The Problem with Fire - M.E. Clayton Page 0,42

shot up, but then Kerry came to my rescue and I wanted to kiss the woman. “You mean, ex-husband,” she clarified, then looked over at Reggie. “They’re divorced, but still get along famously for their daughter, Leta.” And I was surprised Kerry wasn’t placing me on a prize stool to present me to Reggie. Her matchmaking was so obvious, but sweet in a weird overstepping kind of way.

And who wouldn’t want to be matched with Reggie? I mean, just look at the man.

“You, you jerk,” my conscience whispered inside my head. “Just because you’re mad that doesn’t mean you’re no longer in love with Sayer Hayes, hoe.”

And do you know what happens when you say the Devil’s name?

The bastard appears.

But in this case, he was in the form of Sayer Hayes.

Kerry let go of Thomas’ arm and welcomed Sayer into the fold. “Oh, Sayer,” she greeted. “It’s so good to see you could make it.” Oblivious to the tension all around, she introduced him to Thomas and Reggie. “Thomas, Reggie, this is one of our neighbors, Sayer Hayes.” She looked over at Thomas and I almost laughed. “He actually lives right next door to Monroe and Leta.”

Reggie shook Sayer’s hand, but neither Thomas nor Sayer had made any attempt to shake hands. Everyone could feel the tension, except Kerry. Even Reggie smirked a bit when he, very astutely, took in the situation.

Those dark eyes of his flicked my way. “Kerry’s told me a lot about you, Monroe,” he said, and I swear there was a twinkle in his eye. My eyes narrowed, but if I didn’t know better-and I didn’t because I didn’t even know the man-I’d say he was a little shit stirrer.

Before I could comment, Leta came bouncing into the crowd, and Kerry carried on with her introductions. “Leta, honey, I’d like you to meet Reggie James,” she said. “Reggie, this is Monroe’s daughter, Leta.”

Take every cringe-worthy teenage awkward movie scene you’ve ever seen and multiply that by twenty, and that was where we found ourselves, ladies and gentlemen, when Leta went to shake Reggie’s hand. “Hi. It’s nice to-”

“Our daughter,” Thomas interrupted like a fool. “Leta is our daughter.” Reggie couldn’t hide his smirk that time, and I wanted the ground to swallow me up.

But before Mother Nature could do me that solid, Sayer added to the madness by saying, “Yeah, well, you’re going to have to share your daughter once Monroe and I get married.”

Kerry gasped.

I groaned.

Leta balked.

And Reggie, God bless the man, chuckled.

What. A. Goddamn. Disaster.

“So, if I asked you to dinner…” Reggie grinned.

“She’d say no, since she already has a boyfriend,” Sayer answered for me, and Thomas scoffed next to me.

“Uh….” Kerry quickly rethought her decision to say something because…really? What was there to say? It looked like I had a husband, boyfriend, and a date.

“Mom, are…are all these dudes…fighting over you?” she asked, confusion lacing every word.

And the Mom in me quickly made an appearance. “Do not refer to these gentlemen as ‘dudes’, Leta,” I chided. “They aren’t teenage boys at your high school.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “But…are they?”

I looked at each man; Thomas irritated, Sayer pissed, and Reggie amused.

Then I looked at my teenage daughter and told her the absolute truth, refusing to play games with these men, and taking back the reins. This wasn’t about the mistakes we made in life, this was about how we handled those mistakes and the people we wronged and who wronged us.

That’s where your integrity was born from.

I refused to let Thomas think he could do no wrong.

I refused to let Sayer think my decisions weren’t my own.

I refused to let Reggie suffer for all our stupidity.

And I refused to lie to Leta any longer.

I wasn’t sure if pure, blunt honesty was the way to go right now, but I really didn’t think things could get any more embarrassing at this point. And with Kerry having a front row seat to this nonsense, I knew there was no way to get out of this unscathed.

“No, Leta,” I told her honestly. “They are not fighting over me. That would imply that I was available for them to fight over, and I’m not.”

On the street, in the middle of a neighborhood barbecue, surrounded by dozens of people and families, you could hear a pin drop.

Her brows shot up. “No, Mom,” she replied wryly. “I’m pretty sure they’re fighting over you.”

“Oh, my,” Kerry whispered.

I placed a hand on my daughter’s arm and started rubbing it up and down. “Mr.