Page 24 of One Small Secret

Axley is pulling on branches and watching them pop back into place as he releases them. I stand up and Ruben’s hand slides away. Immediately it's easier to breathe. I pick up Axley and bring him to the coffee table. I can’t believe Moira is missing all of this. I pull my phone out of the side pocket of my leggings and snap a picture of him. I need to document Axley’s first Christmas.

I have nowhere to send his pictures, but when she gets home, I’ll share them with her. Ruben has the present in both hands and he smiles as he hands it to Axley. “Merry Christmas, Axley.”

I hold up my phone and take another picture. “Look, Axley—a present.” I pull a corner of the wrapping paper off to get him started.

“Here, let me.” Ruben takes my phone and snaps a picture of the two of us. I smile and lean forward to help Axley figure this whole thing out.

The wrapping paper is that fancy thick stuff—the kind you could wrap a fish with, and no fish smell would escape. But then you would have a Christmas-wrapped fish, so that wouldn’t really make sense. Unless it were a singing fish, but you could wrap a singing fish in anything.

I give the paper another tear, and the ripping noise finally gets Axley’s attention. He looks up in avid interest. My phone makes a beeping sound. Ruben has decided to switch from taking pictures to recording. Axley grabs a corner of the loose paper in his chubby fist and pulls down. The wrapping paper makes a satisfying ripping sound and laughter gurgles out of his throat. I laugh and help him pull a little bit more. He doesn’t seem to care at all what’s under the paper, but as it rips under my fingers, our eyes meet and another laugh bursts out of him.

Christmas hasn’t been this much fun in a long time, and it's not even Christmas yet.

I glance up at Ruben, and from the flash of contentment and the crinkle around his eyes, he must feel the same way. We smile at each other, and for a moment, the three of us could be the cover of a perfect holiday Christmas card.

Well, maybe not me, in my old leggings and even older sweatshirt, but Ruben and Axley one hundred percent could be. I step away from Axley and give Ruben the universal sign for stop recording by sliding a finger across my throat. He dutifully pushes the button and looks up from my phone, confused.

“Can you get some of him opening the present without me in it?” Ruben’s eyebrows furrow, but he snaps a few pictures while Axley tears off a few more pieces of the paper, then hits the record button again. Moira might not want Axley to remember that she completely missed his first Christmas. She can have the pictures and videos of him opening presents without me in them, and I’ll keep the rest.

Ruben stops recording. His dark eyes follow me as I sit back on the couch. “Are these for his dad?”

I glance up. His dad? The pieces of what he’s been thinking fall into place and I want so badly to lie and say yes. That explanation would make the most sense. But I can’t make my tongue lie to Ruben. Too much history. “No.”

He snaps a few more pictures, his face blank, like he’s purposely keeping it that way. “Will he be seeing Axley at all this Christmas?”

“No.” This was getting weird. The last thing I want is for Ruben to think I’m a heartbroken, single mom. Although, bringing gifts and giving me my job back seem to be pointing to the fact that I am just that to him. “I’m going to start some tea.” Axley and his present are forgotten momentarily and I practically dash the four steps into the kitchen to fill up my electric kettle and press the heat button. I gaze out the window to the street and take a few deep breaths. What am I doing? Axley is opening his first Christmas present, and I’m in the kitchen making tea? I close my eyes one last time, psyching myself up to look at Ruben again. He has no right to be so dang charismatic in my apartment. Smiles and glances like his belong on media feeds and magazine covers, not in here.

I turn around and focus on Axley. He has managed to get a big chunk of paper into his hand, but still doesn’t seem to be all that intrigued by what’s underneath the paper. But my traitorous eyes sneak over to Ruben’s, and he isn’t watching Axley at all. His eyes are penetrating and unwavering, and they're locked on me.

“If he were my son,” Ruben’s head tips toward Axley. “I would want to see pictures, at least.”

I swallow. Ruben Palmer is a playboy, a world traveler, and a man impossible to hold down. I don’t know if it’s because I know his parents and love his grandfather, but at this moment, he isn’t that Ruben. That Ruben is only a caricature of the complex man in front of me. “If he were your son, you’d be in the pictures.”

Ruben’s jaw clenches, and a cloud passes over his eyes. He leans forward as if he's about to respond, but instead he narrows his eyes and turns to Axley. The big chunk of wrapping paper in his hand is wet and starting to come apart in pieces. He brings it to his mouth, and Ruben pulls the soggiest bits off of his hand. I don’t dare look at Ruben’s face, but the one hand I can see is clenched at his side.

He is angry.

Angry that Axley’s dad isn’t here, and that I don’t plan on sending him pictures. Neither of those reasons are justified. For all I know, Axley’s dad would have gotten clean for him, just like Moira did. Maybe that’s how he ended up overdosing. Perhaps he slipped up and his body couldn’t handle the drugs any more. I chance a look at Ruben. He's staring forward, no longer looking at Axley, his jaw still clenched tight. I forget the tea, walk back to the couch, and place a hand on his arm. The ecru colored sweater is exactly as soft as I thought it would be. “I can’t send those pictures to his dad.”

Ruben faces me, waiting.

I take a deep breath and sit down next to him. He won’t be angry anymore once I tell him the truth, but I really don’t want his pity. For Axley, sure, but I hate that he's going to feel sorry for me. “He died before Axley was born.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Ruben’s face goes slack and it takes him a moment to process what I said. “Oh, Cadence.” His voice is so soft and low I barely hear him. “I’m so sorry.”

I shake my head. “You don’t need to be sorry for me. Just Axley.”

Ruben swallows and glances at Axley again. One whole side of the present is visible. It's a box with a swanky wood car garage—the kind that cost triple what a plastic one would. This isn’t something he picked up at the store yesterday. Nothing in Rosco carries anything quite so upscale. Not unless the hotel put a toy section into the gift shop while I was out of the country.

His lips purse together. “I should have gotten him something better.”

I shake my head and pinch the soft knitted fabric between my fingers. “You didn’t need to get him anything.”

“I know I didn’t need to, but I wanted to, and I should have gotten him something better.”

“He’s going to love it. He doesn’t have enough toys.”

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