That lands heavier than I want it to.
“Wyatt would love to have a mom,” I say, and it makes my chest hurt.
I’m not oblivious to the fact that my little boy needs a woman in his life. Just like I needed my mom as a kid.
But he needs a mom. Not Ashley. He needs reliability. He needs love and laughter. Not living on eggshells to see when she’s going to smash another bottle against a wall.
Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. “Does he hate me?”
I shake my head. “He’s nearly six. He just wants his mom around.”
She nods, swallowing hard. “Are you still drinking, Ashley?” I ask quietly.
The crux of her demons. The booze. The reason the courts gave me full custody.
“A little,” she says.
I try not to roll my eyes. I even paid for two stints in rehab. I’ve done what I can, but she keeps going back. And I have to keep Wyatt safe. And if that means keeping her at a distance, then so be it. Whatever is best for my boy. Until she can prove she’s changed, she’s staying here.
“I’ll do better,” she croaks. “I promise.”
I’ve heard promises before. But still.
I nod once. “Good.”
The moment stretches awkwardly.
I stand, grabbing the gift bags in one hand, my mug in the other, taking it out to the kitchen and putting it on the side. “I should go. He’s asleep, but he’ll be up early tomorrow. Call in the morning if you want.”
I give her that olive branch. See if she bites.
She walks me to the door, arms wrapped around herself. “Thank you for coming,” she says quietly.
I nod. “It’s his birthday.”
She hesitates. “Drive safe.”
I step outside, cool air hitting my face, relief loosening the tight knot in my chest. I load the presents into the truck bed, climb in, and pull away. I don’t look back. I never do. Because that chapter of my life is done with. And my little boy comes first over everything.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LOLA
Sterling Ranch.
It’s enormous. Not charming-farmhouse enormous. Not oh-that’s-a-nice-spread enormous. The kind of enormous that makes your stomach drop. Because it’s quite clear these aren’t regular people, these are the type of families that run the town.
I get why Violet’s been a mess all morning. These are the clients that could make or break her business before it’s even off the ground.
She can’t fuck this up.
We pull up and park next to the line of trucks on the gravel. My mind instantly shoots back to a few nights ago. His hands. His mouth. The best sex of my life. In the back of a truck. And that nagging frustration returns, wondering why he never looked for me after.
“I might have to buy a truck, V,” I joke.
She half laughs, but it’s thin and distracted. She’s way too stressed for humor right now. Violet Taylor is a little ball of fury when she wants to be.
We’ve been friends since high school. Thick as thieves. Which means I know her better than anyone else on the planet, and I know that when she’s this wound up, there’s no talking her down. But I’ll always try to make her laugh. That’s the job.