Page 57 of Under Water

The water makes quick work of rinsing it off, but I’m still a little weak in the elbows as I lift my hands to wash up. I want to make sure I’m not obvious when I get out to see my kid because if he has questions for me about why I’m such a mess, I don’t have honest answers.

And there are some conversations I’m not ready to have yet.

I towel off, then wrap up in my robe and run a brush through my hair before I find the courage to look at my phone.

It’s a message. And another photo.

Easton: For you. Because of you. When can I see you?

It only takes a second for me to understand why he sent me a photo of his fingers and what the white stuff is clinging to his knuckles.

My neck his hot when I answer him back.

Me: Tomorrow night. I’ll send you the address.

Easton: I can’t wait.

“Do not fight me today,” I warn Elio as I attempt to heave him from his bed. He goes boneless, but he’s grinning, so I know it’s not about him being in a shitty mood. “Give your old dad a break, kid.”

“Old,” he mutters and then clings to my arms as best he can as I transfer him from his bed to his chair.

His morning routine will never be a quick one, but it’s one I have down to an art, and I can get him up and ready in an hour if nothing interrupts me. Which I’m determined this morning to make that a thing.

I have to be at the station early to check on the SQL updates, and then I’m going to be watching Teddy’s desk for him because he has something going on with London today, and I owe him one.

Elio does his part to help with his hair, takes his meds when I ask, and doesn’t complain about the eggs and sausage I sit in front of him instead of the pancakes my mom usually puts together.

“I miss Nana,” he mutters as he shovels a bite of sausage into his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah.” It’s slightly muggy from the rain, and my collar’s irritating my neck, so I yank it down to scratch over my skin.

“Holy shit.”

My eyes snap to Elio. “Excuse me? Language?”

He doesn’t look apologetic. He’s pointing at my chest. “You have a hickey.”

Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck me in the fucking face, I cannot believe I forgot. I fight the urge to slap a hand over it. The shirt is covering it now, but he’s still staring at the spot.

“Who was it?” he demands. His voice drops into a whisper. “I heard Nana talking about Neal. Did you and he⁠—”

“No,” I bark a little too sharply. I take a calming breath and will the heat from my cheeks. It works. Kind of. “No,” I say a little softer this time. “It wasn’t from Neal.” And now I stand on the edge of a cliff between the truth and a lie. I don’t think I’m ready to talk about Easton with anyone, not even Elio. But I’ve also sworn to myself I would never lie to my son if I can help it.

“Dad,” he says slowly.

“If I ask you to drop it, will you?”

The look in his eyes tells me no. He won’t. “Is he toxic?”

I blink in surprise. “Toxic?”

“Yeah. Like…is he some toxic alpha dickhead who has a podcast and hates women?”

I choke on a cough. “Uh. No.”

“Is he ugly?” he asks with a wrinkled nose.

“Elio!”