Someone to Watch Over Me Read online

  “Oh, stop it. You’re worth it. You have to stop thinking about yourself as an anchor and start thinking about yourself as a human being. Stop allowing Grant to define who you are.”

  My frown deepened. “I always thought I was being a responsible adult and mother, but you make me sound downright pathetic.”

  “You walked away from Tate Watkins, Singer, Songwriter, Record Producer, and apparently the Sheik of Peaks. When it comes to self-indulgence, you are pathetic.”

  “Wow, thanks for giving it to me gently.”

  “Sometimes the kid gloves gotta come off, Coop. And this was one of those times. Now case the tiny violin and pull out the big girl panties. You have groveling to do next time you see him.”

  “Thanks, I’m going to do that right now.” Actually, I was going to call my mother before she had a massive coronary, and do some laundry while we talked. I didn’t have the time for the Laundromat, but I could wash the cushion covers and hang them over the railing to dry.

  “Fine. I’m going. I know when I’m being kicked out. Just don’t squander my advice. There’re plenty of others out there who would heed what I tell them.”

  “Em?” Em paused, her palm flat against the door. I wrung my hands together, fiddling nervously. “If you had to do it over, would you do it again?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “If I do this,” I asked, “if I stay, would you teach me to shoot?”

  “Sugar, I’ve been waiting for you to ask. Just let me know when.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Ambitious. I like it.”

  “Scared,” I clarified. “Shitless.”

  “Fear can be crippling, but it can also be a strong motivator, especially when one comes between a mother and her child. Think of Levy, Coop. Be stronger for him. Think of his life, and not just his physical existence in the world. He deserves better than a life on the run.”

  “I know he does, but it doesn’t make the thought of facing Grant any easier.”

  “I’m here. Garrison is here. Your friends, your parents are here. You’re not alone.”

  Abandoning the windowsill, I started tossing the cushion covers into the laundry basket, hiding the moisture building in my eyes. “Thanks, Em. I’ll bring Levy by in a few hours.”

  If I wasn’t leaving, I had tables to wait. Bills didn’t pay themselves.

  Behind me, the screen door closed with a thwack. Em was good at reading people. I had to give her that. She knew when to push and when to let go. I never appreciated her discretion more than at that moment. I needed time to get a hold of myself, collect my composure.

  Luckily, the foam cushion was almost dry. By the time I left for work, it would be good to go. I tossed the removable covers into the basket along with the rest of my dirty clothes.

  My parents weren’t as easily managed. A longstanding friend of the family had spotted the video while browsing the internet, and you know how gossip goes. They passed it down the line until it reached my mother’s inbox. She wanted me to come home where she could lock Levy and me behind closed doors, never again to see the light of day. She hadn’t actually expressed that in words, but the connotation was present in the tone of her voice. I couldn’t blame her. She was worried. She hadn’t wanted me to move out in the first place.

  Dad wasn’t far from agreement. His main concern was my safety, which he wanted to secure by luring Grant to their house (where mom would have us safely locked away) so he could ‘blow his fucking brains out’ when he showed up on their doorstep. In contrast to my mother’s insinuations, those were my father’s words, verbatim. Never mind that Dad didn’t own a gun. Nor had he ever shot one. Dad, in fact, hadn’t a violent bone in his body.

  In the end, they acquiesced to my decision. I assured them that I had a great bunch of friends, who were all looking out for me, and that I had taken precautions in case Grant were to show up. I didn’t believe it myself, but there was only so much I could do short of running.

  Lifting the hamper and hitching over my hip, I pushed the door open with my foot. “Come on Levy, help Momma do some laundry?”

  The washer and dryer were in the tack room below, accessible to both tenants at their leisure, but I didn’t like to leave Levy alone. The stairs were steep. If he changed his mind about tagging along and tried to navigate them on his own, I was afraid he might fall.

  At the mention of laundry, his eyes brightened. “I get cow-its?”

  “Yes, go get the carrots. Come on.”

  “I feed da hoses cow-its.”

  “Yes, you feed the horses carrots.”

