Page 25 of His Wild Storm
But the words of those people, who only saw me as big and dumb, hurt me. They still hurt me even though it has been years. Knowing the family I have built, the one I have now, values me has helped a lot. They valueme, not my talent or whether I’m smart; just me.
Wilde certainly doesn’t look at me like I’m stupid. He looks at me like one of the superheroes he drew last week. It makes me feel ten feet tall.
The corner of Haven’s lip twitches as she prompts him, “Oh? He did, huh?”
I can’t help myself and move closer to them as the last of the class leaves the room. Having it be just the three of us in the room feels special. I also know I can’t get too far ahead of myself.
Earning Haven’s trust and building something with her that will last, especially because Wilde has to be considered, is going to take some time. It’s a damn good thing I have time.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I murmur as I get to Wilde’s side. I crouch down next to the end of the table so I’m not towering over either of them. Wilde immediately leans into my side, and my heart fucking melts at the simple action which screams like a banshee with meaning.
Haven’s eyes go wide and almost bug out of her head which tells me she’s just as surprised by her son’s actions as I am. Then, as she looks at him, her eyes soften, and she smiles. It’s as if I can see into her soul.
The love she has for her son is something tangible. I can feel it wrap around us and I’m sure he can as well.
“No,” Haven whispers, her eyes flicking to meet mine before going back to her son, “I don’t mind. Wilde is a really good helper. Honestly, you’re lucky to have nailed him down because you can’t get a better right-hand man.”
Wilde’s chest puffs up with pride. Then he eyes his mom his voice filled with excitement, “How long have you been sitting in the back of the classroom? Did you see my drawing? Are you going to take the class and draw something? Maybe not today, but next class? We’re going to draw a treasure box next week, but Knox won’t tell us if there is any treasure inside it.”
His words run together, which is both amusing and endearing. Haven bites her lower lip to stop herself from laughing. She reaches out and ruffles his hair which earns her an epic eye roll and a big huff of derision.
“You know I can’t draw more than a stick figure. I’ll let you have all the artistic talent,” she tells him. “I wasn’t here long. I just wanted to see how your class ended. I did hear about the treasure box, and it sounds very interesting. Do you think it’s a pirate treasure box or,” she makes a humming sound and taps her chin, “maybe a dragon treasure box?”
“Dragons have treasure boxes?” Wilde’s question is gasped with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
“They have to put their horde somewhere,” Haven points out.
“I figured they would store their treasures in a cave or something,” Wilde muses.
“I don’t see why it couldn’t be both,” I interject.
They both give me identical assessing looks. A lesser man would cower under their looks, but I’m not a lesser man. They can study me and try and break me down as much as they want.
I welcome it.
Because now, as the three of us sit in a room which was never meant to be an art studio in a women’s shelter which is a lighthouse for those in need, all I can see is a future involving both Haven and Wilde. She’s mine, there was never a doubt about that, but he is too.
I think my heart claimed him the moment I looked into his eyes, and he trusted me to show me his art which is an extension of his soul. The fact that he’s not mine, biologically, doesn’t matter in the least. He is a part of his mother which is more than enough for me.
“Oh,” Haven exclaims brightly, “like a treasure chest in a dragon cave.”
“Sounds about right,” Wilde agrees as if this conversation is the most natural in the world.
Maybe it is.
“How big do you think a treasure chest has to be to be part of a dragon horde?” I ask, my eyebrows pulled together.
The look of pure thoughtfulness that takes over Wilde’s face is adorable. He stretches his arms out as big as he can. “At least this big. A dragon could easily carry it to its lair.” He leans closer to me, his voice dropping, “You know dragons have giant claws.”
“Not a baby dragon,” I muse.
Wilde giggles and nods. “Yeah, a baby dragon would need a smaller treasure chest at first, but then he could add to his treasure stash as he grows.”
“The same would be true for a child pirate,” I point out.
The laugh that comes out of Wilde is one of those sounds that invite you to join in. I don’t fight the impulse. Neither does Haven.
He shakes his head at me, “You’re silly.”
