by Jo Raven
Goddammit. “Come on.” I grab her little hand, haul her to her feet. “Let’s go, Mary.”
“I want Tati,” Mary sobs, digging in her heels, big fat tears tracking down her cheeks. “Tati.”
Oh for chrissakes. I want her, too, I’m dying a little inside every time I realize she won’t be coming back, I want to call and apologize and beg and go to my knees to have her come back, but Cole… Right now I need to find Cole.
And I’m not letting my other kid home alone even if she’s having a total fucking meltdown.
My patience is on a short leash, the urgent need to find him driving me through the panic. So I swoop Mary up in my arms, letting her kick at me and slap at me with her small hands as I march out of the house once more, trying to think over her wailing about where Cole might have gone.
Stepping off the porch, I start down the path to the street, when I notice someone standing there.
“Matt?” Octavia looks pale, her dark hair messy. “Can we talk for a minute?”
She’s back. She’s here. I drink her in like she’s my last drop of water.
Gathering my wits, I stride over to her. “Tay.”
“Tati!” Mary wiggles in my arms, sniffling and reaching for Octavia. “You didn’t go.”
Octavia turns wide eyes on me, and I can’t help noticing they’re red-rimmed. “Where’s Cole?” And then, “What’s wrong?”
How can she read me so easily when I’m the moodiest, grumpiest guy on earth?
“Cole is missing,” I tell her. “We’ve got to find him.”
Right the hell now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Octavia
A police car arrives, lights flashing, as we hurry up and down the street, calling Cole’s name. Panic gives me energy, despite a night spent tossing and turning and crying, and despite how hard he tries to hide it, I see in Matt’s face just how scared he is.
I came back to tell him I can’t work for him anymore. Yeah, I begged for this job. Yeah, I need the money, but not after last night. No matter how I love his kids, how I get all weak-kneed and star-eyed around him… I can’t.
He kind of broke me last night. Maybe I should have told him I hadn’t done it before. But it’s not like we sat down to talk before. It just happened.
And I didn’t regret it. Not until he told me to get dressed and go, without waiting to see if I made it out of the house. He’s not a beast.
He’s an asshole.
Gigi’s words from last night are still ringing in my head. You’re not going back to that house, to that guy, she’d said. He treated you like trash. Like a whore. Used you and dismissed you.
You’re not going back to Matt Hansen, Tati.
Yet here I am.
When I arrived home, she’d seen me. After I did the walk of shame from Matt’s house to the bus stop, my mouth burning from his kisses, the ache between my legs too much—not because it was that bad, but because it reminded me how good it felt to have him inside him, to have him hold me and touch me…
That made the pain worse.
Now my pain, my disappointment and regret have been buried under a thick layer of icy fear. None of all this is Cole’s fault. We have to find that sweet little boy before anything bad happens to him.
The thought alone is unbearable.
“Any sign of him?” the cop asks us, a pretty young woman with a ponytail and a sharp gaze. “Are you sure he’s not hiding in the house? Kids do that sometimes. Think it’s funny.”
“Her son does it,” the other cop says with a nod at her. Also young, staring at her like she hung the moon.
Oooh, cops in love.
“He’s not in the house,” Matt grinds out. In the bright light of day, the bruises on his face look livid.
I shift Mary in my arms. She’s heavy.
Matt reaches for her, and she doesn’t seem to mind. In the last moment, though, she turns to me and says in her cute little voice, “You won’t go, Tati?”
“I won’t,” I promise.
Not until we find Cole, anyway. After that, well… it’s anybody’s guess what will happen.
“Stay calm,” the cop says, her ponytail swinging as she takes in the narrow street and sleepy houses. “You called us quickly. He can’t be far.”
Matt mutters something under his breath and starts down the street with Mary in his arms.
“Mr. Hansen!” the other cop calls, but Matt doesn’t even slow down. “Where’s the mother?”
