Page 45 of Take The Risk

​Sunday at my parents’ had always been trying, but that was ridiculous. My good ol’ Southern-valued parents weren’t too thrilled with the fact I refused to give up my writing when I could be a full-time baker at Maple Mornings, which they considered respectable work. Mother had seen online that I’d announced a new series. She thought what I wrote was akin to porn, and that stained the family image. Ugh. If that wasn’t enough, Alex had gone postal and called my agent and the publisher, telling them about the threats, and now they wanted to publicly identify me.

​The final icing on the hell-cake I was forced to swallow was the showdown in court I’d had with Jeremy. He’d played the daddy-heartbreak card, professing he’d done everything he could to see Lock over the last couple of weeks, and I’d been the big bad witch, denying him.

​It didn’t matter that Jeremy was with Layla every time he’d come to pick up Lock.

​Fortunately, I’d been smart enough to take pictures, at Wade’s suggestion, every time Jeremy had shown up. Layla was there or in the car in every one.

​When the judge dismissed Jeremy’s claim, deciding that, if he couldn’t follow a basic court order, court-supervised visits were now a better option, I wanted to weep. It meant I wouldn’t have to see Jeremy and Lock wouldn’t have to see Layla. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but for now it worked.

​I should have known that wasn’t the end of it when, instead of earning an Oscar for the most heartbroken performance by a dad, Jeremy got quiet. Too quiet.

​Closing my eyes, I rested my head on the steering wheel. Why couldn’t this just be easy? Hell, I was at the point I was willing to give Jeremy half of everything just to make him leave me alone. He wanted more, but I drew the line at giving him a dime of money I earned after I left him. That was mine. When I found the person who told him about the potential Netflix deal, I was going to unleash Alex on them.

​Seriously, what could happen next?

​I was in the middle of my pity party when an unexpected knock at my window startled me. With a cry of surprise, I jerked back in my seat so hard I bashed my head off the headrest. News flash, those suckers weren’t as soft as you’d think.

​“Ow!” I automatically reached up, rubbing the spot.

​The car door was yanked open and then Ty was there. “Shit, I’m sorry.” His hand sank into my hair, moving my hand aside to cradle where I’d smacked it. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

​The feel of his large hand, warm and steady on my head, chased the lingering ache away. The tension in my temples eased, a sense of comfort washing over me.

​“I’m okay.”

​The way his fingers rubbed the back of my head, sifting through my hair, felt good. Too good.

​Ty scrutinized my face, noting the signs of stress. “Rough trip?” His hand slid out of my hair, cupping my face, his thumb rubbing my cheek in a soothing pattern of swirls. An attack of the nerves hit when I realized just how he was touching me. It was like before, but so much worse. I wanted to lean into his touch, to close the distance between us and feel his lips on mine, making me forget every shitty thing that had happened in the last four days.

​My phone beeped and I cringed. “You have no idea.”

Turning, I pulled the noise-making device from hell out of the middle console and switched the sound off, needing a break from the constant notifications as my publisher and Alex fought it out over my identity.

​As much as I wanted to sit there, letting Ty’s hand keep the horrible memories at bay, I was all too conscious of being out front of my house, cars and people on the street, life continuing around us. And eyes that could be on us.

​Helping me out of the car (again, there was something so sexy about the way he did that), he grabbed my bags from the trunk, ignoring my objections. The tightness in my chest eased at the way he did simple things like that for me. It wasn’t his job, and still…

​“How’d it go?” he asked as we made our way up to the front steps.

​Maybe it was because I was exhausted. Maybe it was because he had me so mixed up over my feelings for him. Maybe it was because I just needed to let it out. I didn’t know the why; I just told him. All of it, skipping over the publishing part, of course.

​“So he wants half the royalties from your books even though they haven’t been published yet?” Ty’s question was delivered in such a nonchalant way I didn’t think anything of it.

​“Yeah, he thinks he’s entitled—” Wait. What?

​I froze at the bottom of the porch.

​Ty gave me a long look. And I knew. I just knew. He knew.

​“Don’t freak out,” he pleaded, putting my suitcase down. “We need to talk.”

​Yes, yes, we did.

​“Sit down?” He gestured to the steps.

​I crossed my arms, needing to do something with my hands. “I’m good.” I wasn’t. I wasn’t good at all.

​Ty put a hand on my shoulder, and I didn’t even feel it. “Please, Phoebe. Just hear me out.”