Page 21 of Tinsel in Telluride

And yet she’s still the most beautiful fucking woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

It’s unfair the way I’d like nothing more than to take her over my knee and spank her for her sins. Only to follow it up with getting on my knees for her and begging her to forgive me for mine. Followed by a desperate plea to allow me to be a part of my son's life.

Talk about emotional whiplash.

My brain is a scary place to be at the moment.

Another twenty minutes pass before quiet takes over the guesthouse. Even though I’m fairly certain my toes are numb and on the verge of frostbite, I wait another ten before I pick up my peace offering of expensive wine and tequila and cross the deck.

The bottles clink together as I struggle to hold them in one hand and lift the other to knock.

Once.

Twice.

The door whips open, and Leigh is there before my knuckles hit a third time. “What the fuck are you th?—”

She doesn’t get to finish her statement when, from the back of the guesthouse, Zach lets out an endless wail.

“Fucking damn it.” Leigh's shoulders sag in defeat, and I immediately feel like shit.

“Oh, fuck,” I mutter in panic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think?—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Leigh cuts me off, her eyes darting from me to the direction of Zach’s room.

“What the hell does that mean?” I counter. Hackles instantly raised despite the fact they help exactly no one in this situation.

Leigh rolls her big blue eyes and sighs. “Nothing. What are you even doing here? Because if it’s not an emergency, I’m kinda busy.”

God, I’m fucking this up. I didn’t come over here to fight.

Or maybe I did.

But I didn’t mean to make things worse.

Pushing down my pride, I ask, “How can I help?”

“You’ve done enough.” Her rejection is a slap to the face, but at least she doesn’t slam the door in it. Instead, she turns on her heel and heads to the back of the small apartment.

The thought of leaving doesn’t even cross my mind.

Setting the bottles on the small kitchen island, I follow Leigh down the hallway, past the main bedroom and to the smaller room that doubles as a guest room and office space.

The glow from the Christmas lights I strung around the window illuminates enough of the room that I can see her approach the daybed. She sits on top of what looks like a large pile of pillows tucked under the sheet, making a wall between the edge and where Zach lays. Leigh’s voice softens as she coaxes the overtired two-year-old to lie down and go back to sleep.

Zach, of course, has other plans.

Struggling to keep his eyes open, he shoots up and wraps his tiny arms around his mom’s waist.

“Tay,” Zach whimpers against her, and Leigh immediately begins to rub her hand up and down his back to soothe him.

At this point, I’d like to say I’m keeping it together, but I’m seconds away from losing it. This simple act of a mother tending to her son is like watching a movie in a foreign language. My mother would never have shown us that kind of tenderness. My siblings and I had nannies and each other.

This is—it’s everything.

“I’m just across the hall, my sweet boy,” Leigh reassures him. “And I can see you just like I can at home.” She points to the small camera on top of the bedside table she must have brought with her.

Zach’s sleepy gaze tracks across the bed and back up to Leigh. “Sea.”

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