“She’s not here,” I tell them. “She passed years ago.”
The cop’s face softens. “I’m going with Mr. Hansen. You go with Julie, check the other side.”
And he sets out without waiting for acknowledgment.
Maybe that’s how they train you to act in the police academy? In any case, Julie nods at me, and we start down the other side of the street.
“Is there any place he likes visiting?” Julie asks me, her strides so big I have to jog to keep up with her. “A playground? A neighbor’s kids he likes?”
I shake my head. “Not that I know of. We always stayed indoors. He likes playing with his sister. They’ve only moved here recently.”
“I see.” I fall silent, hurrying after the policewoman, looking into yards and behind picket fences. Then I can’t help but ask, “I didn’t expect the police to show up to help look for Cole. Not that… you don’t care, just… You know. He hasn’t been missing long.”
And that word—missing—makes my throat clog and my heart ache.
“After the threatening messages Mr. Hansen received, we thought it important to make sure the little boy is safe.”
I think of how her partner mentioned her son, and I wonder if that’s the only reason.
Suddenly the theme of Saturday night fever—“Stayin’ Alive”—breaks the quiet. I’m so wired up on adrenaline it takes me a moment to realize it’s a ringtone.
By then, Julie is reaching into her back pocket. She lifts an ancient cell phone and puts it to her ear.
“Suarez,” she says, frowning at the fence she has just looked over, hazel eyes narrowed. Then her brows lift. “Coolio!”
Coolio? It sounds strange coming from her, but then she turns to me, gives me a thumbs up, and I stop caring about her word choices.
“Cole?” I ask, my voice strangled. “They found him?”
“He’s with his dad. Let’s go.”
She doesn’t have to say it twice.
The most beautiful sighs greets me when we approach the house again.
Matt is kneeling on the sidewalk, both his kids in his arms. I swear, my heart cracks right down the middle. It’s a beautiful pain. This is a side of him he rarely shows, even with his kids. He loves them so much… I wish he’d open up more, show them how it could be.
Show me.
But that’s a stupid thought, one I should shut off as quickly as possible.
Because, my God, no matter how angry I am at him and how sad at his rejection, how hard I’ve fought it, I’m falling for Matt Hansen—and that’s a disaster in the making.
Gigi can’t know. Nor Mom, or Merc.
I kneel beside them, put my arms around them, and I’m shocked when Matt sneaks out an arm and wraps it around me.
Including me in the little circle of his family.
It shouldn’t make me want more, but it does. It shouldn’t give me hope.
But God, it does, and I should stop it right there.
We somehow make it back to the house. The two cops have some more questions for Matt, to which he has no answers, about the threatening messages and the kids and the cop handling the case—and it takes a while before I finally find out where Cole was and what his story is.
He says he heard a kitten outside the kitchen door. He went to check. Didn’t see it, but heard it from the garden. So he went to look for it.
The kitten seemed to be moving away, the mewing growing more distant, and he followed it out of the yard to the sidewalk and then into an empty plot
we searched earlier, twice—and into another house yard.
Cole was very disappointed because he never saw the kitten.
“This is all my fault,” Matt says, rubbing the lines in his forehead. “He’s wanted a kitten so fucking bad, but his grandma is allergic to cats and then I wouldn’t let him have one.”
“Not your fault,” I say. Mary’s eyes are still wide, and I pull her to me, ruffle her hair. “He doesn’t know better yet.”
“I left the doors unlocked.” He sighs, watching Cole who’s playing with a toy robot, unaware he had us all in knots with fear for his life. “It won’t happen again.”
“At least it’s nothing more sinister,” Julie says, her friend cop nodding in agreement. “We’ll leave you to it, then. If any more messages show up on your door, give us a call.”
They leave, leaving us in sudden, awkward silence.
Matt’s T-shirt is rumpled, and his hair sticking out in all directions.
He rubs at his eyes, blinks owlishly at his watch. “Damn, I need to get to work.”
