“Don’t touch me!” As I back away from him, my knees buckle, and I collapse onto the white, squeaky linoleum floor.
I drown in pain, indifferent to the doctor and the nurse who help me up off the floor, uncaring that I’m making a scene. Nothing matters anymore.
Simon is gone. Forever.
Before I could say goodbye.
Before I could tell him I love him one more time.
Before I could hold his hand, so that he wouldn’t die alone.
A part of me dies with him.
Chapter 1
Rose
Six weeks later…
“No chocolate cake,” I say firmly.
Ben blinks large green eyes at me from across the table.
Among my son’s tricks, puppy-dog eyes are almost always guaranteed to get him what he wants. He knows this. He is as manipulative as he is adorable.
I lean closer, tucking a strand of shoulder-length brown hair behind my ear when it brushes my cheek. “No. Chocolate. I’m not having you bouncing off the walls instead of going to sleep tonight. What drink do you want with your burger and fries?”
It’s only 3:00 p.m., but if Ben has a sodaanda slice of chocolate cake, it’ll be like trying to contain a tornado in a grocery bag. He already had candy when we stopped at a gas station earlier. I told him he could have the candy then or dessert later. He chose candy. I’m holding him to it.
The woman with dark hair, brown eyes, and olive skin, standing next to our booth, says, “We have milk or a juice box on the kids' menu.” Her name tag, pinned to her pink uniform,reads Lina, and she’s our waitress at Nico’s, a cozy diner where we stopped for a late lunch before checking into our motel.
We weren’t supposed to stop here, but my stomach had other ideas. Namely, get to the nearest restroom or spew all over the steering wheel, so we found ourselves in Rios, a tiny Iowa town. The epic cross-country trip from New York to LA was a journey I’d always planned to make with Simon.
Before we had kids.
Before we got married.
Before he died.
Ben sticks out his lip. “But,Mommy…”
I look at him, and I don’t say a word.
In another life, I was a fifth-grade teacher, and ten-year-olds show no mercy to the unwary. Five-year-olds are so adorable they can twist you around their finger before you know what’s happening. I’m an omega, submissive by nature, but I have fought this battle many times before.
Ben folds.
“A juice box,” he tells the patiently waiting waitress.
I could have ordered a drink for him, but he’d whine, poke at the glass, and refuse to drink from it because he didn’t choose it himself. Ben is shaping up to be an alpha like his dad and not an omega like me, and I amdreadingwhen puberty hits and all those lovely dominant alpha traits assert themselves.
Our waitress laughs and turns to me. “Nice handling of a delicate situation.”
I smile reluctantly. “Thanks. I’m Rose, and this is my son Ben.”
“Well, I’m Lina, and it’s nice to meet you both. Are you sticking around Rios?” she asks.
“We’re just passing through.” I pick up my menu, glance at it for the fifth time since she showed us to our table, and set it back down, pushing it away when my stomach grumbles. Andnot in a ‘I’m hungry, please feed me’ way. In a, whatever you’re thinking…don’t.
