Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart, #3)(68)

“I’m nothing if not a hard worker,” Maxon said, and even through the phone, I could see the way those eyes were glintin’.

I bit down on my bottom lip to stop the spark of need I could feel lighting up in my belly.

God.

This was bad.

“Go on and get ready for bed,” I told Dillon, needing to cut off the direction of this conversation and fast, and the man had barely said anything.

I turned to Benjamin who fumbled to get his pajama shirt over his head.

“Someone wants to talk to you,” I all but whispered, tiptoeing that way.

Benjamin smiled. “Maxon?”

My heart leapt, praying that didn’t make me a fool. Nodding, I shifted my phone around so Benjamin was in view, and I could see Maxon’s expression do its own foolish things.

Leaping and jumping.

“Hey, there Big Ben.”

My heart clutched.

Big Ben.

Oh, no.

Now he was giving my boys nicknames.

This really was bad.

“How was your session?”

“Good. Not hhhard today but next tiiime the real work starrrts.”

It was basically verbatim what his therapist had told him.

“Are you ready for it?”

Benjamin nodded.

“That’s my boy.”

Oh God.

I had to put my hand on my chest to keep my heart from physically spilling out onto the floor.

“It’s bedtime. You better tell Maxon goodnight,” I barely managed, my emotions all over the place.

Wanting to just . . . give. Terrified of what might happen if I did.

“Goodniiight,” my sweet boy said, and Maxon just stared for a beat before he finally whispered, “Good night, Big Ben. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okkkkay.”

I pulled the phone away, and Benjamin gave me the strangest look. One that asked too many questions. One that made me have to turn my back so I could slip out of the room and into mine.

“I’ve got to go tuck the boys in,” I rushed, words a ramble to match the shaking of my hands, the memory of last night too raw and fresh.

Too tempting to repeat again. Because God, looking at him? I wanted to. I wanted to run straight to his door and into his arms.

“Izzy—”

“Goodnight, Maxon,” I told him before he could get in another word. Before he made me stumble. Before he made me lose all reason.

I tossed my phone to my bed and scurried back out to get the boys into bed.

As if I could outrun that man so easily.

Because when I got back to my room, a slew of messages were waiting.

Maxon: Let me take him to his appointment Thursday.





Maxon: I can switch my work schedule around easily, and you won’t have to worry about taking the time off.





Maxon: Let me be there.





Maxon: I’m going crazy over here, Izzy Baby.





Maxon: Fuck, I can still taste you on my tongue.





Maxon: I can still smell you on my fingers.





Maxon: I want you, Little Bird. So fucking bad.





Oh God, that shifted gears and fast. A complete one-eighty. It sent my pulse scattering, draining from my head and rushing to areas where I sure as heck didn’t need my blood pounding.

I fumbled with my phone, quick to respond, needing to get it over with before I let myself get caught up in something foolish.

Me: Fine. Thursday. Come pick the boys up here at my mama’s. He needs to be there at 3:00. You can bring them to my work by 5 after.





Then I quickly shut it off completely. Needing to cut the interaction. As if when I climbed into bed it would stand the chance of escaping him.

Because when I closed my eyes?

He was right there waiting for me, too.





Twenty





Mack





“Wait, let’s get this straight before we move on any farther—you’re actually calling me for advice?”

I could almost see Ian’s smug smile from across the miles, the asshole.

I grunted at him as I accelerated through traffic on my way back to my house after checking in at the precinct. “Fine, get it over with. Rub it in. And then tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do.”

I’d basically begged Izzy to let me take that kid to his appointment this afternoon. Now, I was sweating bullets so thick I might as well have been in the middle of a 10-70 with shots fired.

“If I had the answer for all the nonsense going down in your brain, I would be a very rich man,” Ian razzed.

“Cut it, man. You are rich. You wanna rub that in, too?”

Wouldn’t call his life golden, but the fucker had sure gotten lucky when it came to the dollar signs.

Ian laughed, and then his tone sobered. “Here’s the thing, Mack, you’re calling me for the answer, and you and I both know you already know what that answer is.”

“And what’s that?” I challenged, changing lanes and passing a couple of cars.

“You know this lands right back on your father’s doorstep. You’ve got to stop worrying that you’re going to follow in his footsteps. Make his same mistakes.”