Um…
I swallowed.
There was something I wanted to say or protest, but his smoldering gaze hypnotized me into silence.
His presence overwhelmed reason, causing my mind to blank on whatever I needed to say. Something about a bed. Which only painted a picture in my mind of how he would look in one.
Heat radiated from him through the fitted black shirt he wore beneath his jacket. I suspected solid muscle existed beneath those clothes.
“Avery.” His murmur solicited my gaze upward to his brown eyes. Amusement teased his lips while a dark emotion dilated his pupils. “I will work on finding a more suitable ride and meet you and Jamie at the house later. That should give you an opportunity to inform him that his ‘rebel friend’ is going to be staying for a while.”
I winced at the reminder of his nickname. “I really didn’t—”
His thumb halted my explanation. “It’s fine. Perhaps Jamie will teach me to like the nickname.” He pushed away from my personal space and started toward his sporty car. “See you in a few hours, Avery. My number is in the contract should you need me between now and then.”
“I…” I what? My tongue dampened my lips as I strove for a coherent thought. “Okay.”
Yes, very good, Avery.
“Okay,” he replied as he opened the driver’s side door. “I’ll follow you out.” He gestured to my SUV. “Get in. Go get Jamie. We’ll talk later about renovating.”
I blinked. “Renovating?”
“Yes. If I’m going to live with you, there are a few things we’ll need to upgrade. Starting with the kitchen.”
Bedroom! That was what I wanted to talk about. “You can’t just replace all of Jean’s things.” Not that any of them were truly hers to begin with. Her room was more of a vapid closet with minimal decor and barely used sheets.
He folded his arms on the hood of his car. “Any items of sentimental value can be kept, but I will not be touching anything that belonged to that woman.”
A laugh tickled my throat, then halted as his words from a few minutes ago came roaring back.
I am not at all familiar with Jean’s bed and, in fact, have no recollection of ever being in it in the first place.
What did that mean exactly? That he didn’t remember sleeping with her? But it obviously happened; Jamie was proof of that.
Had he been drunk? Jean, too?
His reputation online painted him as a party-boy rebel who fucked everything that walked. And he had the money in his account to do and live any way he preferred.
Yet, twenty-four hours of knowing him and I saw not one sign of that being true. The cockiness, yes, but the other tendencies, no. He had refused my wine last night in favor of water, something I thought might be meant as an insult, but his online persona suggested he didn’t usually care about the brand.
“If it means that much to you, I’ll rent a storage unit for her things,” he said, drawing me back to our conversation. “But either you let me order my own furniture or I’m staying in your room. Your choice, sweetheart.”
“That isn’t going to happen.” Ever. “And it’ll be fine. It’s more of a guest room since she didn’t really live with us.” I fought the urge to rub my chest at the thought of erasing her presence, but it was true. She rarely stayed in that room, and all the furniture was a cheap brand that would probably repel his rich blood.
Besides, if I granted him this concession, he would be more comfortable, and Scott suggested I do everything in my power to help Wyatt feel as welcome as possible. If I kept him happy, he might be more amenable to future negotiations.
As it was, my lawyer couldn’t believe Wyatt had agreed to this arrangement. It offered me the opportunity to learn more about him and also granted me more time with Jamie.
And maybe, if I played my cards right, Wyatt would agree to share custody in some capacity.
It was a long shot but my only option. If living with a man—a practical stranger—helped me keep Jamie, I would do it.
I would do anything.
“Are you sure?” Wyatt asked.
I blinked. “Uh, am I sure about what?” How far I would go for Jamie? Had I said that out loud?
“Not needing a storage area for Jean’s belongings,” he prompted.
Oh, right. “Um, yeah. I don’t…” I closed my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat. “There isn’t much. Just a few drawers of clothes and some bedding I bought. She really didn’t have a lot because she stayed elsewhere.” I thought for work or maybe with friends. Whenever I pried, she’d tell me to mind my own business. I shouldn’t have listened, but I did.
And now she’s dead.
We’re not doing this here. Or anywhere, for that matter. I had to be strong.
“Avery.” The concerned voice startled me into opening my eyes. Wyatt stood in front of me again, his brow furrowed. “If it means that much to you, I can stay in her room. As is.”
I stared at him. “You’d do that?”
“Yes.”
No elaboration.
Not even a blink.
“I… I don’t know what to say…”
“You don’t need to say anything.” He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear and cupped my cheek briefly before letting his hand fall to his side. “But if I am going to purchase a more suitable car today, then I need to head to the dealership now.”
I nodded, and he started toward his admittedly sexy ride. “You know, he’ll appreciate that more when he’s older.”
Wyatt turned with a cocked brow. “He’ll appreciate what?”
I tilted my chin at his hot rod. “That.”
He grinned. “I’ll keep it in mind for when he’s out of the car seat.”
I returned the smile. “He’s tall for his age, so I’d say in about five to six years, you might be able to entertain him with it.”
“Good to know,” he murmured as he reopened the driver’s side door. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Okay.” I started to climb into the SUV when I thought better of it again. “It’s an old bed.”
