Chapter Six: Sprite

Hadley

"What do you wanna wear today?" I take a huge drink of the iced coffee I made myself first thing this morning. Some mornings I need the jolt of caffeine worse than others; and today I really need it.

"My pink shoes," she claps her hands.

I can't help the smile spreading across my face. We got those pink Converse at Goodwill brand new with tags, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to afford them at the time. It was before I realized I had a gift for what I've turned into my side business. When there had been no extra money for anything, I figured out how creative and motivated I am.

"Pink shoes we got," I hold them up. "But what else?"

She thinks for a moment, her expression pensive. "Jeans like yours."

I look down seeing my jeans with the hole in the knee. I guess I should thank my lucky stars that deconstructed jeans are now a thing. These are just so old they're falling apart, but everyone thinks I spent a hundred bucks on them.

"Okay girlfriend, go grab them," I hold up the red flannel shirt I'm going to wear over my gray t-shirt. "Grab your pink flannel too. We'll be matchy."

It's her favorite thing to be. If she's not wearing a tutu, she loves to match me. At first it seemed weird to me, but I've grown to love it and it works well for the budget.

"We're not gonna have time to grab breakfast."

I was up late last night filling orders. My side business - an Etsy store that makes stickers for planners and handmade bullet journal stamps - has really taken off in the past few months. I'm finally getting some savings, but the hours are killing me.

"Can I eat pop tarts?" she asks, coming to the kitchen, putting her arm through her long-sleeved shirt.

We've already had Pop-tarts once this week, but I have to do what I have to do. "One, and take a banana, too. I'll eat the other Pop-tart."

We hustle out to the car, and since Riley's so small, she scampers to the back, where she still sits in a booster seat. Only a few more pounds to go, though.

"You think he'll be late, Mom?"

I hope like hell he won't. "I'm sure he'll be there, waiting on us." My smile is unsure, even to my own eyes, as I see my reflection in the rearview mirror.

If he's not, I'm going to find out where he lives, and give him a piece of my mind.

Traffic sucks, especially crossing the river, over into the other part of town. This bridge always makes me nervous, has since I've been able to drive. I used to hold my breath every time I went over it. Now, I grip the steering wheel and make it my bitch.

Together, we sing along to a song we both like on the radio, and as I turn into the parking lot of the center that holds the Companion Program, I'm greeted with a sight I'm not expecting.

"He's here Mom!" Riley informs me from the back seat.

So he is. Oh. My. God. It's a good thing I didn't see him arrive yesterday. Patrick Tennyson sits astride a matte black Harley, a cell phone to his ear, as he has a lively conversation with someone on the other end. I can tell because he's gesturing with his hands, the sunlight catching the lenses of the aviators he's wearing as he moves his head back and forth. The weather cooled overnight, and he's dressed for it. A beanie on his head, a black leather jacket over his body, and blue jeans with just the right amount of room cover his legs. I let my gaze travel down to the motorcycle boots he wears on his feet. They look like they could stomp a hole in someone. The whole picture he paints is lickable.

"But you don't need a man, and you don't want a man," my independent voice from deep in my brain reminds me.

I blindly tell that voice to shut the fuck up. My body knows what it wants because it's responding.

"You two need help?" he asks as I get out of the car and go back to help Riley out.

"We got it." We always do. There hasn't been anyone around to help in a very long time.

He gets off the bike, and I have to bite back a moan as he approaches us. Where he's obviously ridden the crap out of the bike, his pants are well-worn at the crotch.

"You okay?" he asks.

I hope he can't tell what I'm thinking, and I really hope I didn't make any noises. This is so damn unlike me.

"Great, you ready to go inside?" I fake an excitement I'm not feeling. "Becky said we could use the room today."

"Sounds good," he nods. "How's it going, Sprite?" he asks Riley.

I grin because I've always thought she was a little fairy myself.

She looks up at him with her eyebrows drawn. "Yeah, but I don't have anything to drink."

I laugh loudly, as does he. From the mouth of babes.

"It means a fairy," he explains. "You know you looked like one yesterday, with your skirt."

"It's a tutu," she corrects. The word is serious in her world. You must get it right.

"I'm sorry," he puts his hand over his heart. "Your tutu."

She glances up at him, reaching for his hand, which surprises me.

"They're clean today," Riley observes, seeing no traces of grease in his nails today.

"Told you I'd have it together today," he reaches in his jacket and hands something to her.

"You shouldn't have brought her anything," I don't want him to give her false hope.

"Nah," he pushes away the protest as we enter the same room we were in yesterday. "It's something we can do together."

She opens the bag, her eyes bright. "Mom, it's a My Little Pony coloring book!"

"They're her favorite," I glance at him, wondering how in the hell he could have known that.

"Lucky guess," he shrugs and I believe him. Lord help me, I believe him.

"Why don't you pick out a page for you and Mr. Patrick to color, and I'll sit over there and read my book," I hold up my Kindle.

"Call me Trick," it's meant for both of us. "I don't go by Patrick to anyone except my mom and the law."

I can't help the puff of air that comes out of my mouth from a laugh I tried to hold in. "Either way, I'll be right over there. Just pretend I'm not even here."