Page 37 of Michael: The Hawthornes

Eventually they were going to get a place of their own, but I wanted him with me. It made me nauseous to think of the things that I’d already missed. Spending half his time with me and half his time with Emilia seemed like the fairest thing. Equal time. We were both his parents.

Then I thought of the way he looked at her, the way he’d orbited around her, the way he’d clung to her, and I knew fifty-fifty was never going to work. Not yet anyway. Not for a long time.

She was his everything and I was just some giant that he didn’t know and didn’t trust.

Fuck.

Letting the water pour over my head, I counted backward from a hundred, feeling the anger and frustration dissipate a fraction at a time.

I finished in the shower and headed to bed, wondering how early Rhett woke up. Would I hear him in the morning, or would Emilia make sure he didn’t wake me? I was pretty sure it was the latter, so I set my alarm for six thirty. I didn’t want to miss any time. Would he want cereal in the morning? I had some. Or fruit? I was pretty sure I still had some strawberries in the fridge—or maybe I’d take them to breakfast and make it a whole welcome home thing.

I fell asleep debating whether I’d take them to the pancake place down the street or the diner closer to my parents’ house. Less than an hour later, I woke up with my hand on my cock and a very vivid dream of Emilia playing over and over in my head. She was gorgeous with her light brown hair sweaty and wild, her tits heavy as they swayed with each roll of her hips, and her eyes closed as she threw her head back and moaned.

I finished myself off, groaning under my breath, before I even realized what I was doing.

“Fuck,” I muttered, breathing heavily as I stared at the ceiling fan. I’d just beat off to the thought of Emilia while she slept down the hall. What the hell was I doing?

I knew the kiss had been a mistake the second I’d done it. Old habits died hard, I guess, because she’d been looking at me like she used to, with absolute trust, like I could fix anything and be anything and I’d caved.

Sure, I’d thought about doing it since the moment I’d walked into my mom’s kitchen and seen her standing there—but I hadn’t actually planned on doing it. I didn’t even know her anymore. Rumi was right. She could be anyone now.

I got up and cleaned myself off, throwing on a pair of sweatpants in an effort to keep my hands off my junk if I had any more dreams.

I needed to keep a little distance between Emilia and me while we figured out exactly how we were going to move forward. Playing house while we did that would confuse the situation in ways neither of us wanted to deal with. We had a child to take care of. We needed to take care of him first, make sure he felt good and secure. That had to be my priority—not banging his mother.

Though, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep the dreams at bay. Fuck, she looked good. Like before, only better. She used to be so sweet and carefree, now you could tell that she’d lived a little. Her eyes were no longer wide and searching. They were knowing, and goddamn if that didn’t do it for me. She wasn’t a teenager anymore, and neither was I, and I had a feeling that if we did end up in bed, it would be a million times better than before.

I rolled over and shoved my face into the pillow, growling in frustration.

It would be easier if I didn’t find her attractive anymore. If she’d somehow become lessher. As angry as I was with her—and I could feel that anger still bubbling just beneath the surface—I still wanted her. Badly.

Eventually I fell asleep, but I had no idea how long it took.

When my alarm went off the next morning, I shot out of bed, sure that Emilia and Rhett were gone. Without bothering to put on a t-shirt or let my morning wood disappear, I practically ran down the hallway and threw open the first door. It was pure luck that I was able to keep it from hitting the wall when I found them sound asleep in the guest bed.

Emilia was on her back, her arms thrown above her head and her mouth hanging open, but it was Rhett that made me stop and stare. He was asleep wrapped around her, the entire top half of his body pressed against her side, his arm and one leg flung over her and his head resting on her shoulder, his face just inches from her neck. Both of them were completely out, snoring softly, and I just stood there staring.

They were mine. He was mine. She might be different, I knew she was, but she’d still come to me. She’d stayed at my house instead of my parents’ place. She’d driven from Arizona to find me, and instead of staying at a motel and keeping her distance, she’d snooped through my house and slept in my guest room.

I rubbed at my sternum as my heart thundered in my chest.

I wanted to crawl in bed beside them and sandwich Rhett in between us. Maybe I’d fall asleep and wake up with his arm flung over my belly. Maybe she would wake up and smile at me over his head with a secret look of pride at this little person who was curled up between us.

I quietly gasped for air as I stepped back out and closed the bedroom door. Fucking hell, I could see us as a family so clearly. The perfection of it.

And then reality hit me like a hammer.

She’d chosen something different. We could’ve been a family three years ago, two years ago, last year. She’d lived a completely separate life, keeping the knowledge of our son to herself for almost three years. The family unit I’d been imagining was a fantasy. It was bullshit.

At some point, maybe Rhett would sleep next to me, kicking me in the side and hogging the bed, but Emilia wouldn’t be there snoring next to him. That wasn’t in the cards, and I needed to deal with that shit and move on.

I straightened up and squared my shoulders.

I needed to focus on what was important—getting to know my son—and I was going to start by taking him and his mother to breakfast. After that, I’d see where the day took us. Maybe he liked the park, or he’d think it was cool to skip rocks at the river. I was a fucking pro at skipping rocks. Maybe I could impress him that way. Show him how it was done.

Did he have a bike? Maybe we could pick one up for him. I’d seen kids his age riding around the club on little bikes without pedals. Get him riding on two wheels early, like I did. Maybe he’d be into that.

My mind raced through different ideas of how I’d get my kid to like me as I got dressed and ready for the day.Thatwas what I would focus on from that point forward.

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