The 'Burg: Hold On Part 88

Then it was his turn to make love to me.

And there it was again.

Merry making me happier.

Garrett Monday Morning Garrett slid the pancakes he'd made in front of Ethan, who was sitting at the table.

He headed back to Cher's stove.

Cher was at the countertop, bent over it, the ball of one foot resting on top of the other one, her eyes to a pad of paper on the counter.

"You're still into the Star Wars theme?" she asked the paper, her question directed to her son.

"Yeah, Mom," Ethan answered his pancakes, slathering b.u.t.ter on them.

"R2-D2 cake?" she went on, scribbling on the paper.

"Yep," Ethan confirmed.

"Chocolate?" she kept going.

"Affirmative." Ethan was now soaking his pancakes in syrup.

No.

Submerging them.

Watching that, Garrett felt his lips tip up before he turned his gaze to his woman. "How many pancakes you want, babe?"

"Two," she muttered distractedly, still scribbling. "Thanks, gorgeous."

He turned to the griddle and poured batter.

He was putting the bowl aside when he heard a noise like someone was shoving air with their tongue through clenched teeth.

He cut his gaze to Cher.

She was still bent over the counter but twisted to look down her side at him, her lips pressed together, eyes big, and she jerked her head.

He had no f.u.c.king clue what that was about.

He was going to learn.

She twisted back to look at her boy.

"Haven't heard from your dad, kid." She drew in breath and then offered, "You want me to give him a call? You've never invited him, Peg, and the kids, though they know about your extravaganzas and probably would wanna come. You think this year's the year?"

That was what it was about. She needed him alert and at her back when she introduced something that might be tough to talk about with Ethan.

Or, more to the point, she needed him alert for Ethan.

f.u.c.k, that felt good.

"Don't call. Don't care he comes or not," Ethan muttered, shoving pancake in his mouth.

She gave it a few beats before she suggested, "It's been a while, honey. Maybe you should give him a call."

Ethan, chewing, looked to his mom and swallowed.

"It's been a while, yeah. You think that's long enough for him to learn not to be a loser?" he asked.

Garrett saw in profile as Cher bit her lip.

That meant no.

"Right," Ethan said, and looked back to his pancakes. "Don't care he's not at my party. Really won't care if he doesn't give me a call. It's not his birthday that's comin' up. He's missed a bunch of mine. His choice whether he's gonna miss more."

"You did tell him you didn't want to see them again," she reminded her boy.

"If I told you that, would you leave me alone forever and ever?" Ethan returned.

Cher bit her lip again.

That time it meant not a f.u.c.king chance.

Yeah.

Ethan Rivers might be only nearly eleven, but he had his head screwed on straight.

Cher opened her mouth, but Garrett said quickly and quietly, "He's right, baby."

She twisted to look down her body at him again.

"If Schott wants a part of Ethan's life, he's gotta make the effort," Garrett finished.

She took Garrett in. She twisted back and took her son in.

Then she said, "Right," and looked at her pad of paper.

She was blowing it off, but it was pretend. He saw the tense line of her shoulders.

She was worried about her kid, but she wasn't going to baby him. She was going to let him make his own decisions.

It was a good call. It was time for her to give Ethan that and for Ethan to learn how to do it right.

He'd touch base with her later, after he dropped Ethan at school, to make sure she was good.

Garrett turned back to the stove and flipped the pancakes.

Then he felt it, so he turned back.

Ethan was looking at him.

He had a weird look on his face. Suddenly, his shoulders came up really high, almost to his ears.

He mouthed, "Thanks," quickly dropped his shoulders, and gave his attention back to his food.

Garrett looked back to the griddle.

In his line of work, Garrett had seen it time and again.

As much of a loser as Trent Schott was, any boy felt the absence of a father straight through everything that he was.

Everything.

With a good father who wasn't perfect but gave it his best shot, Garrett didn't know if it was better to have that hole go unfilled than to have some moron make a half-a.s.sed attempt to fill it. And with Dave as his dad, Garrett would never know the answer to that.

He just had to hope that one day Ethan would find him and share it so he could do whatever he could to help him get past it.

On these thoughts, Garrett felt a burn that he could only extinguish knowing they had a reservation for Sw.a.n.k's and he had an envelope on his bar at home with three Colts tickets in it.

He flipped a pancake, calling, "You gonna want more, bud?"

"Yeah," Ethan answered. "One, maybe two. Thanks, Merry."

"Whatever you want, kid," he muttered to the pancakes.

He said those words and felt it again. Ethan's eyes on his back. Maybe even Cher's too.

He didn't turn.

He made his woman and her son pancakes.

Wednesday Evening "I thought he was full of it," Ethan declared before he lifted his eyes from his plate. "But Brendon did not lie." He raised his fork, which had a chunk of steak skewered on its tips. "You can cut these steaks with your fork."

"It's a miracle," Grace muttered, all dolled up, looking nearly as pretty as her daughter in part because of the happy smile she was aiming right then at her grandson.

But she was wrong.

It wasn't a miracle.

It was a prime cut of beef that cost fifty-three dollars.

It was also worth every penny. And Garrett knew that to be true as he watched Ethan shove the chunk of steak into his mouth, his eyes going round with marvel.

He felt something slink up the leg of his trousers and looked to his woman at his side.

Now he was wrong.

Grace looked pretty.

But all done up for their night out, Cher was f.u.c.king dazzling.

She was also looking at him.

And her look told him she loved him. It also told him she loved what he was giving to her son.

So yeah.

Absolutely.

A fifty-three-dollar steak was a d.a.m.ned expensive steak.

But it was worth every f.u.c.king penny.

Thursday Afternoon Garrett stood on the porch, looking out to the water.

He'd finally had time to schedule the viewing.

And there he was.

The bathrooms were in worse shape than he'd thought.

The rest of it was better than he could've imagined.

Especially the view.

His real estate agent stood with him.

"I'm not sure they're going to accept that offer, Garrett," she remarked.

"The place needs work," he told her, something she knew.

"They're aware of that, which is why they've dropped the price seventy-five K."

"Comps show my offer is not an insult," he returned.

"Maybe so, but the market is reviving."

He turned to look at her. "Make the offer. Be cool about it so they don't shut us out. There's room to move."

"You might need a lot of room. They give the impression they're entrenched."