Page 33 of Iron Cross

“Ma-ma-ma-ma!” Cillian climbed up the toddler jungle gym, his little gloved hands in their green mittens, his breath coming out in steam. His golden hair peeked out from beneath his forest green beanie, as his pale skin glistened in the winter sun.

I tried to do what the books said, and stayed back to give him room to grow. The Montessori method, they called it - though it seemed like a new age thing that women with barely-spiced pumpkin coffees could latch on to to make themselves feel smugly relevant. Moms who came here every afternoon with their hair and nails neatly done, with a full face of makeup. They were well put together with large wedding rings that glinted like ice rinks on their precious fingers.

I looked at my barren hand - the one that was missing an emerald as green as the grass that had died months ago.

“Oh, there he is again!” one of the vanilla spice moms whispered too loud. .

She and two other moms, who all had the identical, highlighted beach curls, with their cream-colored cardigans and iced coffeesoohedandaahedover a man jogging without a shirt up the little paved track that went around the park and playground.

Who jogged shirtless in the middle of fucking winter? Was he just working outso hardthat he needed the extra cold air to cool down?

“He’s doing it for attention,” I grumbled to myself, as I pulled my arms tighter over my abdomen, trying to keep warm.

“He is so hot,” one of the women said.

“Oh, he is the have-an-affair-in-broad-daylight kind of hot!”

I followed their gaze because, as much as I hadn’t felt any attraction to a man in years, I wasn’tdead.

I could still appreciate a good looking man, even as Eoghan’s dark eyes popped into my head. That tug was still there, as strong as it had ever been. So was the small infinitesimal hope that one day, I could move on. I could have a normal life. A normal man, who could be a decent father. A man who made my heart flutter, butdidn’tmake my stomach flip the wayhehad.

“Oh my God, look at his butt!” A giggle came from the squawking moms, and then Ihadto look.

There he was — Aaron Jackson.Again.

Was he following me?

He was in black running pants made of a waterproof synthetic fabric that were tight around the ass, showing off a beautiful, rounded glutes, and thick thighs. Steam came off his shoulders as he jogged. Above his waist, he wore a beanie and a watch cap, and a chest full of scars. His athletic gear was the most gloriously slutty thing I had ever seen.

Well, of course, there was the beard as well. I wondered if that was keeping him warm.

How would that closely trimmed facial hair feel across a woman’s inner thigh?

I gasped, looking away from him the moment he caught my gaze. I blushed.Blushed!

When I looked back up at him, he waved, and I waved back, feeling a slight stomach flip as I was suddenly self-conscious about how I looked compared to the other women present. What was he doing here anyway? It was absolutely uncalled for!

That was silly, of course. There was nothing unusual about him being in this park. It was a quick walk to the downtown kiosk, and a small town. If he was new here, then, yes, I should get used to seeing him. I had no reason to beunfriendly… did I?

The tittering bitties said something amongst themselves. I didn’t hear the words, but I couldfeelthe sentiment. They were wondering how plain Jane me had the attention of Mister tall, dark and well-built.

I shook my head, trying to push everyone else out of my thoughts. I was here for one reason, and one reason only - for my son. I turned my attention back to him and smiled as he waddled up the steps of the little toddler gym, holding on to the little hand rail like a good boy.

He ran his gloveless hand over the numbers tacked to the plastic, brightly colored walls of the playground, counting out loud.

“Waaa, Doo, ‘Ree…” he said, his mitts running over the numbers as he went.

“Smart boy,” I laughed, pride filling my chest.

Even if he didn’t walk, count, or speak… I’d be proud. I knew that. The kid could be minimally accomplished, and I’d think he was a genius. But I could already see him growing up to be an engineer, or architect. Maybe an athlete, Olympian, or…astronaut! One day, he’d be something great. I knew it in my bones. He’d be strong and powerful.

Not the heir to the Underworld.

“You’re going to be great, one day,” I whispered, more to myself than anything.

I should have kept that an inside thought, though, because saying it out loud made the tittering hens turn their heads, their tit-length hair swishing around their shoulders.Fuck.

I couldfeelthe competitive mom vibes.

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