“After this? I’m sure you can take a day off. It’s a family emergency.”
“I punched Ross yesterday. I don’t wanna push my luck any more than I already have.”
“You punched Ross?”
He nods, the crease between his dark brows deepening. “Fucker had it coming. I’m damn sure he’s the one behind those messages.”
“You shouldn’t swear around the kids,” I whisper, because today’s too much for my mind to process.
He glances at his kids.
Mary gives him a toothy grin and goes back to drawing something in her drawing book.
“They don’t seem to notice.”
“Trust me, they do.”
He nods. “Anyway. I should get going. Cole is okay. You’re here.” He stops, a shadow passing over his gaze. “Are you staying?”
I shouldn’t. This is what I came to tell him, right?
But instead I find myself nodding. “For today. I’ll stay today.”
He chews on the inside of his cheek, tugs on his beard. He looks back at his kids, hiding his eyes from me. “That’s… great.”
“I love your kids,” I tell him. It’s the truth. “You have to find them a good nanny.”
“They already have the best nanny,” he says, and abruptly gets up to go.
Leaving me speechless and confused.
Then again, when it comes to this guy and me, what else is new?
It’s oddly soothing, being back here, in his house, playing with his kids, preparing them something to eat. The pantry and fridge need stocking, and I should tell Matt that we need to go shopping.
And stop that thought in its tracks.
Just today, I told him. Just because of the drama of Cole missing. I didn’t have the heart to abandon him, and the kids, like that.
Listen to yourself, Octavia. Abandon. You’re just his nanny. Nothing more.
He showed you last night exactly what he thinks of you. Screwed you hard, and left you without another word. This is who Matt Hansen really is.
Gigi is right. Was always right. You’re blinded by his good looks, his affection for his kids, that sexy dark vibe.
But his lack of manners and impenetrable gaze aren’t hiding a vulnerable soul, are they? That’s who he is. He won’t change.
He has changed, that annoying inner voice insists as I prepare some quick lunch. He did start to open up. There was too much crap dumped on his shoulders—nightmares, brawling with Ross, threatening messages on his door. Anyone would break.
But instead he broke you.
Oh, shut up.
Irritably I set the table. He didn’t break me. I’m not broken. Sure, I still ache between my legs, but it was good. More than good, the sex was frigging awesome, and if he doesn’t want to do it again, that’s fine with me.
Can I put it behind me? Only keep the good parts, the good memories, and erase the bad?
The shock in his eyes when he realized I’d never done it with anyone before.
The cold in his voice when he told me to go home.
God, I don’t know. What did he think I would ask of him? What did he think it meant to me?
… what did it mean to me?
I remember the heat of his body, the strength of his arms as he lifted me, the pulse beating so strong in his neck, his dark eyes so full of need.
The way he held me, and kissed me, and entered me. Not afraid to hurt me. Needing me. Letting go, letting me take his pain for a while. Giving me pleasure as he took it from me.
The way he slumped over me afterward, his face peaceful. Whispering my name.
The sex was great, but that… that moment, that realization was everything to me. That he needed me like I needed him.
No, more.
The kids bang their forks on the table and I have to stop Cole from throwing his glass right off. I pour them some grape juice, lost in thought.
Matt. I wanted to take his pain. I’d have done anything for him if he’d only asked me. If he’d let me in.
And that’s probably what he doesn’t want, what he won’t—or can’t—give me.
“Tati!” Cole bangs his fork on his plate.
Mary smiles at me with her mouth full of food.
These kids and their brute of a dad… how can I leave now?
Chapter Twenty-Three
Matt
Jasper doesn’t come near me today, and though Ross skulks around, shooting daggers my way. He doesn’t approach me, so I’m guessing Jasper is keeping an eye on him.
On both of us.
I came in expecting stupid drama and theatrics. I thought Jasper would take the excuse of me being late to tear me a new one. That he’d be waiting for me, force me to my knees and make me apologize to Ross. Kiss his boots.
