Free The "What If" Guy by Brooke Moss Page B

that was when he called to ask if I stole his leather coat. Not having him around hasn’t been a big loss.” I raised an eyebrow.
    Henry almost chuckled. Almost.
    “Will he open up to his grandfather?”
    I glanced at my father, hunched over, sleeping on the couch, his mouth hanging open. “Doubtful. Grandpa is part of the problem right now.”
    Henry scratched his chin, his five-o’clock shadow making sandpapery noises against his fingertips. My toes curled.
    His eyes shone with a hint of sympathy—a nice change from the perpetual irritation I’d grown accustomed to seeing. “Sounds like you had a rough time growing up here.”
    “It wasn’t fun. Let’s just leave it at that.”
    “Why wasn’t it fun?”
    I cut a glance at him.
    He raised his hands defensively. “I grew up in a school with two thousand students, and this small school seems much more personal. I mean, at the beginning of the year, we had a hay ride. A hay ride . How endearing is that?”
    “Endearing isn’t the word I would have used.”
    “I don’t think that attitude is going to help Elliott.”
    I wanted to punch him. “Why did you help me tonight, anyway? So you could critique my parenting skills?”
    “I’m not here to criticize. I’m just trying to help.”
    I raised my hands in surrender. “Then what should I do about the bullies?”
    “You should encourage Elliott to join some of the after school programs. They’re focused on fine arts, instead of sports. Elliott would really enjoy them. And he’d meet kids with similar interests.” He took a step closer, kindness in his eyes. “I’ll look out for him at school. I’ll watch for bullies. If I see any bad behavior, I’ll put a stop to it, okay?”
    “Really?”
    Henry nodded, that familiar tug pulling one side of his mouth upward. “I’d be glad to. He’s a great kid.”
    I took a deep breath. “I know.”
    The air between us turned thick and heavy.
    Henry squeezed my hand, his warm and strong. “You’re a good mother.”
    A stir of emotion and a flicker of electricity passed between us. Even though my urine-soaked father snored on the couch nearby, there was a current. It buzzed in my insides and made us both take notice. Henry’s eyes liquefied for a split second, and his face morphed into the face I’d pictured in my mind for so many years. Holding my breath, I instinctively put my hand to my heart.
    Get a hold of yourself .
    But I couldn’t. His gray eyes were my kryptonite. They had been thirteen years ago, and they were again.
    Dammit.
    I waited for something to happen. Waited for one of us to make a move. But neither of us did. The light clicked off in Elliott’s room, and my father belched.
    Henry blinked, then dropped my hand. “I should get going.” He made his way to the door. “I’ll…I’ll watch out for Elliott at school. Don’t worry.”
    “Right.” My voice cracked, and I blushed. “Thank you.”
    Don’t let him go. Tell him that you’ve been thinking about him every day for over twelve years. I impulsively moved towards the door, tripping on the edge of the rug.
    Henry steadied me by the arm, and gazed at me with those incredible eyes.
    “Auto,” my dad yelled. “Who the hell is in my damn living room?”

Chapter Six
    “Listen, geek, I’m not done talking to you.”
    I quickened my pace down the hall of the school, headed toward the group of punks surrounding my son.
    “What? You gonna pee your pants like your grandpa?”
    Charging ahead, I clenched my hands into tight fists.
    “Autumn,” Henry called from down the hall, but I ignored him, seeing red.
    “Gimme your glasses, loser.”
    “Hey.” My voiced boomed. I stalked toward the little acne-faced creep that had snatched Elliott’s glasses from his face. “Leave him alone.”
    Henry grabbed my arm before I could jerk the kid by his collar. “Stop.”
    The little bully whipped around to face us.
    “Give my son his glasses back, or so help me, I’ll—”
    “Jared,