Karen Templeton - Meant-to-Be Mum

The yard wasn’t particularly large, but it backed onto a wooded parcel separating the neighborhood from a secondary highway. Dimly, Cole could hear that same hum of traffic that used to lull him to sleep at night as a kid, that had served as a comforting backdrop to now-forgotten conversations.

Maybe not so forgotten.

Expelling a breath, he shoved his hands into his pockets as he stood on the cement patio, willing the almost-cool evening breeze to unclog his brain, relax the muscles strangling the base of his skull.

Ironically, his sister’s prodding about the future—the one she saw for him, anyway—had only jerked awake another scene from his past, of a scrawny sixth-grade girl who’d had no trouble verbally smacking down that trio of bullies, all twice her size, who’d been making Cole’s life a living hell. Trying to, anyway. Since in reality their ass-hattery hadn’t bothered him nearly as much as it apparently had her.

His mouth curved in spite of himself as he remembered the good times, of how natural and easy things had been between them.

Until an influx of rowdy hormones drowned out every ounce of intelligence and common sense Cole had possessed, blinding him to who, or what, Sabrina had become—

“Dad? You okay?”

He hadn’t even realized Wes had plopped into one of the patio chairs, long legs stretched in front of him, his pant hems hovering north of his ankles. A trip to the mall was in order, Cole thought, suppressing a shudder. “Sure.”

“Really? Because you’ve been, I don’t know. Weird.”

Out in the yard, Brooke threw a ratty old tennis ball for the dogs, laughing when they all tripped over each other trying to get it. Smiling, Cole crossed the patio to sink into the chair next to Wes’s, then leaned forward to link his hands between his knees. “Hey. Weird is my middle name.”

The kid snorted a laugh through his nose. “Okay, weird er . Seriously, on the way back from Aunt Di’s? You didn’t even tell Brooke and me to stop messing with each other.”

“And you’re complaining?”

“I’m... Well, no. I guess. But...” Something made a peeping sound in the woods. Frog? Bug? “I thought you said you and Sabrina had been best friends?”

“We were.” Brooke flopped on the grass in the fading light, then writhed in laughter as all three dogs assaulted her with sloppy kisses. “Actually, she saved my butt when we were kids. Thinks she did, anyway. Took on a bunch of bullies who apparently took issue with the way I looked.”

“Took on? As in, beat them up or something?”

Cole laughed. “Bree’s a lot tougher than she looks, but...no. Read ’em the riot act, though. And pointed out her twin brother, who was easily twice her size. And theirs. But like I said, we hadn’t seen each other in years. And I certainly wasn’t expecting to see her today. Or her, me.” He glanced over at his son. A breeze ruffled the kid’s too-long hair, almost as curly as Cole’s. He looked back out over the yard. “So it was definitely strange.”

“So, what? You guys just hung out together and stuff? You didn’t date?”

“No,” Cole said mildly. Truthfully. Although with a slight, if insistent, pinch to his chest. “We spent most of our time at the Colonel’s. But sometimes here. Where it was a lot quieter.”

“Quieter?”

“The Colonel and his wife Jeanne had adopted four kids—including Sabrina and her twin brother—and then had a baby of their own right about the time Bree and I met, in middle school. Add to that everybody’s friends...place was definitely hopping.”

“And Mom couldn’t even handle two kids,” Wes muttered, and Cole’s gaze snapped back to his son. He’d given Bree a severely edited version of the story, of course. Partly because he was hardly going to air his—or, in this case, his ex’s—dirty laundry to someone he hadn’t seen in almost twenty years. But partly because he was ashamed, truth be told, that he hadn’t made it his business to find out what exactly had been going on. Then again, how would he have known, if the kids didn’t tell him?

But in the past few days, the truth had leaked out bit by bit, how often Erin would leave them on their own, or forget to pick them up, or even when she was there, retreat to her room and computer rather than interacting with her own children. He’d assumed, since she’d fought for primary custody, they’d be her priority. Instead, they’d apparently been so far down the list they were barely on her register.

His eyes burning, Cole reached over to clamp his hand around the back of his son’s neck. God knew Cole was still jerking awake at night, heart pounding at the realization that no one was coming to get them on Sunday. That he was it . At the same time, no one was ever going to take them away, either. Ever again. Or leave them alone, or ignore them, or let anything—or anyone—come between them.

“All in the past now, buddy,” he whispered. “Not that I know how to handle you guys, either—” that got a chuckle “—but we’ll figure it out together.”

Wes straightened up, his cool gray gaze far too trenchant for thirteen. “You make it sound like this is all new to you. We were with you almost every weekend—”

“This is different,” Cole said. “This is...real.”

“And forever?”

Cole’s throat clogged again. “Yeah.”

The boy stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly, and awkwardly, launched himself into Cole’s arms to give him a sweaty, slightly funky hug.

And Cole thought that this was all he could want. Or need. Or, as his son so succinctly put it, handle.

Wes pulled free, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “C’n I go play on the computer for a little while?” He grinned. “I’m on level sixty-four.”

“No kidding?”

“Yep. Nobody else in school—my old school, I mean—was even close.”

“Huh. Clearly I didn’t make it hard enough.”

“Oh, it’s plenty hard, believe me,” Wes said, his cheeks dimpling. “Can’t help it if I’m a genius.”

“Well, genius, only for an hour. It’s already late. You guys need to be in bed.”

His son made a face, but he knew better than to argue. The bedtime rules—at least with Cole—had been set in stone from the time they were babies. And yet, they’d still wanted to come live with him.

After Wes went inside, Cole settled back in his chair, watching his daughter. It’d become a game, over the past few days, to see who’d run out of steam first—her or the dogs. So far, the dogs had won, every time. Lots of energy packed into those squat little bodies—

His phone rang. He dug it out of his pants pocket, frowning at the unfamiliar number.

“Cole here—”

“Yeah, so your sister said,” a familiar voice barked in his ear. “Not that you’d bothered to tell me .”

“I was going to call you tomorrow, I swear,” he said, and the old woman snorted. Loudly. Aunt Lizzie had always been his mother’s favorite aunt, hovering around ninety and with an attitude befitting a former Rockette who’d once “dated,” or so the story went, someone high up in New York politics. After years of fighting the family about giving up her house in town, a broken hip two years before had finally convinced her to move into a retirement community, where she’d been blissfully raising hell ever since.

“So I need a favor,” she said, as though it hadn’t been months since they’d talked.

Cole’s brows arched. Fiercely independent, Lizzie rarely asked for anything from anyone. One of the reasons Cole hadn’t seen her was because she’d made it clear ages ago she didn’t want anyone clinging to her any more than she wanted to cling to them.