The Right Side of Wrong

by Prescott Lane

  “No,” I say.

  I give her hands a pat before unwinding myself from them. “After that, my dad lost it. He never got over her. Instead, he started bringing these women home. It got really bad. It’s like he was trying to replace her, but no one was ever good enough. Eventually, he started keeping a woman set up in a condo for a while until he got sick of her or she disappointed him in some way, then he’d just find another. Loving my mom, then losing her, destroyed him. I never wanted to love someone so much it could destroy me like it did him. I didn’t want that responsibility.” I look into her deep blue eyes. “Now I do.” She reaches her hand out to me, and I gently take it. “When you love someone, you’re supposed to protect them.”

  “But you were just a teenager. You weren’t even home, and you couldn’t have saved your mom,” she says.

  “The alarm,” I say softly.

  She turns and looks toward the wall. “We’ll arm it before we go to bed.”

  “No,” I whisper. “I ran out of the house that night and didn’t turn it on.” I see the pieces clicking together in her mind—my reminders to her about the alarm, the detail in which I taught her how to use it.

  “Oh, Slade, you have to know . . .”

  “My dad used to remind me about it all the time. When I came in after being out with friends or something. He’d always remind me to arm it.” A confession only works if you tell the whole truth. I look over at the picture of my mom and me, silently apologizing to her like I have so many times. “That night, my dad asked if I turned it on when I got in the car, and I lied and said yes.”

  Reaching up, she takes my face in her hands. “You don’t know if having the alarm on would’ve made a difference or not.”

  She hasn’t said it, but she must love me. This is how I know. When you love someone, you believe the best about them, not the worst. You give them a pass. You can always tell when a relationship is going south because you are all too happy to believe the worst about the other person. Clearly, Paige is in the love is blind stage.

  Yanking my head back, I say, “The police said my mom probably surprised them. They panicked and killed her.”

  “Even they don’t know that for sure,” Paige says.

  “My dad made it very clear that it was my fault,” I say, leaving out the slap across the face that accompanied that verbal lashing.

  “He said that? He actually said that your mother’s death was your fault?”

  A simple nod answers her question.

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He was out of his mind with grief.”

  “That wasn’t the only time he said it,” I say. “And it doesn’t matter how many times he said it or not. It was my fault. I knew to arm the alarm. I could’ve told my dad I forgot and gone back inside. Hell, I could’ve called my mom and told her I forgot to set it and asked her to do it. But I didn’t do any of those things, and she’s dead.”

  “I’m glad you told me.”

  “I’ve never told anyone that story, but I wanted you to know.” She inches closer to me, holding my eyes to hers. “When we first met, you asked me why I cared. Why I got you away from my dad, gave you a job?”

  “I remember.”

  “You remind me of her,” I say, shaking my head, thinking how totally fucked up that sounds. “Not that you look alike or anything, but she was strong and didn’t take shit from anyone. I don’t know why exactly, but you just made me think of her, and I had this overwhelming need to protect you.”

  “And ultimately drive through a tornado to get to me,” she says, shaking her head a little and smiling at the same time.

  “I love you.”

  I watch my words sink into her skin like water into a sponge, taking them in, not squeezing them out, fighting.

  “I wanted you to know exactly who I am. Why I fought this for so long. It wasn’t about you. It was about me, my shit.”

  “You were scared,” she whispers. “Scared to love someone so much.”

  I hate admitting that. I pride myself on not operating out of a place of fear, but the truth is, that’s how I’ve operated in my personal life. Paige and I have that in common. “It’s not perfect . . .”

  “Nothing is perfect. Not even love,” she says, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “Ask me. Ask me again if I love you.”

  I already know the answer. A bigger question pops into my mind.

  “Marry me?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  SLADE

  “Are you insane?” she asks.

  Not exactly the response I thought I’d get when proposing marriage. “For wanting to marry you?” I ask with a big ass grin.

