the TV.
“Night,” Mike says, his lips resting on my forehead briefly before pulling away.
“Night,” I whisper back. My eyes close completely, and my only thought is that this is the thing I’ve been looking for.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hear Brandon say.
I sit up quickly, looking at the open door of my room. My eyes meet my son’s angry ones. Then his go back to Mike, who is now sitting up as well, wrapping an arm around me.
“Brandon Tim, watch your mouth,” I tell him, running a hand through my hair.
“Seriously, Mom, this is bullshit.”
“Mind your mom,” Mike says in a tone I’ve never heard from him before.
Brandon glares at Mike then looks at me. “I’m taking the car,” he states, his jaw clenching.
I start to nod when Mike cuts in. “Ask.”
“What?” Brandon asks, confused.
I hate to admit it, but since my husband left, I have let Brandon do his own thing. I know it’s stupid, but I hate fighting with him. I feel so guilty that he no longer has his father in his life, and sometimes, it’s just easier to go with the flow than to go head-to-head with an eighteen-year-old man-child.
“Ask if you can use your mom’s car. Don’t tell her you’re taking it,” Mike says, not taking his eyes off Brandon.
Brandon’s jaw starts to grind and his eyes cut to me. “Can I use the car?” he grits out.
“Yes,” I say.
Brandon immediately stomps off down the stairs, slamming the front door behind him, and I flop back on the bed and cover my face.
“Babe.”
I just shake my head.
“He knows we’re together,” Mike says, and I know he knows, but it’s one thing to know and another to find your mom in bed with a man.
“I know, but maybe we shouldn’t have sleepovers anymore,” I say through my hands. I feel the bed move. Then my hands are being pried away from my face.
“First, I came over on a night when he was sleeping at a friend’s so that I could take care of you while you were sick,” he says softly, pushing my hair away from my face. “That being said, I have a feeling it wouldn’t matter if he came home from college and found me in your bed. He would still be pissed off.”
“I know,” I whisper, feeling tears fill my eyes.
Mike’s eyes go soft as he wipes my tears away with his thumbs. “He loves you, baby.”
“I know,” I repeat on a sob.
He rolls to his side pulling me with him. “What time does he normally get home?” he asks, and I try to bury my face deeper into his chest, not wanting to answer that. “Kat?”
I take a shaky breath before tilting my head back and looking at him. “I told him his curfew is ten on school nights and twelve on weekends.”
“Lemme guess. He doesn’t come home when he’s supposed to?”
“Sometimes.” I shrug.
“Babe, I understand that you’re trying to soften things up for him ‘cause his dad left, but I think you’re hurting more than you’re helping at this point.”
“You don’t understand.” I close my eyes, shaking my head. My son is so angry. He’s a good kid and I know that he loves me, but he has so much anger inside him that I can feel it when we’re in the same room.
“I do understand. I know how much trouble teenage boys can get into when left to do their own thing.”
“Mike.”
“He’s not my kid and I can’t tell you what to do or how to raise him, but he needs to have structure and discipline. He’s not too old for you to get on him.”
“I know,” I say because I do know. “I just don’t think he was expecting to see you here.”
“You told him we’re together, right?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “He stormed off, but I didn’t think anything of it ‘cause he always storms off when I try to talk to him.”
“We’ll figure it out together,” he says, and my heart settles a little bit more. “How are you feeling?” he asks after a few minutes. His hand goes to my forehead and his eyes look me over.