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12
“We’re soexcited that you’re staying.” My mother patted my back while setting the orange juice down on the table. “Although I wish you’d just leave that resort and come stay here now that Hannah is gone.”
I laughed, taking a bite of bacon. “Her name is Henna.”
“Right…sorry, that’s what I meant.” My mom shrugged her shoulders with feigned innocence.
“It’s paid for through the end of the month, so I’ll stay for a bit longer, enjoy the perks of the resort, and come visit you while I have the chance.” I leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.
I had shown up at their door that morning, after leaving Bexley’s house. My stomach was in a knot, and suddenly I just needed to be around the two people who mattered most to me in the world.
“What else have you been up to?” My mother’s water-blue eyes narrowed on me as she sipped her coffee.
“You heard about Bexley?” I knew she had, considering she lived for celebrity gossip. Someone had posted a picture of Bella and me while we were at the hospital. Honestly, my only feelings when my publicist sent it to me were of being totally undone in a way I had never experienced before.
That little girl was so precious, and if I was already attached after spending one day with her, I was a total goner for anything else.
“So, she does have kids then?” my mother asked rhetorically, looking out the window. The sun bounced off her graying white hair and her freckled face. My mother was beautiful in a way that made art fanatics go insane. She had this earthy goodness about her, and I had a feeling it had to do with her grandpa being Cherokee.
She’d never known her grandfather, not enough for anything of value to be passed down to me or to hold herself, but she was proud of her heritage and showed it by driving the hour out to the local reservation and pumping as much money as she could into their little economy. She’d even started volunteering at one of the elementary schools there.
“Son, I love you very much. While it broke my heart to see you hurt like you did…I can slightly understand where Bexley may have been coming from.” She spoke softly, like she was talking to a wounded animal. Against my better instincts and because I didn’t want to prove that I was still wounded, I stood, shaking my head.
“No. We haven’t done this in ten years—we aren’t doing it now.” I picked up my plate and headed for the sink.
“So you’re just going to hate that woman for the rest of your life because you’re too proud to hear her side of things?” She stood with her hands out, placating me. Her eyes betrayed how worried she was; they were always happy, jovial…but when she got angry, they turned glacial. I used to call her eyes magic stones because they always seemed to change color or intensity based off her mood.
“What’s there to hear? She left…” I turned away from her, hating the cold sensation working its way through my chest.
“How did you react when she told you?” my mother asked from somewhere behind me.
We both knew what my mother was referring to, but I couldn’t bring myself to have this conversation. Not when my lungs felt like they were filling with lead, or with the way my mother watched me in that pained way, like she knew how painful that night had been but would make me relive it anyway.
I blinked against the memory and walked out the door, slamming it shut.
* * *
I spunthe black cell on the counter for what was probably the hundredth time. Indecision wasn’t something I did well with, but no matter how many times I went to text Bexley that our dinner plans were off, I kept stopping myself.
She hadn’t done anything wrong…I knew she hadn’t. I couldn’t punish her for having an ex or having someone in her life who’d happened to give her children. I could be mature about this and take her to dinner, find out what the nature of their relationship was. Maybe they were casual, like Henna and I were casual.
Shit, I hope not.
That thought soured my stomach even more, forcing me to lean my head down and gently pound it against the counter. Every time I closed my eyes, I’d see that guy…Logan, standing behind Bexley, a possessive hand on her shoulder, then her waist. His tone, cutting through the space—warning me to back off, telling me Bexley was his.
I immediately had to get out of there because there were old, aggressive places inside me that might have been dormant but were ready to assert that Bexley wasn’t his. In fact, she’d never been anyone’s but mine.
But the fact that she had two kids with him slightly proved me wrong. She’d left me, found someone else, and given him the one thing we…
“Fuck it,” I muttered, grabbing the phone and pulling up Bexley’s contact info. She was still under that stupid title she’d given herself as a college fling.
I eyed the clock on the oven in my rental and saw that it was nearly four in the afternoon—plenty of time to cancel our plans.
A few rings in, Bexley finally answered, “Hello?”
That’s right—she doesn’t have my number yet.
“Hey, Bexley, it’s Ryan,” I said formally.
