Ignite (Cloverleigh Farms #6)(86)

I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “You should know better than anyone, that isn’t my thing.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.” She sighed. “But maybe you and I were just the wrong fit. Maybe I was never going to get over feeling shut out. Maybe your emotional baggage and mine were always going to prevent us from giving the other what they needed. And I wasn’t going to settle for being unhappy, Dex. That’s why I asked you to leave.”

“I know.”

Her voice softened. “And you didn’t fight me.”

I shook my head.

“At the time, I was hurt, but I came to accept that we were better off apart. And now I found someone who can give me what I need.”

“I’m glad for you,” I said, and I meant it.

She smiled. “Thanks. And we’ll figure out something for that weekend. I need them Friday for the rehearsal and Saturday is the wedding, but I was going to have my mom take them back to her house at maybe ten or so. They’ll be tired.”

“Why don’t I just pick them up from the reception?”

“That works. Let’s say ten-thirty in the lobby of the yacht club?”

I nodded. “I have to work Monday, so I’ll have them back Sunday evening.”

“Okay. Thanks again for letting me have them during your weekend. If you’d like them for an overnight during your off days this week, just let me know. We can work it out.”

I thought for a moment. “I have some coaching sessions Monday and Wednesday, but Tuesday would work.”

She smiled. “Perfect. I’ll tell them you’ll pick them up from school. Oh—they have dentist appointments that day. I think at four-ten and four-forty.”

I took out my phone and put the appointments in. “Got it. They’ll be there.”

“Good.” She paused. “I wasn’t going to say anything about this, but I ran into your sister the other day and she told me about your dad. That’s . . . that’s tough. And I’m sorry.”

I adjusted the cap on my head, feeling guilty because I still hadn’t talked things out with Bree. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Are you going to see him?”

“I don’t think so.”

She nodded. “I get it.”

“Do you think I’m being too harsh?” I asked. Naomi had been around since high school and all through my mom’s illness, so she knew the history.

Exhaling, she lifted her shoulders. “I think you have a powerful sense of right and wrong, and you’ve always known which side of the line he’s on. But I also know that letting go of painful shit from the past feels better than hanging on to it.”

“Yeah.” I hefted my keys in my hand, impatient to leave. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“Good luck. And Dex . . .” She put a hand on my arm. “I know your first instinct is to shut down when things get emotional, but don’t shut Bree out. She’s worried about you.”

I stiffened, annoyed even though I knew she was right. “I know. I’ll talk to her.”





Twenty minutes later, I knocked on Bree’s back door. Justin pulled it open, holding Prescott over his shoulder. “You knock now?”

“Wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome.” I rubbed my jaw. “Last time I was here, there was some, uh, shouting.”

He shrugged. “Family shouts sometimes. Come on in.”

Their house smelled delicious, and something about it reminded me of childhood. I messed around with my nephew Peter in the family room for a few minutes, then took Prescott from Justin and held him out from me. “Hey, buddy.” He made a gurgling noise and smiled at me.

“Good, he likes you.” Justin sank onto the couch. “How about you carry him around for a while? Every time I put him down, he screams.”

“I’ll take him.” I actually liked holding babies. They were so tiny yet chubby at the same time, and they fit right in the crook of my arm. And they never shit-talked.

I tucked Prescott against my side and ventured into the kitchen. Bree, stirring mushrooms on the stove, looked over at me. “I thought I heard your voice. Are you here for dinner?”

“If I’m invited.”

“Of course you’re invited. I’m making Mom’s stroganoff.”

“That’s what it is.” I inhaled deeply. “Mmm. I haven’t had stroganoff in years.”

She turned the heat off under the pan and scooped the sautéed mushrooms into a big blue pot. “I don’t make it too often, but I was in the mood for it. I’ve been thinking about Mom lately.”

Prescott started to fuss, so I put him over my shoulder and patted his back. “Did you see Dad again?”

She began filling another pot with water. “Yes. I saw him last Sunday. And I’ll see him next Saturday—a week from today.”

“How is he?”

Placing the pot on the stove, she shrugged. “Sick. The visits aren’t long. But I brought Justin and the boys last time.”

“He never mentioned it.”

“I asked him not to.” She turned on the gas under the water. “It upsets you.”

I took a breath. “I’m sorry about that. I lost my temper the last time I was here.”