Where We Belong (A Touch of Fate #1)(87)

She snorts with laughter and we talk idly until we reach the parking lot, where she gives me a quick hug before we go our separate ways, promising to catch up for dinner some time soon.

The drive home drags by. I’ve tried calling Ty several times, but his phone keeps going to voicemail. I decide to call my mom and she answers on the first ring.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she croons. “How was your day at work?”

It’s so nice to hear her voice. Sometimes you just need your mom, and I feel like lately I haven’t needed her as much as I did before. “Hi, Ma! Work was good…busy, but good. Have you heard from Ty? I was curious how his day went, but I haven’t been able to get ahold of him.”

“Yes, in fact he dropped Max off here a couple of minutes ago.” Her words startle me and I find myself sitting up straighter in my seat, my grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“Is everything okay?” I ask hurriedly, needing confirmation that nothing bad has happened.

“Oh yes, dear. Everything is fine. I think that Max wore Tyson out.” My shoulders relax as relief washes through me. Deep down, I knew that Tyson could handle it.

“So, why do you have Max?”

She rustles around and a loud clang indicates that she’s getting ready to cook dinner. “Uh…I’m not really sure. He called me and asked if he could drop Max off, said he needed to talk to you about something right when you get home. I’m going to bring Max home shortly, so if you two are planning on…you know—”

“Mom,” I scoff, rolling my eyes.

Her boisterous laugh rings through the phone. “Well, honey, I’m just—”

“Okay,” I interrupt. “Let’s talk about something else, other than what I may or may not do with Ty when I get home.”

“What are you and Tyson doing?” my dad asks, causing me to choke on the tea I just took a drink of.

“Uh, nothing dad. Where’s mom?” I hate it when they do this. She’ll just pass the phone off and next thing I know I’m talking to my dad about…nope, not going there.

“She’s making dinner. Do you and Tyson want to come over and eat?”

“No, but thanks. I’m exhausted. Just tell mom to bring Max home after he eats, or I can come get him…whatever works for you guys.”

I hear him whisper something and then I hear Max laugh. I smile even though I have no idea what they’re talking about. “Okay. See you soon, honey,” his rich voice booms, right before the line goes dead.

When I pull in front of the house, the first thing I notice is Tyson sitting on the front step. He stands as I pull into the driveway and park my car next to his. He has a key to the house, so why is he sitting outside? Walking to the car, he opens the door and reaches out to help me with my bag and lunchbox.

“Thanks,” I offer, pecking his cheek. He doesn’t respond and a shiver runs through my body at the cold vibe he’s putting off. “Why didn’t you wait inside?” I ask, trying to ease the tension that I feel creeping in around me.

He shrugs once and offers me nothing more than ‘I didn’t feel like it.’ Pushing through the front door, he sets the bag down and then immediately turns to me.

“We need to talk,” he says, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Oh God, here it is. He’s finally decided this is too much. He spent the day with Max and decided a ready-made family just isn’t for him. My hands tremble and I feel tears burn my throat, but somehow I manage to make it to the couch.

“Okay. What do you want to talk about?” I hate that my voice is timid and shaky, but I’m scared to death of what’s going to come out of his mouth. I mean, I sort of always expected that this was too good to be true, but now the thought of being without Tyson makes me want to throw up.

“You told Max his dad’s name is Dallas,” he blurts, his eyes boring into mine. Okay. That is not at all what I was expecting, and I’m sure as hell not prepared to have this conversation with him. My defenses rise and like usual, when I’m nervous I turn stupid, my words coming out a jumbled mess.

“I…uh…I, um…” I close my eyes and swallow hard, trying to regain my composure. When I open them once again, I find that Tyson’s lips are in a flat line and his face is devoid of any emotion.

“You what, Harley?” he says suspiciously, raising his voice. The strong arms that I spent last night wrapped up in and are now splayed out at his side, and I ache to be tucked between them again.

“Just give me a second,” I yell, standing up to nervously pace the living room. Annoyance runs thick through my veins, but it’s more at myself than at him. I knew that I’d have to answer this question at some point, and I should have just been up front with Ty from the beginning. But how in the hell do you tell the man you’re in love with—the man you want to spend the rest of your life with—that his brother is the one who raped you? How do you tell him that your son, the little boy he’s madly in love with, is really his nephew?

My silence must be mistaken for deceit because Tyson growls deep in his throat and steps toward me. It’s not an aggressive move but it startles me, and when I take a step back I stumble over the coffee table. Surprisingly, his eyes aren’t full of anger, which is what I expect to see. Instead, they are wide with pain.