My son.
I should have said our son. It would have been so easy to just say it. Except for the fact that I can barely breathe at the thought of telling Wyatt he has a fourteen-year-old son. You’d think with how many times I’ve told him about Zander that it wouldn’t be hard to do it now—except for the fact that he’s sober now, and he’ll remember this time.
“I can’t have this conversation with you,” he says thoughtfully. His eyes look are so much bluer now and his voice is rougher. The fight blows out of me, and all I have left is the sorrow in the pit of my stomach that never goes away.
“We have to talk about him.” There. Effort. “Like, we really have to talk about him.”
“Talk later, fuck now.” Wyatt cups my ass with his hand and kneads. I bite my lip, trying to keep silent, but it’s no use. A soft moan escapes me. I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around him and never let go. But I’m still freaking cuffed.
“You’re not fucking me with these cuffs on,” I say.
He just lifts an eyebrow and smirks in such an incredibly sexy way that I’m left speechless. The few inches that separate us disappears, and Wyatt skims his nose along my jaw. My body buzzes with his touch. It doesn’t even matter how obnoxious or difficult he can be. I won’t deny him because I love him. Because the only thing worse than loving a man like Wyatt Strand is loving him from afar.
“Baby.” The word escapes my lips like a plea or a prayer, I’m not entirely sure which. I want more—so much more—but we really need to talk, and if things keep going down this road, we won’t be doing any talking. I tell Zander all the time that history repeats itself if you don’t learn from your mistakes, but maybe I should be taking my own advice, because with Wyatt and I—we don’t talk, and then when I’m ready to, it’s too late. Every single time.
I’m about to open my mouth when my man brings his lips to my neck. It’s second nature to tilt my head to give him more room. His tongue drags itself over a vein in my neck, from the bottom of my jaw all the way down to the top of my collarbone and back up again. Every hair on my body stands at attention, reveling in every tiny little touch I get and anticipating the next one. Being touched by him, like this, is the kind of gift that can’t be taken for granted.
“What are you thinking?” His breath is hot on my skin.
“I miss you,” I say as honestly as I can. “I miss us.”
“You left me,” he says, reminding me of something I’ve never once forgotten. “Walked out with your kid and left me.” He takes a deep breath and sits up. There’s a flash of regret in his eyes, and I can’t tell if it’s over a history that neither of us really wants to revisit or if this is something new. I don’t say a word as he pulls a key from his pocket and leans over me, unlocking the cuffs and freeing me from my prison. I laugh to myself at the thought of those cuffs being my prison. The only thing that’s ever really bound me is sitting in front of me with a grim look on his face and a sorrow in his eyes that I don’t know I’ll ever be able to fix.
On shaking wrists, I push myself up into a sitting position. My wrists aren’t bruised or anything, but my arms are sore as hell. Still, the discomfort in my body is nothing compared to the discomfort in my soul. Wyatt messed up all those years ago, but I left. I made the choice to walk out, and even if I can’t regret my choice to keep our son safe, I could have tried to mend fences, and I didn’t.
“I have to . . .” I start speaking but can’t finish my thought. “I have to tell you something.”
The only thing worse than having this conversation is the thought of not having it. If Diesel is the one to tell Wyatt about Zander and Piper, the outcome will be way worse. Tears well in my eyes at the thought. Fuck. I hate crying. If my dad saw me crying, he’d grab me by my shoulders and tell me that there are only three things worth crying over—death, your kid, and running out of whiskey. Then he’d hug me, because no matter how old I get or how little we see each other or whose old lady I am, I’m still his kid. But he’s not here. He’s at his house with my kids, who only get to see him once a year or so. This might actually be Piper’s second time seeing him, with the first being the day she was born. My dad may not show up for much, but he’s damn sure been there when his baby is having a baby.