He paused on his way into his own car. “What?”
“The one in the guest room. It’s old. You’re welcome to replace it. And there’s only one dresser, so you might want to replace that as well with a larger one, depending on how much you’re bringing with you.” I pictured the rest of the items in my head. “There’s not much else, other than a lamp, some curtains, and a few knickknacks. I’ll box those up with her clothes.” It needed to be done anyway. I’d put it off because there hadn’t been an immediate need, but Wyatt changed that.
“You’re sure?”
I swallowed at the intense way he studied me, as if he wanted to peer into my head. Probably because I wasn’t being all that forthright or decisive. “Yes, it’ll be fine.”
“Fine,” he mused. “That’s a dangerous word from a woman.”
“Maybe, but I mean it. You’re welcome to order furniture.” I couldn’t believe those words had just come out of my mouth, but saying them actually felt right.
Clearly, all the stress is causing me to lose my mind.
“I’ll, uh, see you later, then,” I said in an effort to avoid thinking about what I’d just agreed to. “And I hope you like lasagna.” Because that was what I planned to make for dinner.
At my house.
For him and Jamie.
Yeah, that wouldn’t be surreal at all.
Or weird.
Perfectly normal.
Right.
8
Wyatt
“How did you manage to accomplish all of this in less than eight hours?”
Avery’s voice came from the doorway of my newly furnished bedroom. I finished signing the last of the documents—the ones regarding the storage unit I had purchased for Jean’s old belongings—and handed the clipboard to the mover.
“Thank you, Mister Mershano,” he replied. “You’ll need this.” He handed me a key. “We’ll leave the o
ther with the unit owners.”
I nodded. “Sounds good, Larry. Thank you.”
“Anytime, sir.” He grinned as he passed Avery in the doorway. “Have a good evening, ma’am.”
“You, too…” She blinked at him before glancing around the bedroom again. “Seriously, how is this possible?”
“Money.” A blunt reply, but true. “I contacted a handful of Mershano Suites vendors and requested a few favors.” Pretty straightforward.
I’d called Avery a few hours ago to request dimensions—my way of giving her another chance to deny my request to refurnish the room—and she’d readily given me the information I needed. I took that as a sign she was truly okay with my moving forward, but I still secured the storage area, just in case.
Her reaction in the parking garage earlier concerned me, but I suspected it had more to do with Jean and less to do with the physical property. After surveying the removal of items, it seemed Avery’s comment regarding the lack of belongings was accurate.
Jean clearly had not used this space often, which begged the question: Where did she live?
“I should go lock up,” Avery said as she started after Larry down the stairs.
Jamie had been in bed already when the movers arrived. Apparently, my son could sleep through anything, because his door across the hall remained closed. I wasn’t sure how he would feel about my presence in the house, nor did I know what Avery told him about me being there, but she didn’t seem very concerned.
Would he mind that I took his mother’s old room?
The morning events would reveal that answer.
I followed her downstairs and detoured to the kitchen for a drink. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I’d missed dinner in my effort to secure a bedroom and a new car, all in a handful of hours.
“The rest of the lasagna is in the oven.” Avery joined me and grabbed a pair of mitts from a drawer. “Here, I’ll get it.” She removed the contents while I finished filling my glass. “It’s nothing fancy, just a frozen dinner. You’ll probably hate it. Sorry.”
I observed her with a grin as she grabbed a plate from the cupboard and silverware from the drawer.
“Uh, there’s salad, too.” She turned toward the fridge, but I hooked an arm around her waist to stop her from continuing.
“Avery.” I set my cup on the counter and pressed my chest against her back. “Relax. You don’t need to play hostess with me.”
“O-okay.” She didn’t try to move away, even when I dropped my hold and leaned over her to open the fridge.
“Do you need a drink?” I asked against her ear. Her responding tremble caused my lips to curl. For someone who had been completely averse to me twenty-four hours ago, she seemed to be coming around now.
“Wine,” she whispered, grabbing the bottle.
“Good choice,” I murmured before slowly moving away to fix myself a plate. I met her at the table, where she’d already finished a glass of wine and was pouring herself a refill. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Avery?”
She hid her lips behind her drink and mumbled, “No.” Her throat worked as she imbibed more.
Liar. Her flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, and rapid breaths told me exactly how her body felt about being so close to mine. But if she wanted to hide behind her alcohol, I wouldn’t press it.
I took a bite of the mediocre lasagna and shrugged. “Not bad.”
“You mean it’s horrible.” She spoke into her glass. “I prefer homemade, but that requires time.”
I had no response to that so I continued eating while she watched. Questions floated in her gaze, and I waited for the wine to provide her with the courage to voice them. With every sip, I sensed the walls of her resolve crumbling.
She nibbled her lower lip while pouring her third glass. “Okay, I need to know something.”
Obviously. “Yes?” I prompted, unwilling to commit to a response.
“Earlier, you mentioned Jean, uh, her bed, and not remembering it.”
I finished my final bite of food and set my fork down. “And?” None of that required clarification, as far as I could tell. It all seemed pretty straightforward to me.
