“Why shouldn’t it be?”
“Because we are a unit—a family, Jack!”
He gave a mirthless laugh. “Pretty sure I remember youbeggingme to sign your papers. You didn’t want to be a family. There’s noweanymore, Miranda.” He took a little step back,shaking his head. “I’m over this.” He looked me dead in the face. “Over you.”
My spirit went limp.
The heel of my tennis shoe squeaked once against the tile as I backed away. The pressure growing in my throat was unbearable. A sob leaked out without permission and my hand flew to my mouth to block any more. When I glanced around, a few officers watched us. I turned, ready to run out of the lobby before delivering my parting words. They hurt my throat, ripping through my trachea with an intensity only grief can fuel. “Go to hell, Jackson Barkley!”
I mustered the last bit of fight I had left to lift a middle finger in his direction and scream two more.
THIRTEEN
Jack
Ifelt cheated.
The stupid lake house and my dad’s scheming occupied my mind. But only for a little while. Spending the evening with Miranda and Kacey shifted things. Inheritance and remarriage concerns now paled in comparison to my concerns for them.
As I laid in bed, I couldn’t think of anything buttheirsituation.
Things with Miranda were strange. I didn’t know what to make of it. One minute, she was seething, spitting fire at me in the truck. And the next, she was pressing her lips together—which could only mean she was fighting down a wave of emotion as big as a tsunami. She used to bite the inside of her lip to keep from bursting into tears.
I had no doubt that’s exactly what she’d done when the bedroom door slammed behind her.
After I unloaded the truck earlier, I brought a few bags totheir chosen bedroom and rapped on the door. “Miranda? I have your stuff.”
One quick sniff then her scratchy voice replied, “O-okay. Just leave it there.”
Yep. She’d been crying.
Hours later, images of them being abused and neglected by some absolute piece of garbage continued to torture me. I’d worked myself into a sweat over it and tossed the covers off. Getting sleep was mission impossible at this point. I lay, bare-chested, under the gentle breeze of the fan, listening to the pull strings clack together.
Seeing Miranda again sent me into a tailspin. I’d always assumed I was over her. It was the line I fed myself—and Jules—over the years. But the sight of her—likethisespecially—did something to my insides I hadn’t anticipated. To say I was unprepared would be an understatement.
Her every move, every sigh, every word. How was it I was still so aware of her? I thought most ex-spouses hated each other. But here I was, doing my best not to torture myself on memory lane. Wondering what happened to her.
Marriage seemed like a half-way decent idea, if for no other reason than to save them from whatever was happening in their world. But Miranda had made it very clear she had no intentions of getting married—so I guess I’d be waiting six years.
I hoped they were comfortable. That suite she chose had a nice tub. Miranda used to love baths. I wondered if she still did. Maybe she was able to take a bath and have a nice evening.
My imaginations—or rather my memory—wandered too long in that regard.
Traitorous brain.
What was wrong with me? I’d brought her here, hopingto give her a night to make a plan then send her on her way. But after one evening, it was clear how difficult that was going to be. I’d coaxed her into taking Kacey for a walk and played with him at the lake. It took about sixty seconds for the little guy to get covered head to toe in the loose mud. He’d had the time of his life as we chucked rocks into the lake.
Miranda had stooped down to teach Kacey how to skip a few, gently curling his little finger around the rocks and helping him flip his wrist. One had skipped twice, and Kacey squealed in delight. She’d done all the work, but cradled his hand in hers so he felt like the hero.
I couldn’t help but be amazed at her.
The walls of her life were crashing in, and she was still showing up for her son.
Proof she was every bit the mom I knew she would be.
That afternoon, when I asked how old Kacey was, she said he turned three in March. I automatically launched into the mental math on the last time Miranda and I were together. Didn’t time out.
We’d tried so hard for a family.
