“You like her.”
“She’s Aidan’s mother.”
“You like her,” Mrs. Rosa says, her voice rising an octave.
“I don’t want to screw this up,” I say. “Butterfly Buddies only chose me because they’re desperate. Besides, I get the impression Mary doesn’t know about my past, and she’s definitely not the type of woman who can let something like that go. So not only is there no future with Mary O’Shea, but I suspect my time as her son’s buddy will be short-lived too.”
I realize that I need to be the one to tell Mary, and soon. The closer I get to Aidan, the harder it will be to disengage. He might not get attached to me, but I know stability is important to him. Even more so because his life has been so turbulent lately.
“You’re thinking too much,” Mrs. Rosa says, patting my hand. “You’re a lovely boy. She should be lucky to have you.”
I laugh at that. To hear her tell it, I’m a high schooler thinking about asking Mary out to prom. Not an ex-con interested in a lawyer who thrives on control—which has to be driving her crazy, given that her husband has deserted them, her son has special needs, and she’s just moved and changed her job. Oh, and her son thinks she’s the biggest liar on the planet for letting him believe Santa was real.
Mary O’Shea’s life is not only out of control—it’s a fiery mass plummeting to Earth.
Danger. Do not engage.
My life is enough of a mess. I don’t need to get mixed up in someone else’s. Yet, when I think about the vulnerable look in Mary’s eyes, I still want to help her.
And when I think of the lust I saw there, I want to strip her naked.
That is why I need to come clean with her, because screwing Mary O’Shea is the worst idea I’ve had in years. I suspect Mary is unraveling, and all it will take is one hard tug for her to come undone.
I’m a fuckup who broke his mother’s heart so thoroughly it killed her. I’m in no shape to help anyone put their life back together. Hell, I can’t even duct-tape my own.
Not that Mary O’Shea would be interested in a man like me. I’m sure she lives in a restored bungalow with matching furniture and curtains and a mountain of throw pillows. The kind of house I’d work on but could never afford to live in. I live in a one-bedroom apartment with a leaky shower, furnished with thrift store finds. A woman like her would never see me as anything more than a one-night stand, if that.
I’ve had plenty of one-night stands, especially since I got out of prison, but for some reason, it bothers me to think of Mary that way.
“There, there,” Mrs. Rosa says, patting my hand again. “It will all work out.”
“There’s nothing to work out.” I pull my hand away, ready to change the subject. “Hey, did I mention that I got a promotion? I start next week.”
Roger wants to hear all about it, and so does Mrs. Rosa, but the gleam in her eyes lets me know she’s onto me, and we’re only discussing my new responsibilities because she’s allowed it.
As if the topic of Mary O’Shea is merely being set aside for the time being, to be resurrected later.
As if there were something wrong with my life the way it is, something Mary O’Shea might be able to fix.
But I like my life just fine. It’s quiet and predictable, and there’s no need to consider changing it.
So why can’t I get the image of a naked Mary, lying on her silky sheets and begging me to fuck her, out of my head?
I’m telling her about my incarceration. Tomorrow.
Better to put an end to this now, before I get attached to Aidan.
Or to both of them.
Chapter Five
Mary
For some reason, I find myself agreeing to join Nicole’s club. She has a weird kind of power over me. Maybe it’s because she sincerely doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and part of me admires that. No, all of me admires that. There’s an art to not caring, and it’s one I’m pretty sure I’ll never master, if only because it’s the kind of thing where studying doesn’t get you very far. But with her as my teacher…
Maybe I can learn to care slightly less.
Maybe I can discover who I want to be beneath all those layers of worrying about what other people think.
Plus, a little voice in my head whispers that all this rule following, all this control I’ve sought and wielded hasn’t gotten me very far. It hasn’t made me happy or secure, the way Mom promised it would. Maybe it’s time to try something different.
Like listening to a guru with pink hair and an attitude problem.
“Do you have any contact with Glenn?” Nicole asks.
I shrug. “Not much. I got him to sign a separation agreement acknowledging that we’ve been living separately since January, so I’ll file the divorce papers after New Year’s.”
“Good,” she says, flashing those sharp teeth. “That gives us time.”
I don’t get a chance to ask what she means by that because she follows up with, “Why’d you marry a man who’d never made you come?”
The question catches me off guard, but no more so than the answer that slips out. “He…asked.”
“Oh, sweet Mary,” she says with a cackle that implies she doesn’t find me so sweet. “Don’t tell me you were a virgin when you met?”
But from the way she says it, she already knows.
Still, I feel my cheeks heat. “Lots of people marry their first.”
Glenn had checked off all the items on my list: (1) handsome but not too handsome; (2) driven and ambitious; (3) wants kids; and (4) comes from a close family. He’d admitted to making a list of qualities he wanted in a partner too. It had been a matter of pride for us—we were the smart ones, the ones who had goals and strategically pursued them.
But it had felt hollow at the core.
I used to dance ballet when I was a girl, and the feeling I got in the middle of a performance, the unbridled joy and freedom of it, would have lit a bonfire. The spark I’d felt with Glenn probably wouldn’t have lit a candle. Actually, although I haven’t told anyone, certainly not my sisters, I was on the verge of breaking up with him when my parents died. After that…well, I couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to take another risk, to make another change. Molly had chosen to live with Maisie anyway, not me, and it had felt like there should be a reason for that.
Our marriage was empty from the beginning—a model-house kind of marriage—but I’m glad I went through with it. Because otherwise I wouldn’t have had Aidan. And although my worry for Aidan is a weight that’s constantly pressing on my shoulders, it’s only because I love him with every bit of bone and whisper of soul I have.
Nicole gives me a pointed look. “And lots of people live sad, frustrated little lives, but that’s clearly not enough for you. He’s not going to be a problem, is he? He hasn’t been sliding into your DMs?”
I’m not quite sure what a DM is, but I’m not a total idiot. I know better than to say so.
“I haven’t talked to him in a long time.” My chest gets a funny, heavy feeling, like an elephant is sitting on it. “In the beginning, I texted him a lot. Sent him pictures, told him about Aidan’s progress. I…hoped he’d change his mind.”