She’s buttoning up her coat. Her fingers still.
“Don’t go,” I say. “The kids need you. I’ll…” I close my eyes, exhausted. “I’ll try harder. With them. With you, Tay. I swear I’ll try.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak for so long I’m sure I blew it. Didn’t manage to convince her to change her mind.
To give me another chance.
Not even sure what I’m promising her. To talk to the kids? To be more polite to her? Not to want her? Not to touch her?
Finally she turns around to face me. “You will come eat breakfast with us,” she says, and I frown. “And dinner. You will play with your kids. And you will tell me about Emma.”
Is she serious? “Look…”
“That’s the deal.” Her gaze is direct, determined. “And if it’s not enough, you’ll go see a therapist.”
God, she is serious.
And I have no choice. I can’t let her go. I can’t… can’t fucking think of anything, except that if she goes, I’ll sink somewhere so deep and dark I won’t ever find the way out—and I don’t care about myself, but what about my kids?
“Fine,” I say hoarsely, my head swimming. “It’s a deal.”
She nods once, holding my gaze, as if searching for a different confirmation.
Then she takes off her coat, hangs it on the hook again, and tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. A tiny golden earring glints there. “Have a nice day, Matt.”
And waits.
As if expecting something.
She has been saying this sort of thing every morning, as I left to work. Have a good day, Matt. Goodbye, Matt. Take care.
“Take care,” I say slowly, and see her shoulders relax, her gaze soften.
She nods again, and smiles.
Chapter Eighteen
Octavia
The kids are mostly quiet during the day. Tired, would be my guess, from a bad night and explosive morning. Cole starts whining and getting cranky as the afternoon wears on. Mary manages to break a plate loaded with cookies and then cries a little, but after I hug her for a bit she settles back down.
Poor kids. Mary tells me she misses her granny, and I make a mental note to ask Matt to call her. It wasn’t in the stipulations of our deal, but I made that one up on the fly and didn’t have the time to think of anything better.
I sit down on the carpet, lean back against the sofa with a book of fairytales, and gather the kids close to me to read them their favorite stories. Cole likes Jack and the Beanstalk, Mary prefers Sleeping Beauty because the girl in the pictures looks like her.
I read to them and think of Matt. Of my conditions and his expression when he realized I meant them.
Did he realize this is as much about his kids as it is for him? He thinks I haven’t noticed how unsteady he’s been in the past days—not eating anything solid, not sleeping. In his line of work, that could prove dangerous, and no matter what I keep telling myself I should do, I can’t help it.
I worry about him.
Although I’m puzzled with the mixed signals he keeps sending me. This hot and cold routine is confusing as hell. It was clear he wanted me this morning when he touched me, when I felt how hard he was.
And I want him, too, but that’s out of the question. Lusting after him is a mistake. I work for him, for God’s sake, and he’s probably already regretting everything that took place today.
I wonder how long ago his wife died. Cole is three, so it can’t be longer than that. I wonder if she haunts his dreams.
“Tati! Read!” Cole shoves Jack and the Beanstalk into my hands, and lies back again, cuddling his favorite stuffed animal to his side. It’s a faded blue bunny with one ear missing, called Hook.
“We already read that,” Mary pouts.
“Read!” Cole insists.
It doesn’t matter, anyway. I can’t sleep with Matt, even if he wants it. Even if we both want it. How can I look after his kids afterward? How can I look at myself in the mirror?
How frigging awkward. And embarrassing. Though I can’t stop thinking about it, about how it would be to actually run my hands over his naked body, feel every ridge and plane of that ripped chest, stroke a path down to his—
The key turns in the lock, and I gasp. I hide my flushed face behind the book as the door swings open.
No use fantasizing about Matt Hansen’s naked body. For now, I have my hands full. I have to teach him how to be a human being again. You’d think he grew up with animals in the jungle. Feral.
Maybe he wasn’t always like that. It’s as if he has forgotten how to interact with other humans.
The sensation strikes me again as he enters, broad shoulders hunched, hair falling in his eyes, dark beard hiding the rest of his face, that feeling that a savage beast has stepped into the house—dangerous, angry. Confused and lost.
A shiver wracks me.
What have I gotten myself into?
The children stop talking and watch, too, as he hangs his keys on the hook, powerful muscles moving in his back under the thin, oil-streaked T-shirt. My gaze drops to his ass, snug in his soft jeans, and I swallow hard.
God, that’s one tight, spectacular ass.
Another wave of heat washes over me. I force my gaze away from his butt as he turns and shoves that fall of dark hair out of his eyes.
He pauses there, taking us in, and familiar pain flashes through his eyes. They’re so expressive when he lowers his walls even for a moment. So beautiful.
Giving myself a shake, I close the book. “Dinner time,” I say brightly.
He blinks, paling a little, and I wonder if it’s because he’s skipped lunch, or if he’s remembering another woman saying these words to him.
How can I ever compete with a ghost?
And who says you are? I scold myself as I pick Cole up and tug Mary with me, heading to the kitchen, keeping my gaze off this damaged, sexy man-bear who’s gotten under my skin without even trying.
How pathetic is that? He’s fascinating. He’s irritating, but also captivating.
A guy who’s been harsh and rude every step of the way, who lashes out instead of talking things out, who’s turned his pain and sorrow into a knife and swipes with it at anyone who steps too close.
A guy who can’t remember how to open up. How to hold his kids. How to control his strength, or his words.
A guy who looks adorably confused and scared as I wait for him to sit at the kitchen table and then deposit Cole onto his lap.
“Here.” I put Cole’s plate in front of them. “Help him eat.”
Cole stares up at his dad’s bearded face, eyes going round, mouth trembling, and I make myself go sit across from them, beside Mary.
His dad’s face isn’t much better. His brows are knitted. He looks from the little boy on his knee to the plastic plate and kiddie fork on the table.
“Holy shit,” he mutters, closing his eyes briefly, and I’m sorry I’m making him do this before he’s even had a bite.