  “For wanting to marry me now!” she cries, lightly pushing on my shoulder. “I’m twenty-one.”

  “I’m thirty.”

  “I have a baby to raise,” she says.

  “I’ve met Finn.”

  “As you pointed out earlier, we haven’t even gone on our first date.”

  “We’ll have one before the wedding,” I counter.

  “I haven’t even told you I love you.”

  “You do.”

  “Maybe I should rethink that,” she says through a smile.

  “Tell me why we shouldn’t get married?” I ask.

  “I have been,” she says. “Have you not been listening to me?”

  “Those were reasons?” I ask with a grin. “Any other so-called reasons?”

  “I’m sure there are.”

  “Like?” I ask.

  “Like we haven’t known each other that long,” she says.

  “Long enough.”

  “We’ve barely just got together,” she says.

  “I’ve been committed since day one,” I say.

  “I seem to recall a cake-eating bimbo that indicates differently.”

  Not much I can say to that. “I’ll never hurt you again, not on purpose.”

  “Slade,” she says, her voice soft—an apology for bringing it all back up. She knows I never touched that woman. She knows I was just trying to push her away. She knows how sorry I am.

  “Are you saying no?” I ask.

  “I’m saying it’s too fast. It’s too soon. There are things you don’t know about . . .”

  “Like what?” I challenge her. I know she’s keeping some shit from me and am more than curious if she’ll tell me. No matter what it is, it wouldn’t change my mind. When you know, you know. Why wait?

  “Like. . .” She struggles for words, her arms flying around, searching for something to say. “Like how I am in bed. We haven’t even slept together. What if we don’t have chemistry?”

  “We can figure that out right now. The bedroom’s upstairs,” I say. “Hell, there’s a sofa. A desk. The floor would work.” Her eyes roll as she laughs at me. “Seriously, that’s not what you’re really concerned about.”

  She wraps her arms around my waist. “You told me you’d give me what I need.”

  Crap, I hate it when my words come back to bite me in the ass.

  “And I need us to go slow.”

  I can’t deny her, and she knows it. Reluctantly, I say, “Okay.”

  “Promise you’ll ask me again sometime,” she says.

  “I will, and I’ll do the whole down on one knee, big diamond thing. The whole bit.”

  Laying her head on my shoulder, she whispers, “I love you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  PAIGE

  Twelve ninety-nine times seven?

  Quickly, I do the math in my head. That’s going to be a hundred bucks with tax. My heart rate spikes. I should’ve said something when Slade suggested the mall to shop for Finn. I should’ve told him to go to a discount store or consignment shop—the places I normally shop. But for Slade, the mall is probably slumming it.

  Looking down at the stack of baby boy pajamas in my hand, I have to admit they are cute, but Finn doesn’t need seven pairs of pajamas. Of course, Slade’s logic is with seven pairs, I won’t have to do laundry as much
. His other argument is that Finn is messy, and it’s always good to have extra. That makes total sense, and honestly, I can’t believe a man who was a committed bachelor up until a few days ago has eased into the whole family thing so well.

  Marriage? He proposed marriage.

  As if declaring his love for me wasn’t enough, he upped the stakes and asked me to marry him. I knew he was a driven man, ambitious as the day is long. You don’t have his kind of success at thirty without having those things. I didn’t think drive and ambition had anything to do with love, but apparently, for Slade, they do. Like most men, he wants what he wants.

  I’ve never even thought about getting married in any real way. I’m too young. My life was too chaotic until recently. My own mother was never even married. The concept is almost foreign to me, but the idea of it is nice. I don’t believe it will ever happen, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like the idea of being his wife.

  It’s tempting to say yes and to jump headfirst, but when you’re carrying what I’m carrying, you know if you jump, you’ll sink and probably take those you love the most right down with you.