  And so the conversation continued. It was all customary of doing laundry, and the highlight of Levy’s day. He retrieved two of the largest, thickest cow-its from the refrigerator drawer and trundled through the door. I grabbed his hand before he could trundle head first down the stairs.

  Thus, I was busy conversing about the size of the hoses teef and which hoses deserved cow-its first, and not paying attention to the corner of the slipcover that escaped the hamper and consequently snared my toes. Somehow, unbeknownst to me, I managed to slip my hand from Levy’s grasp so that I didn’t take him down with me. The stairs altered into a ninety-degree ski slope, which my Sketchers weren’t equipped to traverse. I compensated by releasing the hamper. This tumbled down the stairs, scattering laundry down the remaining treads, further exacerbating the situation. Throwing my weight back, I hoped to land on my butt instead of sliding down the flight headfirst. It worked to a certain degree. I landed on the aforesaid focus of my anatomy and continued backward, smacking my head and back on the wooden stair then continued down the slope of linens one step at a time, gravity carrying me to the bottom.

  “Momma!” Levy cried. “Yew faw down!”

  I lay there stunned, waiting for the pain to arrive. Surely I didn’t escape a fall of that magnitude unscathed. “Yes, I fell down, Lev.”

  “Momma getted boo boo?”

  “No,” I breathed. Yep, there was the pain. My head ached. Stars floated in my field of vision. My back felt chafed and bruised. “I’m ok. You just stay right where you are, buddy.”

  “I sit.”

  “Yes, you sit.” Closing my eyes, I waited for my head to stop spinning and the pain to fade. My ears were ringing, but I think it was more the shock than the fall. They rang that way sometimes when Levy was having a bad day.

  In the distance, I heard the ping of gravel. From the sound of the engine, I guessed it was Mr. Craig. I dared a peek, loath to being found flat on my back. Nope, it was even worse. I was mortified to find it wasn’t Mr. Craig, but a specific black Escalade barreling up the driveway.

  Dropping my head back down, I winced at the tender spot on my scalp.

  God, just let me die now.

  “Cooper!” The car door slammed. I could hear the crunch of gravel under Tate’s feet. “Jesus Christ! Cooper!”

  I lifted my hand, hoping to allay his fears. “I’m ok. I’m ok.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “I fell down the stairs, obviously.”

  “Can you move? Do I need to dial nine-one-one?”

  “No, please don’t. Like this isn’t humiliating enough.”

  “How long have you been lying here like this?”

  “All afternoon.” Tate’s face appeared above me, mouth pulled into a frown.

  “You’re joking, right?

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a good sign, I think. But get up anyway. You’re making me nervous. I’ll feel better when you move.” Placing one hand beneath my back, he took my other hand and hauled me off the stairs. I clung to him for a minute while my head stopped spinning. “You sure you’re not hurt?”

  “Actually, my ass took the brunt of the fall. Do you want to—”

  “Don’t say it.” His tone drew me up short. My eyes drew to his face. “I’m not in the mood for humor.” He wasn’t. His eyes were hard, his mouth taut. He was unmistakably angry.

  “I’m so
rry.”

  “How could you just leave like that? After everything you’ve told me today, and with Carter’s freakin’ video posted on the internet for the world to see? I had no idea where you live. I’ve been driving around lost for hours trying to find this place, worried—yes, worried—that this asshole might already know where you are, that he might’ve beaten me here, or that you might not have even made it home. You were scared out of your gourd. You could’ve gotten in an accident. I told you to wait, didn’t’ I? I told you I wanted to come with you?”

  Grovel, Em told me, so I pushed out a, “Yes. I’m sorry that you worried.”

  “You didn’t think I would, because of who I am? I don’t have feelings? I’m not a person like everyone else?”

  “Well, yeah, sort of.”

  “Jesus, Cooper, I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “I am.” Sighing, I dragged a hand through my hair. Looked to Levy who was perched quietly on the stairs, watching us with forlorn eyes. I held my arms out, lifted him onto my hip. I probably just traumatized him for life.

  “Yew faw down.”

