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Chapter Five
Jensen
My heart is pounding so hard in my chest I’m sure everyone within a two-mile radius can hear, and my mind? Holy shit. I can’t believe the new owner of the Elliott mansion is none other than Kathryn Elliott. My Kate.
Seeing her today sent me back more than a decade when she was my everything. Her long blonde hair, her striking hazel eyes, and that familiar scent of honeysuckle. It all brought me right back to a time when an eighteen-year-old boy spent every chance he got wrapped up in the girl he loved.
But Kate isn’t a girl anymore, and I’m no boy.
I have twelve years’ worth of hurt, fear, and even love under my belt. No, I haven’t felt all of those simultaneously, but in some ways, they all go hand in hand. You can’t have love without hurt, and in most cases, you can’t have hurt without love.
Knowing that Kate is back has me driving as fast as I can home, not even caring I’m speeding. I have no idea how to process this revelation. A big part of me wants to call Garrett for a beer. And by beer, I mean shots of Jack until everything is numb and dark. The other part wants to turn my truck around, walk back down to where I saw her, and throw my arms around her.
That’s the reaction that scares me the most.
Instead, I focus on Max and finding that damn baseball. He keeps it in a round case, ensuring the ball remains in good condition. Not that we can’t get another one signed by Sawyer Randall—he is married to my cousin, after all. It’s the point that it’s this baseball my son loves so damn much. I’d hate for him to lose it.
Pulling into my driveway, I head inside to search for the ball. I come up empty, knowing it’s got to be in his bag. I made sure I put it there myself. He may have pulled it out of the bag, but I doubt it. He was too worried about making sure he tied his new pair of tennis shoes. Even though he’s four, Max insisted on a pair of laced shoes for the upcoming school year. When we were in the department store, I told him I would only buy them if he would learn to tie his shoes, which he readily agreed. It took him a few tries, and even then, he still fumbles a little, but by the end of our weekend, he had the gist of it and was trying his own shoes.
When I realize it’s not here, I decide to head over to Ashley’s. It’s gotta be in the bag. I park on the street, knowing I won’t be staying long. As I knock on the door, my ex-wife comes around the corner, a wide smile beaming across her face.
“Jensen, what a pleasant surprise,” she coos, obviously happy to see me, as she opens the door and allows me to enter.
“I came to help find the baseball,” I state, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“Oh!” she says, her eyes wide with excitement, “Good news! We found the baseball!”
Of course she did.
“Well, that’s good. Was it in his bag?” I find myself asking, hoping that I was successful in masking my annoyance.
She reaches out and sets her hand on my forearm. “Silly little ball was mixed in with his blanket,” she says with a giggle. “Since you’re here, why don’t you stay for dinner? I’m sure Max would be so excited to have you stay. Plus, I made pot roast, your favorite.”
Does anyone else sense that I’ve been played here, or is it just me?
“Umm,” I start, but am cut off when I hear small feel running down the hall.
“Max, your dad is here and he’s staying for dinner,” Ashley hollers to our son.
“I can’t stay,” I state, but it’s too late. Max comes around the corner and flies into my arms.
“Daddy! You’re staying for dinner?”
Exhaling deeply, I glance at my mini-me. “Yeah, Buddy, I’m staying for dinner.”
“Yay!” he hollers, throwing his arms in the air in victory. And in his hand? The damn baseball.
“Why don’t you go wash up for dinner,” Ashley tells our son, still beaming up at me like she won the fucking lottery. Obviously, today is a good day on the Ashley rollercoaster.
Deciding to play nice for the sake of Max, I put him down and follow. “Come on, Buddy, let’s go wash our hands.”
After we both make sure we’re clean to eat dinner, we head to the kitchen. Ashley is humming a song that sounds a lot like the one we danced to at our wedding reception, a happy little grin on her pretty face.
“Anything I can help with?” I offer.
“Will you grab the cottage cheese from the fridge?” she asks, taking the pan of pot roast, potatoes, and carrots over to the small dining room table.
While I grab the small carton of Max’s favorite side dish, I pour him a small glass of milk and head to the table. First thing I notice is the table is set exactly as it used to be when I still lived here. Me at the head of the table and her directly across from me. Max’s spot is nestled right between us. He’s already seated in his booster when I set his cup of milk down in front of him, and I watch as he takes a few greedy gulps. The boy loves milk.