  I look over at Slade across the store, pushing Finn in his stroller, stopping periodically to hold up some item of clothing to Finn, who apparently now has an opinion on his wardrobe. The current item under review is a baby leather bomber jacket. I really hope it’s fake. I hate to think some poor animal died to make an overpriced baby jacket.

  Slade holds it up so I can see. “Finn likes this one.”

  “Finn doesn’t need a leather jacket.”

  “It’s on sale,” Slade says.

  “It’s on sale because no baby wears leather, and it’s summer in Nashville.”

  Frowning, Slade hangs it back up. God, I love him. How did I let that happen? I shouldn’t love him. My love will only get him hurt. As much as I know this is a bad idea, I can’t stop it. It’s as though Slade reached into my chest and took my heart. He didn’t ask nicely. God knows he wasn’t polite about it. He stole my heart before I even realized what was happening.

  I doubt he’ll give it back easily.

  So when this goes south, and it will, I’ll leave without my heart.

  Slade flashes me a grin across the store, taking Finn from his stroller, picking up his little hand, and waving it at me. I wave back, giving my guys a smile. They walk toward me, Slade eyeing my arms. “That’s all? I thought you needed those onesie things too?”

  “This is good,” I say, feeling stupid. Slade certainly pays me enough that I can shop at better places than the thrift shop, but some habits are hard to break. I learned early on that you should always save for a rainy day, always keep a little food stored behind for when there isn’t any.

  We trade the bundles in our arms. He gives me Finn, taking the clothes from my hand. “Think he needs to be changed,” Slade says. “You need to teach me how to do that.”

  “You want to learn how to change dirty diapers?”

  “I want to help you, so yeah.”

  There he goes stealing another piece of my heart. I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it. Grabbing the diaper bag, I head to the back of the store, toward the restroom. Finn starts crying, reaching his arms out in Slade’s direction.

  A boy needs his father.

  And his mother.

  “Shh!” I soothe Finn, wiping a few of his crocodile tears away. I swear, this boy’s tears are just like his body, big and round and chubby. I wouldn’t have him any other way. I love all his little rolls, and I know as soon as he starts walking, they will go away, so I’m going to enjoy them while they last.

  I reach into the diaper bag and grab a wipe to clean off the changing table before laying Finn down. Better safe than sorry. Don’t need him getting sick. “I’ll change you quick, and we’ll go right back out and see S . . .” I start to say Slade, then catch myself. Should I? I know it’s what Slade wants. I can see that Finn loves him, but will this simply confuse him? I never called a man father or dad, but I promised Finn I’d give him better than what I had.

  Taking a deep breath, I whisper, “Daddy.”

  Finn giggles, and that always makes me smile. My heart doesn’t stand a chance against these two guys.

  Quickly, I start to change him, thinking about how we must look to the outside world. We must look like a perfect little family. Something in my gut won’t let me buy into that fairy tale, though. The secret I keep knows better.

  Girls like me don’t get those happy endings.

  We might not get happy endings, but I can take a few good chapters, and this is a good chapter.

  I snap Finn’s onesie and walk back out to the store. Slade’s checking out, and judging by the bags, he’s added a few things. He pulls out his credit card, and I start to stop him when I see the sales lady lean over, her cleavage on full display and a smile on her face.

  “Shopping for a little boy, I see,” she says.

  Slade nods, picking up a pair of socks next to the register, and tossing them down to buy, too. “My son.”

  My eyes fill up. He’s the most incredible man. Why am I reluctant to let him be Finn’s dad?

  I was prepared to raise Finn alone. It never even occurred to me that there would be a man in the picture. Never has been before. Slade wasn’t part of my plan.

  Here’s a little secret about being an abused or neglected child. You go one of two ways. Either you crave love, or it scares the piss out of you.

  I fall in the latter category. I don’t trust it.

  That’s the thing about the heart and soul. It remembers every hug you didn’t get, every I love you that was never said, every smack, every hit, every bad name you’ve been called.