Or his goddamn ass. Whatever.
But he doesn’t, and yeah, I’m grateful it hasn’t come to this, not yet anyway. I’d hate to lose this job, it pays good, but no way will I be apologizing to that freak Ross. It’s been a couple of fucking bad days, and my patience... What patience?
It’s just unexpected, that’s all. The lack of yelling and punches thrown. The goddamn quiet.
Leaving way too much space inside my head. Way too much fucking time for my warped, twisted thoughts to take over.
“Ross wants your balls on a stick, and Jasper is sulking,” Evan says as he emerges from under the hood of an old Audi sedan, a smudge of grease on his chin. “You scored a real hit there.”
I arch a brow at him. What the fuck is he talking about?
“Ross.” Evan eyes critically the engine he’s been working on. “It was about time someone called that asshole out on his bullshit and put a stop to his bullying.”
“Are you saying Jasper believes Ross did it?”
Evan gives me a startled look. “You’re surprised? He’s Ross’s father. Knows him better than any of us. Knows he’s a bully through and through.”
Yeah.
I glance at Jasper’s office, the grimy windows. “Has he been bullying girls?”
“Ross?” Evan snorts. “All his fucking life.” He shoots me a sharp look. “When you say girls, do you by any chance have a specific one in mind?”
I shrug. “Octavia.”
Evan nods, eyes narrowed as if doing complicated mental calculations. “Of course, Octavia. She was his favorite target.”
“Was?” I latch onto that word.
“Yeah. At school. Now he lost his favorite toy, and apparently thought to try it with you.” He tsks. “He picked the wrong person to annoy, it seems.”
Does it? Sure, I can deck him easily, but is it enough? The thought of him torturing Octavia sends my pulse roaring in my ears. Anger boils in my chest.
That stupid motherfucker.
“Anyway,” Evan goes on blithely, returning to his engine. “I bet you got the message home with that punch. Or maybe it was because his old man was listening in? You didn’t get another message since
then, did you?”
I frown. Well, I did. There was that one message when I got back home yesterday, but Ross must have stuck it there earlier, before he came back here, to the workshop.
So does this mean it’s over? I could sure do with a respite. With Cole’s stunt this morning, and Octavia last night…
Hell. Octavia.
Soon I’ll have to drive back home. She’ll want to talk, probably just to tell me that she won’t be coming back. She’ll also want an explanation for last night, and quite frankly, I don’t know if I have one.
I wanted her, that’s for damn sure.
Have wanted her all along. Still want her. So fucking bad I can feel it in my bones.
But last night I freaked out and acted like the asshole I am.
Because I want more than that. Having her spread underneath me isn’t enough. I freaked out because I want her beside me, I want her in my house, with my kids.
Christ, I’m fucked either way. I thought I had more control over myself, but when it comes to her, I have none.
So what more is there to talk about?
The porch light is on when I park in front of the house. The windows are lit from inside, a golden, warm glow. It looks like… a home.
I sit in my truck and stare, fighting the tug in my chest, the fucking burn in my eyes. This… not the house, not the windows but this feeling reminds me of the past. Of how I used to feel.
A feeling I forgot.
So of course I fight it. The warm feeling, the relief and wonder, the goddamn memories of a time when I used to be happy. I slam my fist on the wheel, smash my elbow into the truck door. Welcome the pain.
This isn’t real. The lights, the warmth, the feelings. This isn’t my home, I lost that years ago. Sure, my kids are in that house, but not my wife, not my girl. And she’s leaving, anyway.
Yeah, this is reality.
Jumping out of my truck, slamming the door shut, I head down the path, climb the porch steps and take a second to rejoice at the lack of knives stuck to the front door.
Then I take a deep breath and open.
The smell of something mouthwatering hits me instantly, that of a cake fresh from the oven. Vanilla, sugar, butter.