  “Yep, I sure did.” I pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, smoothed the blond curls from his face. “Why don’t you and Tate give the horses their carrots while I pick up the laundry. Ok, buddy?”

  “Day half big teef.”

  “Yes they do. Remember—show Tate how to hold his hand so the horses don’t bite his fingers.”

  “Should I be afraid?” Tate inquired, taking Levy from my arms.

  “Just keep your fingers out of the way and you’ll be fine. I’ll only be a minute. Then we can finish talking.”

  “Seriously, they won’t really bite my fingers off, will they?”

  “Wait,” I amended, fighting a smile. “I’ll be right there.” Better to be safe than sorry. Tate’s hands were worth a lot of money, and he needed them to play guitar.

  “Hey.” Tate grabbed my arm before I could turn away. “I didn’t mean to shout. You scared me when I found you lying there like that. I thought that something happened to you.”

  “It’s fine. You had every right to be upset.”

  “Have, not had. I’m still upset. We’re not nearly done talking.”

  I nodded and turned to pick up my laundry. Movement at the top of the stairs caught my eye. The small gap in Em’s blinds dropped closed. Mother hen retreated to her nest. Shaking my head, I bent and scooped up my laundry, deposited it in the hamper. I wouldn’t be surprised to find Mr. Craig hiding in the trees. The two were always spying on me.

  In the barn, I ducked into the tack room. It was small, and filled wall to wall with equipment, from brushes and saddles to shovels and pitchforks. And yes, it had those huge hooks that you always see in horror movies. Mr. Craig used them to move bales of hay. Said they saved his hands. Still, they made me shiver. I quickly stuffed the covers into the washer machine, turned the dial to heavy duty and left the huge, creepy hooks to their devices.

  In the pasture, Tate was braving the horses, urged by Levy, no doubt. Poor Barrel had his neck extended, his bulbous lip wriggling and stretching to reach the carrot, which Tate proffered from a safe distance away. At the last second, he chickened out and yanked his hand back, dropping the carrot to the ground. Undiscouraged, Levy picked it up and offered it back to Tate, who stared at the dirt-covered root as if it was the origin of all infectious diseases.

  “Yew cow-it.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Yew feed it to da hose.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Das bow wows cow-it.”

  “That’s not a dog, kid.” Tate pointed to the beast in question. “It’s a horse.”

  “Bow wow hose.”

  “Let me explain something to you, kid.” Tate dropped to a crouch. “Doggies say bow wow. Horses say neigh.” He did a horrible impression of a neigh as a demonstration.

  “Yew sewy,” Levy giggled. “Bow wow says neigh.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  I dithered on letting Tate know the horse’s name was Barrel. Levy pronounced it Bow wow. And Barrel was definitely a horse, but I was lost in the disparity of this grown man conversing with my son. Mr. Craig was a great guy, but he tended to shy from Levy as if he were an alien life form, and I didn’t see my dad very often. That left Levy deficient of masculine camaraderie. So naturally, I sat back and imagined the possibilities, building castles in the air.

  “Yew cow-it.”

  “It’s dirty. You can’t feed the horse a dirty carrot.”

  Levy eyed the carrot in his hand, and then wiped it along the leg of his jeans. After giving it a cursory onceover, satisfied with its appearance, he offered it again to Tate. “Is queen.”

  I giggled. Maybe Levy didn’t need lessons on how to be manly after all.

  “Momma!” Levy crowed, catching sight of me where I was watching from the corner of the barn. Trundling in my direction, his blond curls bounced animatedly, bleached nearly white by the sunlight filtering through the trees. His tiny teeth glittered in a wide smile.

  I lifted him with a wince and placed him on my hip. Already my muscles were complaining over the debacle on the stairs. Tomorrow would be a peach.

  “Will there ever be a day when he doesn’t react like it’s the first time he’s ever seen you?” Tate inquired.

  “I hope not.” I winced again, prying Levy’s knee from a particularly sensitive spot on my lower back. “Although, I might have a difficult time holding him like this when he’s sixteen.”

  “You’re hurt.”

  “I think I bruised my back.”

