“Okay.”
“Okay?” I can’t believe she’s letting me off the hook this easy.
“Yes.” A mischievous glint twinkles in her eye. “That doesn’t mean you won’t grovel. I want you at my fucking knees, worshipping the ground I walk on, Jackson.”
I don’t point out how I was already on my knees for her because she’s right, and I’ll do anything to make this up to my wife. “Always, babe. I’ll grovel from now till the ends of time if that’s what it takes for you to forgive me.”
“Oh, honey.” She presses a kiss to the underside of my jaw. “That’s music to my ears.”
I’m chuckling as I stand, placing her gently on the floor. “Let’s get out of here.” I lean down and kiss her again. “I want to spoil my baby mama.”
“Let the groveling begin.” She giggles and my heart swells with love and adoration and relief.
“I want to call Ren first.”
She nods, and we talk to our son together, explaining exactly what happened and reassuring him it’s all a pack of lies. We hang up, and I make a silent promise to myself to talk to him face-to-face when he’s back in the city next week.
Then I hold my wife’s hand as we walk out of the building, take her out to eat, then to her favorite spa for a couples massage, and after I spend the rest of the evening, and most all of the night, cherishing her with my words and my body, hopefully driving any lingering doubts from her mind.
Chapter Nine
Xavier
“How was your vacation to France?” Abby asks as we all sit around the dining table at her house.
“It was awesome, Auntie Abby,” Aubree pipes up, her dark curls bouncing up and down as she moves around in her seat. Our daughter has the attention span of a gnat and more energy than a squirrel monkey and a jumping kangaroo combined. Wouldn’t change the little rascal for the world. “They had five pools and six slides and a zipwire, and we went horse riding and had a picnic in the woods, and we even went to an adventure park!” Her pretty little face glows as she beams at my best friend.
“Wow, that sounds incredible. What about you, Cuan? Did you have an awesome time too?”
Our eldest shrugs. “I enjoyed it, but I mostly played golf. They had an eighteen-hole golf course, pitch and putt, and a driving range.”
“He was up and out before all of us every day,” my husband says.
“He’s a budding little golfer in the making for sure.” My chest swells with pride.
“Pops.” Cuan drills me with a look that sends chills down my spine because it’s a carbon copy of the look Sawyer gives me when he’s warning me to back down. Genetics are amazing.
“Just speaking the truth. You’re already a scratch golfer, and you’re only thirteen. That’s pretty remarkable.”
“Tiger Woods, Rory McIlroy, and Jason Day were all scratch golfers at thirteen,” Hunt reminds him.
“I’m aware.” Cuan turns that analyzing lens on my other half.
Anderson chuckles, talking quietly so only I can hear. “He’s a chip off the old block for sure.”
“Tell me about it. He’s so serious sometimes. I bet I’m the only parent trying to coax their kid into having fun with their friends.”
“Oh, you’re not alone there, my friend.” He raises his wineglass to his lips, subtly nudging his head in Talia’s direction. “Meet his twin.”
“I’ve told all my friends at school you’re going to be a famous golfer,” Amelia says, batting her eyelashes at our son. “You need to believe in yourself, Cuan, and manifest it.”
Abby grins at her youngest child, and I note how Cuan’s cheeks flush red.
Sawyer catches my eye, confirming he’s noticed what I’ve noticed, but he quickly looks away, and I wonder if the remnants of our earlier argument are tormenting him as much as they’re tormenting me.
I hate we’re still at loggerheads over this, and I don’t know how to resolve it when we both want different things.
“I believe in myself,” Cuan replies, quickly regaining his usual cool composure. “I just don’t want to come across as cocky. Arrogance leads to ego, and an unhealthy ego is a dream slayer. I refuse to lose my focus, diminish my control, or become a statistic.”
