Tears build in my eyes again at his sincerity. He means it. He truly means it.
“Thank you,” I tell him quietly.
“Mommy,” my son says, fear in his tone.
Quickly, I dry my tears and turn to face him.
“What’s up, buddy?” I ask, offering him a smile.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Everything’s fine. Mac, Bertha’s brother, just stopped by to give me something, is all. You remember him?” I tell him.
Mac clears his throat. “Hey, bud, how are you settling in?”
My son looks at him with suspicion in his eyes, but doesn’t say anything to him.
“Right, I’m going to head out. Jane, I’m next door if you need me. Don’t forget to think about what I said,” Mac says as he reaches for the door handle.
“I will, and again, thank you. Thank you for everything.”
“Anytime. Make sure you lock up behind me,” he says before he slips outside.
As I lock the door behind him, I try to push all thoughts about the job and everything else we talked about to the side.
The kids. They need my attention right now and nothing else.
My head falls back, and I squeeze my eyes shut as I listen to the lock slide into place.
Jesus Christ.
Didn’t know someone could tear my heart out without physically doing something to me. Jane reminds me of a wounded animal, and the last thing I want to do is spook her. She looked fucking terrified when she answered the door. When I tried to comfort her? I have never had a woman recoil from me. It only makes me want to hunt down her ex and torture him until he dies.
I need to get her to trust me—to tell me, so I can find out who she really is. I could call my brothers wherever she came from and have him delivered to me. I would show her how useless the ex is after I tear each of his limbs from his body.
Taking a breath, I try to calm down.
At least the longer I was there, the more relaxed she became, even if she cried.
That all went away, though, when her son came into the room.
Tanner.
Just looking at him fucking guts me.
I almost forgot how much distrust hides in his little eyes. It’s unfair how fast he’s had to grow up. As hard as it is to look at him, I couldn’t look away. His hurt called to me in a way I can’t quite explain. Then there’s her daughter. She’s the spitting image of her mother, just without the distrust in her eyes.
One thing is for sure. Jane’s genes came out strongly in her children. As far as I can tell, they didn’t get anything from their father, which is a blessing in situations like this.
My phone rings, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Yeah?” I say without looking at the screen.
“Hey, how’s it going?” my sister asks.
Warmth fills me at the sound of her voice.
I guess I should thank Jane for one thing. She’s brought my sister and me closer, or at least we talk more than we have lately. Bertha and I talk often, but never over the phone. It’s always through texts, or at least that’s been the case recently.