Her brow furrowed, and she shook her head. “Never mind. It’s not my business.”
“I’ll decide that.” Since it was up to me whether or not I would elaborate. “Tell me what you want to know, Avery.”
She swirled her wine and pinched her lips to the side as a fresh shade of red decorated her otherwise pale cheeks. I folded my arms on the table while I waited for her to spit it out. The alcohol would loosen her tongue eventually; all I had to do was remain impassive and patient. Two emotions I excelled at exuding.
“There were exactly two times I asked Jean about Jamie’s father.” She didn’t meet my gaze while she spoke but instead focused on her drink. “The first time was when she told me about the pregnancy. The second time occurred about six months ago when I needed her to sign some documents.” Her eyes lifted with a thousand questions that I knew were about to fill the air like rapid fire.
“She told me it was a one-night stand and that she didn’t remember the father’s name. Clearly, that wasn’t true. But if neither of you remembered it… How and when did she contact you? Wait, you had a paternity test. So you’ve known about Jamie since the beginning. But why didn’t you try to see him at all after that? And why did no one tell me? If you have all this money, why not help Jamie? I’ve done fine on my own, but you could obviously do better for him. So where have you been?” She slammed her mouth shut as if realizing she’d just thrown up a whole hell of a lot of words at once. But her eyes begged me for an explanation.
“You really don’t know.” A statement more than a question because the desperation spilling from her couldn’t be an act. Well, it could be a well-played scheme, but confusion and hurt radiated from her.
I would know her intentions soon enough, thanks to Garrett’s private investigator. But in the interim, a few answers couldn’t hurt anything. Especially if Avery already knew the truth.
All I had to do was not fall victim to her ploy, assuming she even had one.
Easy.
“To make a long story short, your sister drugged me, fucked me, and contacted me about four months into her pregnancy.” My blunt summarization of the events caused Avery’s mouth to fall open. Not the expression of someone already familiar with the story, or perhaps a reaction to my straightforward analysis.
“I didn’t believe her since I maintained no recollection of that night, but a thorough investigation into her claims revealed the truth. Video footage doesn’t lie, something your sister took into account. The paternity test after Jamie’s birth provided the final nail in the coffin, and our negotiations began. The rest, as they say, is history.”
Avery’s lips moved, but no sound escaped.
“Either you’re very skilled or Jean told you nothing about any of this,” I mused. “So let me ask you, how has my money been spent over the last four years? Because—and I don’t mean this to sound rude—you clearly haven’t spent a dime of it on this house.”
The home was decent for a middle-income family, but I provided more than enough funds to place Jamie and several of his relatives in an upper-class mini-mansion. Not a three bedroom, two-story home with a laminate countertop kitchen and faux wood floors.
“I… You’ve…” She shook her head on a strangled noise. “Jean knew the entire time you were the father.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered her anyway. “Yes.”
“And you’ve been paying for Jamie?”
“Yes.”
She openly gaped at me. “For four years?”
“Yes.”
Another odd sound erupted from her throat, forcing her to finish the rest of her wine. “Un-fucking-believable.” She slapped a hand over her mouth and sputtered a laugh. Tears graced her eyes as she continued to giggle. “I’m s-sorry.” She put her head down as her shoulders shook—from laughter, I thought, until I he
ard the telltale hitch in her breath.
Oh, shit.
Crying females were not my thing. Particularly, hysterical ones.
I didn’t know whether to excuse myself politely, offer her a hug, or find a box of tissues.
Or run.
That final option sounded best, but the idea of leaving her like this… Fuck.
She appeared so frail and broken, her body shaking as she cried silently. Her hands fisted while she pulled them over her head, as if trying to fight and hide at the same time.
Rather than seek comfort as most women would, she relied on herself to fix it. That was what she did in the parking garage earlier when I mentioned wanting to refurnish Jean’s bedroom. Avery clearly hadn’t approved, yet she’d rallied herself in the end to give permission.
Or maybe it wasn’t so much my taking over the room that had upset her as it was thoughts of her sister.
Her breathing slowed as she pulled her emotions under control, right before my eyes, without me having to do a thing.
And it made me feel like an ass for watching her. An intruder for joining her in such an intimate moment without lifting a finger to help her.
How fucked up was that? I owed this woman nothing.
Except, perhaps, gratitude for taking care of my son.
I frowned. Maybe she deserved a little more than gratitude.
Damn. I was supposed to hate her, not commiserate with her. But what if none of this had been her fault? What if everything she said was the truth?
No, I couldn’t afford to consider that. Not until I knew for sure her intentions weren’t malicious. Because if she was anything like Jean, then I couldn’t trust a word she said.
“Excuse me,” Avery mumbled before she pushed away from the table and ran off in the direction of the stairs.
And like an asshole, I stayed put.
All of this felt wrong. Allowing her to cry, not offering support, being callous and blunt.
“Shit.” I ran my palm over my face and blew out a breath. Even if I followed her, it could be construed as invading her privacy.
The Rebel’s Redemption: Mershano Empire Series Page 6
