Page 46 of My Mom's Man
“It doesn’t matter,” she says quickly. “You don’t know him. I met him through work. One thing led to another, and we slept together.”
“I don’t need all the details,” I grumble.
She sucks in a sharp breath and nods. “The point is, I had no right to be so upset with you. We were broken up, officially, and I’d betrayed our relationship anyway.” She swallows hard and flashes me a sad smile. “It’s just… She’s my little girl. She always will be. Seeing the two of you like that…”
I get it.
It must’ve been traumatic. Not to mention, I was choking her daughter while we fucked. Amara’s reaction wasn’t that out of line.
“It was difficult,” she continues. “Momma bear came out ready to claw out anyone who hurt her little cub. I was blinded by the instinctual need to protect her with everything in me.”
“I understand that.”
“But I was wrong.” She sobs pitifully. “Toward the both of you. You deserve to be happy. So does Emma. It still freaks me out that you two found happiness with each other, but it’s not my job to control that. As much as it pains me, my girl is grown. She can make her own decisions.”
My heart hammers inside my ribcage. The urge to end this conversation and go after Emma isoverwhelming. I need to apologize and beg for mercy. Amara is right. I’m never selfish and it’s ruining my life. Just once I want to take what I really want, never letting go.
You let go once, asshole.
“Just promise me,” Amara says, voice wobbling, “you’ll take care of her and love her like she deserves. Support her dreams and aspirations, whatever those may be. I’m going to step back and let my daughter have the life she wants. She deserves someone who will fight for her, not roll over and let her win every time. You deserve that too.”
Amara pats me on the head and then leaves without another word. I don’t wait for the door to close before racing for the stairs to find a pair of shoes.
I have to go get her and bring her home.
My girl.
My sweet, sexy, sassy Emma.
The Blakely house is massive and fancy as fuck. It sucks that I’ll never be able to provide a home like this for Emma. But, despite my insecurities, I shut off the truck and stalk over to their front door. After a few rapid-fire knocks, a man answers the door.
“You must be Reid,” the man says, features cool and unwelcoming. “I’m Quinn Blakely.”
I shake his hand. “I’m here to talk to Emma.”
“What if she doesn’t want to talk to you?” he challenges.
My hand curls into a fist. Could I knock this man on his ass to get to her? Would I? I meet his gaze with a fiery one of my own. “Tell her too damn bad.”
He slams the door in my face.
Is that it?
Are we done?
I rub at the back of my neck, pacing their front porch as I wonder what to do next. Before I can do anything crazy like throw a rock through the window, the door reopens.
It’s not Quinn.
Emma, dressed in a pair of jeans and a beige sweater, crosses her arms over her chest, leveling me with a hard stare. Her green eyes are especially beautiful when she’s angry or upset. I love when they turn soft and hooded when I’m inside her or making her laugh.
“Hey,” I croak out, unable to form much else aside from that word of greeting.
“Hey.”
She’s definitely not making this easy. I take two steps closer, reaching for her slight frame. I’m grateful she doesn’t flinch or back away. When I make it to her, I fall to my knees and hug her waist.
“I’m sorry, Em. Fuck, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me for acting like a fuckingtwat.”
