Give Me You (40 page)

“Love you too, Red. See you tonight, counselor.”

I laugh as we hang up. Not only do I have one beautiful amazing man who loves me in my life. I have two.

The other one calls me mom—a title I never thought I’d be worthy of.

Christian Andrew Kensington-Martin is the smartest, sweetest, most adorable seven year-old I know. And I am honored that I get to be in his life.

I will never forget the first time he called me mom instead of Corwin, which was how he pronounced my name from the moment we met.

I’d been up late studying the night before and was exhausted. Christian was four and Kathryn and Katie both had the flu. Skylar had asked if Christian could stay with me during a tournament so he wouldn’t have to go on the long flight to the UK and of course I never said no to time with my favorite little guy. Nor did I want him flying to England with the flu going around even though the team had given Skylar a personal assistant that helped with Christian when needed.

So we were having breakfast and the most precious four-year-old in the entire universe looked at me and lifted his empty bowl of Lucky Charms and said “More, mama?”

My life changed in that instant. I went from exhausted to completely capable of running a dozen marathons back to back if necessary within seconds. He didn’t call Kathryn or Katie mom or mama, even though they spent nearly as much time with him as I did. They were Nana and Aunt Kay. Always.

He picked me.

As proud as I am that I finished law school in spite of everything going on in our chaotic lives, nothing compares to the feeling that swells in my chest every time Christian calls me mom.

Skylar was worried, thought I’d be overwhelmed or uncomfortable with it. But it felt right, even that very first time, and I told him so.

When he’s older, we’ll tell him about his birth mother. Maybe not the painful details, but enough so that he understands. I have her letter put away so that he can read it some day when he’s an adult, if he wants to. Sometimes I re-read it myself and it feels like I know her a little better each time.

I visit Fallon every now and then, stopping by the cemetery to update her on Christian and how he’s doing and to tell her that he’s perfect. I never got to know her and maybe I was never meant to, but I am grateful for what she left behind, grateful that she wrote to Skylar and told him the truth.

I like to think she’d approve of me being Christian’s mom. I hope she would be glad that he is healthy and happy and loved. I bought a collection of ceramic butterflies at an antique store years ago and I leave one at her marble stone each time I visit. Maybe I’ll stop coming when I run out. Or maybe I won’t. We probably never would have been friends, but I think we would’ve understood one another on a deeper level.

I arrive a few minutes late to the ceremony due to my latest trip to the cemetery. Fallon’s mom was there and we spoke briefly about Christian and she hugged me, which made me cry a little and thus I had to re-do my makeup. Watching her stand at her daughter’s gravestone I saw a woman who’d lived life full of regret and I felt sorry for her. And I vowed to call my own mother soon, because at the end of the day, she did the best she could with what she had.

I take my place in line just before the processional marches out into the auditorium. We move quickly through the pomp and circumstance and I find my guys in the crowd just before receiving my degree.

They aren’t hard to find. They’re right up front and when my name is called, everyone begins pointing at where Christian holds a bright white sign with bold red letters.

MARRY US, RED, it says.

Marry them I will.

I nod with tears in my eyes for the second time today. As I come off the stage, Christian runs into my arms. Skylar follows close behind and opens a small black box.

“It’s not a credit card,” he tells me with a wink before leaning in for a kiss that lingers a few seconds too long to be appropriate in front of an audience.

The ring is delicate and beautiful—a sizeable diamond shaped like a teardrop surrounded by fragments of smaller ones. It catches the overhead lights in every direction as he slides it on my finger. Landen gives Skylar some hell about taking a page out of his book as Layla hugs me tightly. Kathryn and Katie hug me to the point of suffocation. Even Skylar’s dad came and I smile as he shakes his son’s hand. Their relationship has changed a lot since Skylar became a father and his dad retired and became a grandpa, but it’s still a work in progress.

As we leave the ceremony, Skylar, Christian, and I decide to walk to the restaurant since it’s right around the corner and the weather is nice.

“I was mostly still. So I get dessert, right?” Christian asks me with hopeful hazel eyes.

We all laugh as I muss his curly hair. “Yeah, cutie. As long as you share with me.”

“Cool,” he says as his dad takes the hand I’m not holding.

“We can get married whenever you’re ready, sweetheart,” Skylar tells me over Christian’s head as we approach the Italian restaurant. “Tonight. Tomorrow. Or I have some time off around Christmas if that works for you.”

I grin and nod as the mention of Christmas sends our son off on a tangent about his ever-growing Christmas list.

“I know it’s not the fairytale,” my future husband says just loud enough for me to hear. “But I love you more than you could ever know and I promise to show you every day how grateful I am to have you in my life.”

I glance over at the table full of our family that Christian has already rushed off to join.

Not that long ago I was a broken girl with no future sitting alone on a bench waiting for a bus that changed my life. And now here I am surrounded by love and more joy than I ever could’ve imagined. Somehow I know Fallon is smiling down on us from a place where she is free from the darkness.

No prince rescued me. I rescued myself. Though I did find two very charming and handsome fellas along the way. But I love our story because it’s ours.

