However, he also had a sense of competitiveness, and he always had to be the best at something. Second place would simply not do. I had no clue how to control it or explain it, without discouraging him to do his best. Too bad parenting didn’t come with some kind of book that had a list of guidelines.
“I’m sure you did, honey. But Grandma bakes the best cookies.” Glancing at the clock, I mentally counted the time back in Texas and wondered. “Why are you still not in bed?”
“Grandpa said I could,” he simply answered, and then grew quiet, as the sound of his favorite cartoon could be heard in the background.
Grinding my teeth, I barely restrained myself from calling my father and scolding him for this behavior. He didn’t care about Jake’s schedule, always trying to be the best grandpa. As if he had anyone else to compete with for the title. Years ago, he made sure Jake had no one but my family around him.
My father was not a man you could mess with, and frankly he didn’t give a shit about my feelings, but he loved Jake with everything he was. He was the long-awaited grandson, finally a boy in the Jackson dynasty, and Dad worshiped him. If it was up to me, Jake wouldn’t leave my side, but the rules were different.
Alex’s order to send Jake there once a month was weird, but I didn’t object much. Out of all the weird things he could have asked from me, that at least benefited my child. The only saving grace of this arrangement was the fact Jake enjoyed spending time with them for a weekend each month.
Otherwise, I’d grab him and run far, far away where no one would dare threaten to hurt us.
Thoughts of a gray-eyed, handsome man entered my mind, and my eyes closed for a second, drinking in the image of Radmir my mind created. How with only one harsh stare, he could make a man stop in his tracks, so they wouldn’t even look in my direction. He wouldn’t allow his child or woman to be terrified of their surroundings. If only he could protect us all the time.
If only his life wasn’t on the line when I got pregnant.
If only.
Clearing my throat, I willed myself back to the present and to forget the stupid thoughts running through my mind. “Jake, honey?”
“Yes, Mommy?” he replied distractedly.
“How about taking a bath and then going to sleep?” From a distance, I could imagine he was exhausted. Dad always had fishing trips planned along with a barbecue. Add baking to it, and it was a bit much for a five-year-old. He probably ate enough sugar to last him for a week, the only reason he was still up.
“Okay, Mommy,” he complained, and then he said, “Love you, Mommy.” My heart panged painfully in my chest, warming my frozen insides.
My baby, who made all this bearable and worth it.
“Love you, honey. Can’t wait to squeeze you tomorrow.” With that, I hung up the phone and wrote my mom a quick message regarding him. She would listen, and after my last conversation with Dad a few hours ago, I couldn’t bear talking to him.
Why would he even call about this? The topic of Radmir was strictly forbidden in my household. We had enough fights about it to last us a lifetime. Sometimes I wondered if they thought I got pregnant out of thin air, and in their mind, Jake had no father.
Placing the phone on the desk, I was about to go to the bathroom to take a hot bath, hoping to relax my body enough to sleep, when the sound of a vase smashing on the floor caught me off guard.
Quickly running to the living room, my eyes widened at the open terrace door that was usually closed in our small suburban house. The strong wind that must have opened the terrace door widely also must’ve knocked the vase over.
The moonlight shone brightly, allowing me to move freely without the lights on, and as I leaned down to pick up the pieces scattered around, a harsh intake of breath stopped me dead in my tracks.
An awareness rushed through me, heating up my body as the familiar masculine smell filled the air, and my heart froze for a second and then resumed beating twice as fast as before.
Spinning around, I came face-to-face with the man who had haunted my dreams for the last six years.
The love of my life.
Radmir.
He was here.
I couldn’t believe that after six years of separation, he came in the middle of the night to my house, when I was wearing nothing but a see-through, white nightgown.
He had changed during the years spent in prison. My eyes scanned his massive shoulders and bulky figure. He was much more buff than before, although he’d always been muscled, and he used to be leaner. Even the veins in his neck were strained. His hair was cut in a Mohawk, and his face had a beard, an unusual contrast to his usually clean-shaved visage. Tattoos ran all over his body, probably having some important meaning, but it confused me that he had so many. Even his knuckles had letters on them, like he was making a statement.
“Radmir.” I exhaled his name on a heavy breath. After all those years, his name still had the ability to send shivers down my spine as it reminded me of who he truly was. His eyes roamed all over me, dark and heated, promising retribution for whatever he thought I was guilty of.
A dominant, possessive man in need of his woman.
Giving me his crooked smile, he took a step closer, and subconsciously, I moved back, and it accelerated his anger.
