“I will,” I say, getting to my feet. “Thanks, Judy.”
The nerves that I expect to feel as I walk toward Wade aren’t there. Instead, there’s a peace, a contentment that settles through my body.
Despite what I insinuated, there might be more openness in Wade Mason than I expected.
But does it matter if I’m a client? Does it matter at all?
“Are you ready?” he asks as he opens the door.
I stop and look at him. He’s so mercurial. And delicious. I smile.
And, for some reason unbeknownst to me, he smiles back.
THIRTEEN
WADE
I can’t take it much longer.
The sitting room in Bellamy’s hospital suite is filled with an overwhelming exuberance. Everyone is happy. Their cheerfulness is bubbling over, and it’s wearing on my nerves.
I rest my elbows on my knees and hold the sides of my head. Exhaustion settles in my bones.
“Bellamy promised she’d make it to the wedding,” Blaire tells Jaxi with a laugh from across the room. “I told her not to worry about it. I can’t imagine feeling like attending a wedding a week after I had a baby.”
Jaxi nods in agreement. “I can barely imagine having a baby at all, let alone getting dressed up right after.”
Blah, blah, blah.
I hold my head tighter.
The door to the room where Coy, Bellamy, her dad, and our parents are located swings open. Mom beams from the other side.
“He’s so sweet,” she says, her smile stretching from ear to ear. “Are you guys ready to meet baby Kelvin Joseph Mason?”
Boone heads toward Mom. “They named him Kelvin? I thought I had him talked into McCoy.”
Mom swats Boone’s shoulder as he and Jaxi walk past her. Holt and Blaire follow close behind them.
“Are you coming in?” Mom asks.
“I think I’ll wait until it clears out a little.”
She grins. “Want me to sit with you?”
“I do not.”
Her grin turns into a laugh. “Come in if you get lonely. There’s always enough room for you.”
“That’s not my concern.” I sit upright. “My concern is that … my head will explode.”
“It’s a happy occasion. Your head won’t explode.”
I quirk a brow.
“Fine,” she says, coming over and kissing me on the top of the head like a child. “Wait until everyone leaves and then come in. Or just pop in and tell Coy that you’ll be back later. He’ll understand.”
After last night? “He fucking better,” I mumble.
“What was that? I didn’t hear you.”
I sigh. “Nothing. I might do that. I’ll just hang out here for a while and see what happens.”
“Okay, honey.” She starts toward the room but stops at the doorway. “Are you feeling okay? You look tired.”
Astute observation, Mother.
“I didn’t get a lot of sleep,” I admit.
She watches me closely, in a way only a mother can. “Make sure you take care of yourself, Wade Edward.”
I nod. This seems to suffice because, with a final smile, she disappears back into the room of joy.
My head rests on the wall behind me, and I stretch my legs out in front of me. Thoughts swirl in my head like they always do … just at double speed.
Notes for projects I’m working on, calls I need to make, and looming deadlines all bounce around my brain. But the largest part of my thoughts is held hostage by a very particular woman.
I run a hand down my face as a smile threatens to break on my lips as if the gesture will wipe them away.
Damn her.
I groan, stretching my body again before sitting upright with an oof.
On the one hand, I think she’s doing all of this on purpose. I think she’s fucking with me, needling me, pushing my buttons just to drive me crazy. But, on the other … I’m not so sure. If that’s the case—what does that mean?
My temples throb as the conversation Dara and I had earlier rolls through my memories.
So many things about what she had to say bother me. How could her father walk away? What was it like growing up with a single mother who, by all accounts, struggled? How can she be so kind about the situation because, if it were me, I’d be fucking pissed to get a note that my dad said a proverbial fuck you specifically to me when he died.
I’m curious why she has a relationship with her paternal grandfather. Why is he building her a house now?
I have so many questions … and I’m pissed that I have them.
A groan slips through my lips. This is why I don’t get involved with people.
But I’m not involved with her. I’m not involved with her any more than I’m involved with any of the men and women who I work with on a daily basis.
So why does this sit differently in my gut?
Why am I still thinking about her?
And why in the hell did I tell her anything about my life? I don’t do that. I know better.
My stomach tightens because I know why. I know all the reasons, but I’m not ready to deal with that.
Dad walks out of the suite, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“I didn’t know you were out here,” he says.
“Been out here for a long time.”
“Have you seen Kel yet?”
“Kel?” I laugh. “He has a nickname already?”
“I didn’t want Coy’s middle name to be Kelvin. Your mother was adamant thanks to some character on a soap opera or something.” Dad shrugs and stands straight again. “So, Kel. Works for me.”
“Makes sense.”
“He’s a cute kid. Looks just like Coy but with Bellamy’s eyes.”
I nod. I don’t know what to say to that.
Dad shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he mulls something over.
“You all right?” I ask him.
He clears his throat. “Wade, I wanted to talk to you.”
Fuck. “Okay. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, exactly. I just … We haven’t connected in a while, and I wanted to check in, make sure things were good.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Things are good. Things good with you?”
It pains me to ask that. Whomever decided that asking how someone is doing as a pleasantry was a fool. Why use an emotional prompt as a societal norm when no one usually cares?
Not that I don’t mean it with my dad. I do. I hope he’s good. I want him to be good. I just don’t want to get into it right now if he’s not.
I can’t take much more peopling today.
“Things are getting better every day,” Dad says. “And you are the only one of my boys I haven’t apologized to.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me, Dad.”
“No, I do. I put you all through a lot of bullshit that none of you should’ve had to go through. And, for that, I’m sorry.”
I wave a hand through the air. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” He blows out a breath. “I know you don’t want to hear that you’re a lot like your old man, but you are.”
My gaze snaps to his.
“You’re strong and smart, and you do your own thing—to hell with what anyone says,” Dad points out. “And that’s all great … until it’s not. Just remember that, okay?”
“Fine.”
“I mean it.” He looks over his shoulder at the closed door before turning back to me again. His face is ruddy. “It’s okay to ask for help when you need it. It’s better than digging yourself a deeper hole because you think you can climb out yourself.”
Why is he doing this right now?