That means I have to face what I can’t have.
God, I need some sleep. I can’t think straight. I rest my back against the crib, and my fingers tighten around the bear.
I should tell her about my son. The little boy who was born when I was in rehab. Ana had him alone. Okay, not alone. Darragh was there. He even delivered my kid! They didn’t call me. Didn’t want me anywhere near him or them.
They weren’t wrong. At the time.
What kind of woman will want a man who didn’t want his own kid?
My breathing goes ragged. I scrub a hand over my face, but it doesn’t stop the spiral.
If Scarlett sees the truth about who I am, not the polished professor version, not the man who jumped from a cab when she was hurt and then put her up in a hotel when she had nowhere to go, then gave her what sheneeded one night in a hotel room, notthatman, but the addict, the deadbeat dad…
She’ll hate me, and she should.
I need to get my emotions under control and focus.
Phone in hand, I unlock it with shaking fingers to look at hundreds of photos. My nightly ritual. That I now have to hide.
Ana sends me nearly every photo she takes of our son. I don’t think Darragh even knows how often she does it, unless he’s auditing her phone. I chuckle, picturing him asking the Bratva underboss to see her phone.
But these photos mean the world to me. J.P. in a dinosaur onesie. Splashing in the bath. Gnawing on a spoon. The one that makes me laugh is him sucking on his whole fist. And the one that rips my heart out is my son asleep on Darragh’s chest, one tiny hand gripping his shirt. A photo that he probably didn’t even know Ana took.
These photos are not to make me feel terrible. They are showing me that my son is okay.
And I’m glad, because I’mnotokay. Not yet.
If I do this right, if I keep myself clean and hold on to this teaching position, one day this room won’t be empty. If I get my life together, J.P. will sleep here. Maybe one day I’ll deserve that. That hits me like gravity.
I get to my feet and take to the rocker in the corner where I often imagine sitting with him in my lap. Reading him the books from the shelf. Whispering stories about space and wolves and brave little foxes.
Then the picture sharpens, and Scarlett appears in the doorway with a cup of tea, watching us, smiling. And me asking her to stay. Forever.
I smile at the thought, then shake my head.
Nah, that’s reckless, impulsive, and selfish.
My pulse finally slows, and the noise in my headfades. And that’s when the phone vibrates, wrecking my calm. Only one person texts me this late. I pull out my mobile and frown at the screen.
Dr. Davis Harrow wants another fucking kill.
I stare at the room. Everything in here is why I shouldn’t be doing that anymore. I have my focus now. Teaching and getting my son.
And maybe keeping Scarlett, too.
Maybe the marriage won’t be temporary. If she can stomach who I really am.
Another buzz.
Harrow: Need to see you.
Me: Tomorrow.
Harrow: Gotta be tonight.
Me: I said TOMORROW.
Then, because the threat needs to be understood: