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Ivy peered up at me as we walked along. Olivia was beside us with Dean propped on her hip.
Ivy didn’t say anything, but I could tell she was thinking really hard about something. She was a lot like me in that way. We were both deep thinkers who rarely spoke our thoughts out loud.
She stopped walking and I halted with her. She bit her lip, looking around, and I knew she was nervous to ask whatever was on her mind.
“What is it, Ivy?” I prodded. “You can ask me anything, you know that.”
She nodded, but still didn’t say anything. After a moment of thought, she looked up at me. “Are you really going to be able to keep me?” She squeaked. “Tristan’s your kid, but I’m not,” she frowned. “I don’t want them to take me away from you,” tears pricked her hazel eyes. “I don’t want to be a foster kid.”
“Oh, Ivy,” I crushed her to my chest, “I will never let anyone take you from me,” I vowed.
I knew the night my mom died that this was a thought weighing heavily on Ivy’s mind.
“You have nothing to worry about,” I assured her, smoothing my fingers through her soft hair.
She nodded, but the look in her eyes told me she didn’t quite believe me.
That was okay, though, because soon enough I’d be able to prove her wrong. I wasn’t going to let anyone take the kids from me—not that I thought they’d try. I was an adult, I had a roof over their heads, and I made enough money to support them. The court had no reason to find someone more suitable.
Trace unwound Tristan’s arms from around his neck and lowered the little boy to the ground.
Tristan ran to me, jumping up and down excitedly, asking if he could ride in Trace’s car. He was completely unaffected by the fact that we’d just been by the side of a dead person.
“Uh…” I looked up at Trace.
“It’s fine,” he grinned crookedly. “Why don’t we all head to my mom’s place for an early dinner? Your grandparents, Jude, and Tatum can come too.” He leaned against the side of his large black SUV with his arms crossed over his chest.
I thought it over for a moment. I hated to be a burden, but I really didn’t want to be alone right now. Besides, he’d extended an invitation.
“Sure,” I replied.
“Yay!” Tristan shrieked, running into his uncle’s arms.
It amazed me how quickly Tristan had embraced Trace—but at his age, the kid never met a stranger.
I removed Tristan’s booster seat from the car and put it in Trace’s. I buckled him in while Trace tended to Dean. Ivy had already gotten in my car. I let Jude and Tatum know what we were doing and that they were welcome to join us. They both seemed unsure if they should or not. They knew the truth about Tristan now. Neither had said much to me about it, but I knew it shocked them.
My grandparents had been stunned when I told them the truth about Tristan. I noticed they’d already left. I knew they were hurt that I hadn’t confided in them about my son and how horrible my mom was. They’d been relatively clueless to her actions. They’d known she drank, but not that she hit me.
As I sat behind the driver’s seat and prepared to leave, my eyes landed on the parking lot across form the funeral home. A very familiar black car was parked there and a shiver ran up my spine. Even though he was so far away, and I couldn’t see him through the tinted windows, I felt his eyes on me. It was like his gaze alone was a caress.
“Row, they’re leaving,” Ivy warned, snapping me back to reality.
I put the car in drive, following Trace’s large black SUV so that I didn’t get lost on the way to the mansion. My body hummed with a nervous energy, wondering if Trent would show up. A part of me hoped he did, and another part hoped he didn’t. I wasn’t ready to face him yet, after I told him I loved him and he did nothing. In fact, I didn’t think I’d ever be ready to face him. I felt like everything had been said between us and there was nothing left.
“You look sad,” Ivy remarked from the backseat. “Is it because of mom?”
“No,” I answered, probably too quickly considering it was my mom who was dead and I should feel a tiny bit remorseful.
“Then what is it?” She asked.
Ivy was far too observant for her own good.
“It’s nothing,” I replied. I didn’t need to go into details with her of the fuckedupness of my life.
Ivy’s plump pink lips turned down in a frown and her fingers clasped together as I watched her briefly from the rearview mirror. Her gaze left me and she propped her head on one hand as she looked out the window. I knew she was mad that I wasn’t telling her what was wrong with me. But she was eight years old. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell her, but more my need to keep her a child. I’d had to grow up fast, and I didn’t want the same fate for her. Unfortunately, I was afraid it had already happened.
Unless you’ve experienced it, you didn’t understand what growing up in a household like ours did to a person. You constantly had to live in fear of doing or saying the wrong thing. My mother—as far as I knew—had never laid a hand on Ivy or Tristan, but she had hit me in front of them on more than one occasion. If I had left, what would have stopped her from taking her anger out on one of them?