  “Where?”

  “Oh, just a small spot—like from my shoulders to my thighs, that general area.”

  “Let me take a look.” He motioned for me to turn around. I spun, hissed a breath when he lifted my shirt. Even the slight drag of material hurt. Behind me, Tate mimicked the sound I made.

  “Damn.”

  “That bad?”

  “One to ten. Ten. You have some major road rash. Hit anything else?”

  “My head, actually.”

  Tenderly, he dropped my shirt and moved to my head, probing my scalp with his fingertips. “You’ve got a nice egg. Maybe I should take you to the hospital and get this checked out. You could have a concussion.”

  “I’m fine. Sore, but fine. Besides, I have bigger things to worry about.” Like what I planned to do the rest of my life. “Come on upstairs. Levy can watch some cartoons while we talk. And I can take a few ibuprofen. Maybe I can head off some of the kinks.”

  “You should call out tonight.”

  “Should.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “Probably not. Money’s good. I’m more likely to call out Monday from my day job. I’ll even get paid for it. Sick days are the bomb.”

  Taking Levy from my arms, Tate followed me up the stairs. I suppose I wasn’t fooling him trying to hide the pain I was in. My back felt like it was on fire, inside and out.

  “If I offered you money, you probably wouldn’t take it.”

  “Ha. No.”

  “Why, because you won’t be around, or for other reasons?”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Opening the door, I let Tate pass through with Levy. He placed him down while regarding the boxes and bins I had begun to fill earlier.

  “It doesn’t look that way.”

  “I was running. Ok? It’s what I do, and for good reason. But I changed my mind. I’m not leaving this time. It wasn’t an easy decision, and I’m scared as hell about it, but I’m staying.”

  “I’m not attacking you. I’m just trying to figure out where I stand.”

  “I’m trying to figure that out too. I like you, Tate. A lot. But this is a big chance I’m taking here.” Walking away, I paced to the window and back, running a hand through my hair. If I kept this up, I was likely to be bald before I reached twenty-two. “I’m going out on a limb for a relationship that might not go anywhere.”

 
; “You’re not the only one taking a chance here, Cooper, or the only one with a past.”

  “Yes, I know that, but you don’t have a kid, Tate. You know what I’m dealing with. My life’s not simple. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not asking for guarantees, because I can’t make any promises either. I guess what I’m trying to say is if I’m just a ‘road gig’ then you need to walk away right now. If it was just me, I wouldn’t care, but I have Levy to think about. And I’m not just worried about Grant. I can’t have my son getting attached to you and then having you walk out.”

  For what felt like a lifetime, Tate stared. I was glad that he was considering this seriously. But at the same time, I’d seen paint dry faster. When finally, he shook his head, I was sure he was going to say goodbye. “You really think I’m going to walk.”

  “Yeah, I do. Any sane person would.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I told you already; I knew you had a kid. I wouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place if I wasn’t serious about you.”

  I released the breath I had been holding. It was as if a ten-pound weight lifted off my chest. “You’re either incredibly foolish or incredibly gallant.”

  “Let’s just stick with incredible.” He grinned crookedly, threaded his arm around my waist. His nose skimmed mine as he brushed my lips with a tease of a kiss.

  “The incredible Tate Watkins.”

  “I like when you say it the other way better. It’s more convincing.” Deepening the kiss, he endeavored to draw out one of those sounds from me. I moaned first in pleasure and then in pain as his arm tightened around me, pulling me closer. Immediately, he loosened his hold, his brows pinched in concern. “Call out tonight.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Well, let me ask you this, what criteria do I need to meet before you’ll accept help from me?”

  “Mm, I don’t know…time?”

  “My jeans probably cost you a week’s pay. Money is nothing to me.”

  Frowning, I pulled away from him. His intentions were good, but the truth was depressing. “You should meet my neighbor, Em. You both have a way of making me feel pitiful and underachieving.”

  “I didn’t mean it as an insult.”

  “It’s fine, I’m just being stupid. I’ve barely come to grips that I have you in my apartment and you’re offering me money. It makes me uncomfortable.”