“Thanks, Penelope.” She faces me, ready to give me what I’m sure is another piece of her mind, when my phone buzzes again against the wood grain.
Her eyes drop to the screen.
Tori.
Her shoulders tense, and she latches onto Trace’s hand. “Tell Parker goodbye, Trace. He has more important things to tend to.”
With that, she storms off, and I curse the day I ever met JetmotherfuckingJackson.
Chapter eight
Laiken
“Bro.” Brady, my younger brother and Mayson Ridge’s firefighter of the year award holder, lifts a hand to Trace. “Digging the hat.”
Trace gives him a high five before he climbs into the booth beside him, leaving me to sit alone opposite them.
“I’m going to the restroom. Be right back.” I toss my purse on the seat.
Brady waves me off as Trace launches into his latest adventure at the ranch. I escape to the bathroom, my breath lodged in my throat until I hit the stall.
“Breathe,” I murmur as I take deep breaths to refill my lungs.
Tears threaten to fall, but I squeeze my eyes shut.I will not cry.I will not cry over Parker Stillwater. I cried enough tears to fill the freaking Atlantic. He doesn’t get any more.
Tori.
The single name still makes it feel like my heart is being ripped from my chest. Flashes from seven years ago filter across my brain. The pictures. The media. His silence.
I was so stupid. So young and naïve. Foolish to think a few summers with me actually meant something. That what we had wasreal. Clearly, I was mistaken. He threw us away the second a shiny new thing came his way. And that shiny new thing had beautiful chestnut hair, golden eyes, and killer legs. And here I am. Sporting freckles, stretch marks, and hips that didn’t lie. I couldn’t hold a candle to her. Especially not now.
Shaking my head, I push away the negative thoughts. I’m not some distraught teenager anymore. I’ve grown up. Moved on.
“Yeah, that’s why her name on a screen has you hiding in a bathroom stall,” I mutter to myself as I straighten my sweater with annoyance.
Clearing my throat, I step out and over to the sink, then check my appearance once more before taking a solid breath. Everything is fine. My home may be a lost cause, and I’m about to indulge in my own personal version of hell for the next six weeks, but I can handle it. I’m amom, for crying out loud. I gave birth with an epidural that never kicked in and managed to survive on mediocre sleep while keeping Brady out of jail and my mom out of a deep depression. Thank God Maddox was able to keep it together after Dad passed because I’m not sure I could have handled anything else. I can do this. It’s my job. And Parker Stillwater is just another patient with a medical need. Nothing more.
“Why are we taking a bath at Nana’s?” Trace asks as he peers at me from the tub.
His hair is slicked into a bubbled Mohawk, while his horse figurines line the edge of the tub.
“Remember, I told you we were having some water issues at the new house.”
“But I want to sleep in my new room.” He pouts.
“We will.” I point to the washrag. “Scrub, then we can get your jams on and head back.”
We could stay the night here, but after spending a week getting everything settled, it felt like taking a huge step backward if we moved back in. It’s just water. We can get cleaned up here, then sleep in our beds. I’ll have the water fixed soon enough. As soon as these six weeks are up. No big deal.
“Do I have to go to school on Monday?” he asks.
We do this every week.
“Yes. You want to grow up to be smart, don’t you?” I question as I grab a towel out of the cabinet.
“Uncle Mads doesn’t go to school,” he grumbles. “And he’s smart.”
I chuckle. “He already went to school.”
