Genuine Lies

quick dance that involved a lot of scraped-knee pumping and skinny-butt wiggling. “That’s six-all, dude.”
    “Don’t get cocky. Dude.” Paul dabbed at the sweat that had dribbled through the bandanna he’d tied around his forehead. In a show of nonchalance, Brandon wore his Lakers cap jauntily backward. He grinned when Paul retrieved the ball. “If I’d put that hoop up to regulation height—” “Yeah, yeah.” Brandon’s grin widened. “Big talk.” “Smartass.”
    Immensely flattered. Brandon let out a whoop of laughter at the muttered comment. He could see the answering grin in Paul’s eyes. And he was having the time of his life. He still couldn’t believe Paul had come over to see him—
him—
bringing a hoop, a ball, and a challenge for a game.
    His enjoyment didn’t lessen when Paul whizzed by him and sent the ball through the net in a nearly soundless swish.
    “Lucky shot.”
    “My butt.” Paul passed the ball to Brandon. He might have picked up the hoop on impulse. He might have bolted it over the garage door thinking Brandon would enjoy the opportunity to shoot a few baskets now and again. Even the one on one had been impromptu. The thing was, he, too, was having the time of his life.
    Part of the visit that afternoon had been calculated. He loved the mother, wanted to be a part of her life—and the most important part of her life was her son. He hadn’t been completely sure how he’d feel about the possibility of instant family, of taking another man’s child into his heart and home.
    By the time the score was ten to eight, his favor, Paul had forgotten all about that. He was just enjoying.
    “All right!” Brandon waved a triumphant fist after he’d tipped another one in. His Bart Simpson T-shirt was plastered to his shoulder blades. “I’m right on your tail.”
    “Then get ready to choke on my dust.”
    “In your dreams.”
    Distracted by his own chuckle, Paul lost the ball. Like a hound after a rabbit, Brandon pounced on it. He missed his first shot, wrestled for the rebound, and hit the second.
    When Paul’s dust had settled, Brandon had edged him out, twelve to ten.
    “I’m number
one!”
Brandon skipped over the concrete pad, arms stretched, fingers pointing to the sky.
    Eyes narrowed, hands resting on his knees, Paul watched the victory lap and sucked in hot air. “I went easy on you. You’re just a kid.”
    “Bull!” Cherishing the moment, Brandon ran a circle around him, his lightly tanned skin gleaming with sweat andbad Bart sneering. “I took it easy on
you”
he said. “Cause you’re old enough to be my father.” Then he stopped, embarrassed by what he’d said, shaken by his own longings. Before he could figure out how to retract it, Paul had him in a headlock and was making him scream with laughter as knuckles rubbed hard on the top of his head.
    “Okay, big mouth. Two out of three.”
    Brandon blinked, stared. “Really?”
    By God, Paul thought, he was falling for the kid all on his own. Those big, hungry eyes, that shy smile. All that hope, all that love. If there was a man alive who could resist that look, his name wasn’t Paul Winthrop.
    Paul gave him a big, evil grin. “Unless you’re chicken.”
    “Me, scared of you?” He liked being held there, in a male embrace, smelling male smells, exchanging male taunts. He didn’t try to wriggle out of Paul’s hold. “No possible way.”
    “Prepare to lose. This time I’m going to demolish you. Loser buys the beer.”
    When Paul released him, Brandon raced to the ball. He was laughing when he saw his mother come out of the garden and onto the path. “Mom! Hey, Mom! Look what Paul put up. He said I could use it as long as we’re here and everything. And I beat him first game.”
    She was walking slowly, had to walk slowly. That first comforting sheen of shock was melting away, leaving smears of fear behind. When she saw her child, his face grubby with dirt and sweat, his grin huge, his eyes excited, she broke into a run. She swooped him up, pressing him hard against her, burying her face against the damp and tender side of his throat.
    She was alive. Alive. And holding her life in her arms.
    “Jeez, Mom.” He wasn’t sure if he should be embarrassed or apologetic in front of Paul. He rolled his eyes once, showing that this was something he had to put up with. “What’s the matter?”
    “Nothing.” She had to swallow, to force herself to relax her grip. If she started babbling now,