I haven’t told him yet, because I don’t want to steal his proposal thunder, but in about seven months, there will be another addition to our family. I’ll tell him tonight when we’re alone in bed. Then we can come up with a fun way to tell our son he’s going to be a big brother. I grin just thinking about it.

I tug Skylar backward before he joins everyone at the table. “Sky…”

“Yeah, babe?”

I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him closer because he’s mine and I can. “Best fairytale ever.”

Read other books by Caisey Quinn

Dear Skylar,

I can’t remember the last time I wrote a letter this way. Maybe in fourth grade when we were learning penmanship.

Anyways, you’re probably wondering why I’m writing this to you now. I tried to reach you a few years ago, but I couldn’t and I understand why you don’t want to hear from me. You deserve happiness and love and someone who can appreciate the many gifts you have to offer in ways that I never could. I hope you worked things out with your redhead. I’ve never seen you so worked up over someone—not even me—so I guess it must be the real deal.

First, I wanted to say thank you. You tried harder than anyone to see the good in me when I couldn’t see it in myself. No matter how much I hurt you or rejected your efforts at helping me, you were always there for me. So many times I wished I could’ve been different, wished I could’ve just been normal. I like to think we would’ve gotten engaged in college, married soon after, and had a houseful of gorgeous children—because let’s face it, we are both pretty damn attractive.

When I was a kid, I used to play this game called “When I’m a mom.” Whatever was happening to me, whether my parents had left me with a stranger or if I was grounded or just completely ignored, I’d make myself these promises. Kind of like a do and don’t list. The most important ones were:

When I’m a mom, I won’t ever leave my child with anyone who might hurt them.

I won’t ever ignore them when they’re sad or lonely.

I won’t ever make them eat dinner before dessert or send them to bed hungry.

I won’t ever make them cry.

And the dos.

I will always say I love you.

I will always kiss them goodnight.

I will always let them get cotton candy at the fair.

I will always listen to what they have to say. Even if it makes me sad.

You’re the only person who knows the half of what my childhood was like, and you’re the one person who needs to know that it was so much worse than I ever told you. My dad’s business partner, Allen Densmore, he’s dead now, may his soul burn in Hell, began molesting me when I was eight years old. My parents would leave me with him and his awful hag of a wife when they’d go out of town. When I told his wife what he’d done, snuck into my room and hurt me, she slapped me in the face.

When he didn’t stop, I told my dad, whose exact words were “Allen wouldn’t do something like that. You must’ve had a bad dream.” I’ll never know if my dad truly didn’t believe me or if he just valued his business more than my well-being.

The first time I ran away from home I was ten and it was because they were sending me to the Densmore’s house for the weekend. I threatened to kill myself if they did and my mom put me in the hospital where I stayed for weeks.

When I got older, I tried to tell her everything. How some of the babysitters locked me in closets or my room so they could have boys over. How some of them would leave me home alone to go to parties and how scared I was. I even tried to tell her about dad’s partner, and why I kept threatening suicide every time he was mentioned, but by then, I’d acted out so much she didn’t trust a word out of my mouth.

My parents existed in a perfect bubble and when my pain became like a giant needle threatening to burst that bubble, they’d send me away.

For years, I barely spoke to anyone. Until you. Because as cocky and obnoxious as you could be, I knew from the first time I met you that you had a good heart. You had this light, one I knew no longer existed in me, if it ever even had. I tried to stay close to you in hopes it would rub off or something—that I’d figure out how to be fun and happy by imitating you and one day I’d be able to let the pain of my past go.

I tried. And sometimes it worked. For a while. But it always came back—when I was alone for too long or not busy. Little things would trigger the memories and I learned that alcohol and pills could numb them away, temporarily at least. I’m not making excuses. It doesn’t make it right, but at the time, it was the only thing that helped.

I got sober three years ago because I had to.

We have a son. His name is Christian. Christian Andrew. He has your middle name because I wanted him to have something of yours. I pray he also has your inner light, your smile, your tenacity, and your infectious laugh.

I don’t get to see him much. I struggled to stay sober after he was born and my mom was given custody. I keep trying to get it together so that I can get him away from them before they ruin him the way they ruined me. But I’m slipping, Skylar. I keep slipping. Back into the darkness. I’m so tired all of the time. Too tired to work, too tired to remember what day it is, too tired to fight the memories of things I can’t change.

I need one last favor. It’s a big one, but I swear I will never ask you for anything again.

I want you to be the one to raise our son.

Don’t let them ruin him. Please. Fight for him, Skylar. Love him and want him and be good to him. You have a good heart. I know you can be the father he deserves. They aren’t meant to be parents. They don’t know how.

They aren’t bad people, my parents, but they aren’t nurturing or kind or understanding. They are specific brand of selfish and they will probably try to keep our son like a possession. Please don’t let them.

I can’t be the mother he deserves just as I couldn’t be the girlfriend you deserved. But the two of you, you could be there for each other.

I hope you are well and that you’ll think about my request. I’ve included a picture of Christian, it’s the only one I have. It’s gotten me through some really difficult times. I don’t want to mess up your life or your career, but he needs you.

I’m in Milan for another week but then I’ll be in New York and then back to LA. Maybe we can meet for coffee or something to talk if you’re in town.