“Yay!” he yells. He throws his hands in the air like he just won the lottery.
“You got your overnight bag?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. Mommy said I have stuff at your house and don’t need nuttin’.”
Of course she did.I don’t call her out—not in front of him. We both know he should’ve been allowed to pack his favorite stuffed animal and all his little comforts.
I just kiss the top of his head. “Then let’s get a move on. Daddy will buy you whatever you need.”
Behind me, Dee scoffs, “That’s right—spoil him. He’ll be an entitled little shit just like his dad.”
I turn back and smile slowly and sharply. “I hope to hell he’s completely like me. That way I know he has none of you in him.”
With that, I walk out, my son’s arms around my neck. Knife follows, calling over his shoulder, “It’s been real, assholes.”
I buckle Caleb into his booster seat and hand him the new Leapfrog game he picked out last time he was with me. Knife climbs in, watching the doorway as Dee and Mark stare hatefully after us. He flips them off, making me shake my head.
Once I’m behind the wheel, I murmur, “It was him, and Dee is definitely in on it.” My voice goes ice cold.
Knife nods. “Yeah. I know. You could see it written all over their faces.”
“We need to lock them down this week,” I murmur quietly, tightening my grip on the steering wheel as I pull away. “I can’t let Caleb go back to them.”
“Agreed,” Knife mutters.
It’s a tall order—one that could blow up everything if we don’t manage it. I’m praying like hell my men find proof Dee and Mark tried to kill me. I need full custody of my son. I need to get him away from them. I don’t want either of them able to touch my son.
I need to protect him at all costs …
Terror and Other Things Caused by Five-Year-Olds
GWEN
Ipull into Wyatt’s driveway with my heart pounding so loud it feels like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest. I’m nervous—nervous in a way I haven’t been since taking my nursing boards. My entire future—the life I dreamed—hung on whether I passed those boards. In a way, the life I want now hangs on this too. Which would explain why my palms are damp on the steering wheel, and why I’m as anxious as a cat on a hot tin roof.
Then, I see his house. I’ve never been here, but it looks exactly like he described. I’d know it even if my GPS hadn’t just announced I’d reached my destination. The place is perfect. Not flashy, not new, and not trying too hard. Just an older home sitting pretty on a double lot like it was designed to be here. Big magnolia trees stand guard around the property, their branches stretching wide as if they’ve been keeping secrets for decades. Privacy, shade, charm—it has all of it.
A paved drive curves toward a detached garage, and a breezeway—closed in with floor-to-ceiling windows—connects the garage to the house. Light glints off the glass, making it look warm and lived in instead of dated. There’s character everywhere I look. It’s present in the old brick chimney, the deepporch, the thick white columns, and even the dings in the siding that tell a story. If I were going to design a house from scratch … it would look a whole lot like this.
I park beside Wyatt’s truck, and before I can gather my nerves—or the shredded pieces of them—the front door swings open. He steps out onto the porch with a wide, easy smile that hits me straight in the chest—making my heart do double time.
“There’s my girl,” he calls, voice full of warmth that slides into me like a hug. Just like that, I feel like I can breathe in much-needed oxygen. The tenderness in his gaze calms me like nothing else could. I get out of the car, my boots crunching on the gravel edging the drive. I walk toward him, and the closer I get, the more grounded I feel. He meets me halfway, pulling me right into his arms as if I belong there … and maybe I do. His hand slides along the side of my neck, warm and steady, as he tilts my face up so he can kiss me. The kiss is soft, warm, full of need, and far too short. When he pulls back, a tiny whimper escapes me before I can stop it. He grins against my lips like he heard it.
And then the moment is broken by a little voice that pipes up from behind Wyatt.
“Are you Daddy’s girlfriend?”
My entire body goes rigid in his arms. I swear I freeze so fast I might actually shatter if someone bumps into me. I turn wide eyes up at Wyatt, absolutely certain I look like a deer that wandered into oncoming traffic. He just laughs softly. Of course he does. He’s not dying internally—just me.
“Come here, Caleb,” he says, and then somehow—without even fully bending—he hoists the small boy onto his hip like he weighs nothing.
Wyatt always knocks my socks off, but holding his son while wearing that sweet smile on his face? Oh. My. God. I force my gaze to move from him to Caleb. He’s a miniature version of Wyatt. Same dark hair, same brown-gold eyes, same sweet but ornery tilt to his mouth. My heart doesn’t just melt—it puddles, then evaporates, before floating away like steam.
“Caleb, this is the woman I was telling you about. Gwen.”
He shifts his son a little, brushing a hand through the boy’s hair. “Gwen, this is my son, Caleb.”
“It’s really nice to meet you, Caleb,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t crack like a middle schooler’s. Caleb studies me with all the seriousness of a man twice his age. “Are you going to have dinner with us?”
