Page 15 of Every Step She Takes
“I’m sorry,” I said. “That was…” I stumbled because, again, this was not my place. So I only repeated, “I’m sorry.”
Jamison nodded and took the book out from behind his back, and I could see it wasn’t a book at all. It was a bound script.
Jamison’s hands shook as he looked down at the script, at the pages across his room. The shaking spread until his whole body quivered with it.
“Hey, hey,” I said, walking to him, my arms out. “It’s okay. It’s just a script, and you were mad.”
He opened his mouth. Then he fell into my arms, startling me, his face buried against my side as he began to sob. I carefully embraced him, tensed for him to pull away, but he didn’t, and I gave him a tight hug, letting him cry.
After a couple of minutes, he pulled away and said, “It’s n-not just a script. It’s – it’s Dad’s working one forFatal Retribution. He g-gave it to me… A present because…” Jamison mutely shoved the damaged script into my hands, and there, on the first page, it read “To my son, who will be even more kickass than his old man.”
I read that, and my eyes filled. It was a lovely sentiment from father to son. Heartfelt and true. But after what happened outside…
“Kickasscan mean a lot of things,” I said gently. “Your mom is a total kickass, and she doesn’t do fight scenes.”
“She’s a girl. It’s different.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
“It is for Dad,” he said, and my heart broke, just a little, at an eight-year-old boy who already understood so much about what was expected of him, the ideal his father – and the world – held for him to emulate.
“Tell me what I can do,” I said.
He looked from the torn book to the pages littering his room. If it happened again, I would insert myself between Colt and Jamison – as Tiana did – but I couldn’t actually interfere. This, however, was something I could do, and I picked up a page and smoothed it and said, “Give these to me, and I’ll iron them later, and then we’ll tape them back in.”
“Iron them?” Jamison said.
“It’s a secret method for fixing paper you’ve accidentally – or not so accidentally – crumpled.” I winked at him. “Don’t ask me how I know that.”
“What’d you do?” he said.
“Help me gather these quickly, and I’ll tell you.”
He smiled, and we set to work cleaning up the mess.
A few days later, I was on the patio tuning Jamison’s violin while Colt took the kids to the ice-cream parlor. When the door slid open and Colt stepped out, I smiled, my gaze shifting behind him for the kids.
“Sorry,” he said. “Just me. We bumped into Belle on her run, and the kids decided to postpone their lessons by running with her.”
Belle was his nickname for Isabella. They met on a film where he’d been the star, and she’d been brought in as his secondary love interest to amp up the film’s “international appeal.” Colt had spent the shoot trying to impress Isabella, and she’d spent it with her nose in a book. So he’d started calling her Belle and teasing her about being a Disney princess. Colt said that’s why they named their daughter Tiana – because it meant “princess” in Russian.
Tiana had told me all this, sharing her family legends with rolled eyes but obvious affection. I’d told her the one about my name and my father’s inability to pronounce it. She’d declared Genevieve a very fancy name and said she liked Lucy better.
Colt slid the patio door shut behind him. In his hand, he held a silver bag that glinted in the afternoon sun.
“Your ice cream,” he said. “Only slightly melted.”
“Rocky road!” I crowed as I opened it to find a cone and tiny tub. “Thank you.”
“Jamie said it’s your favorite.”
“It is.”
“And Tiana insisted on the chocolate-dipped cone.”
I beamed up at him. “Thank you. They’re amazing kids. You don’t need me to tell you that, but they really are. Jamison is so sweet and thoughtful, and Tiana’s a firecracker.”
“They both take after their mom.” He settled beside me on the lounge chair. “Thank you for being here with them. I know you were hired as a music teacher, but Belle’s been so busy with her new show…”