  The memories of my heart are dark and lonely. My heart didn’t learn the lessons of love. I’m playing catch-up with Slade, and it seems he has me on a crash course. Maybe my heart can make some new memories.

  Slade’s blue eyes find mine, and I head his way. He holds his hands up. “Before you get mad, there were just a few other things that . . .”

  “I’m not mad,” I say, kissing him softly.

  Without another glance, the sales lady finishes up. We walk out of the store, Finn in his stroller and my hand in Slade’s. “Thank you,” I say.

  He motions to the bags stuffed into the bottom of Finn’s stroller. “No big deal.”

  “Not for the clothes,” I say, then shake my head. “Of course for the clothes, but . . .” I stop, looking up at him. “For not flirting with that woman, not even glancing at her boobs, which she was shoving in your face.” He starts laughing. “I also heard what you said.”

  “What?”

  “About Finn being your son.”

  “It just came out.”

  “I know. That makes it so much more special. It’s natural,” I say. “Thank you for loving him.”

  Grabbing my ass in the middle of the mall, he says, “Now let’s go buy you some panties.”

  *

  A normal night for me used to involve working or worrying or a combination of both. Now things are totally different. Slade and I had dinner at home—takeout. He didn’t want me to cook because, in his mind, I’m still recovering. The bruises from the storm are taking forever to go away, so they serve as a constant reminder to Slade. The only thing Slade knows how to make are big hunks of meat, so takeout was perfect.

  We cleaned up, gave Finn a bath, and are now playing on the floor with him. Totally normal, totally boring, and completely perfect. I wonder how it compares to Slade’s old life before Finn and me. “What were your nights like before us?” I ask, causing him to stop building his block tower for Finn to knock over.

  “Are you asking me about other women?” he asks.

  I wasn’t. I was thinking more about parties, dinner with clients, drinks. “No.”

  “No?”

  “I don’t need to know about that,” I say, though I can imagine. “I was just wondering if this feels weird to you. I doubt you were on the floor playing with toys
two weeks ago.”

  “Toys can be fun,” he says, raising an eyebrow at me.

  “Is sexual innuendo your special talent?” I ask.

  “One of them,” he teases, and I start laughing. He’s relentless. Pulling me into his arms, he says, “My nights were kind of boring. I worked late a lot and worked out. Sure, there were business things to go to. Parties, but mostly, I hate that stuff, which is why I spent most weekends at the ranch.”

  “I miss it,” I say. “Even though I never learned to sleep out there. I miss walking to see Whiskey. The quiet.”

  “Me, too,” he says as Finn kicks over the block tower with his foot. “When it’s done, I think I’ll live there permanently.”

  “Really?” I ask, unable to hide the happiness in my voice. “Most of your business is in the city.”

  “I can work remotely and commute to the office a few days a week.”

  “I’ve never seen your office,” I say.

  “I’ll take you,” he says, restacking the blocks.

  “What about this place?” I ask.

  “Probably sell it,” he says. “There’s not a lot of room for Finn to play. The ranch has more space. Kids need space.”

  “Kids?” I ask. “Did you say that like in the general sense, or in the you want more kids sense?”

  “Um, the general sense,” he says, eyeing me. “You don’t want to have any more kids?”

  “I haven’t thought about it,” I say.

  “I didn’t mind being an only child,” he says. “Did you?”

  I tell myself to lie, only the lie doesn’t come fast enough. That’s the thing any good liar learns first. The lie has to roll off your tongue seamlessly like the truth. Lies are like knots. They get tighter and tighter, choking you, stealing your breath. They get so tight that even Houdini couldn’t escape.

  “Paige?”

  This is the hard part about loving someone. It makes lying harder. The second rule of any good liar: if you can’t lie, dodge.

  “I wouldn’t rule out another baby down the road,” I say, tossing him a smile. “Way down the road.”

  He tackles me to the ground, kissing me. “I was really hoping you’d say that.”