Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart, #3)(76)

Never had I felt so out of sorts.

So uncertain.

I mean, what was that whole kissin’ thing? What had he told my boys?

God, I was in trouble. I knew it to my core.

When the answering machine beeped, I left a message. “The boys and I are having dinner at Maxon’s tonight. We’ll be home by eight or eight-thirty. Hope you have a nice, peaceful evenin’.” I quickly tacked that onto the end, as if maybe I could convince myself that the only reason I was staying out tonight was to do them a favor.

Wishful thinking.

Because my nerves had gotten themselves into a tangle.

Anticipation knotted in my belly.

Hands sweaty where they clung to the steering wheel.

I just knew agreeing to come over here was changing everything. I was coming up against a wall.

A deadline.

A decision.

And it was all happening too fast.

Taillights flashed as Maxon pulled into his driveway.

I pulled in behind him, and Maxon hopped out.

The man looked like a reckoning when he gave me a look that told me to sit tight in my car.

Confusion twisted across my brow.

What was he doin’?

I watched him stealthily move around his front yard.

Slow yet sure.

He climbed to the porch, unlocked the front door, and peered inside.

At least I got one answer.

One thing of which I was sure.

He was checking for safety.

His posture rigid and imposing.

A protector.

A fighter.

My dragon.

Sorrow clogged my throat and moisture filled my eyes with the realization of the fear that this man still held onto so tightly.

As if it’d been etched into him as part of his being.

I wanted to reach out and stroke it away. Hold it. Bear a portion of it for him.

I just wished he would have let me.

He disappeared inside for a minute, and when he returned, his shoulders were relaxed.

He started back to his truck to help out the boys, and I slipped out onto shaky, unsteady feet.

“Is this your house?” Dillon asked as Maxon swung him down from the truck, holding him from under his arms. “How long have you lived here? Do you have a dog?”

“Sure is. About four years. And nope, no dog.”

One thing I could say about the man, he kept up just fine with Dillon’s erratic train of thought.

“You don’t have a dog?” Dillon asked as if it were some sort of crime. “Why not?”

“Wouldn’t want it to be alone all day while I’m at work.”

“Because you live alone?”

“Yeah, Lil’ Dill. Because I live alone.”

He sent me a look that nearly broke me in two when he said it.

The starkest sort of loneliness bled out.

Most unsettling part was the hope brimming in the middle of it, as if maybe he had the intention of changing that.

Oh lord, I could feel that fork in the road coming up fast.

Left or right.

Dillon went scampering up the side steps and onto the porch while Maxon ducked back into the truck. He murmured a bunch of words that I felt more than heard, so gentle with his son as he unbuckled him from his special seat and helped him get his crutches adjusted after he settled him on the ground.

“There. How’s that? Are you steady?”

“I’vvvve got it.”

“Watch out for the gravel. It’s loose,” Maxon warned softly.

“Stoppp worrying so much.” Benjamin sent him a sly, knowing grin from over his shoulder, and Maxon sent him an adoring one in return, and my world was trembling on its axis.

So close to toppling over.

Benjamin slowly made his way up the steps.

I stood beside Maxon and watched our son go.

That feeling rushed over us.

Attraction and want. Flickers of old affection that had become somethin’ new.

Awareness and regret.

I forced the words out beneath the pressure of it. “Thank you for takin’ him today. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

I realized my arms were hugged over my middle when I said it. My stance and my words nothing but a defense.

Because I could sense it all slipping away.

“He’s my son, Izzy.” His words dropped low in emphasis. “My son.”

A shiver raced my spine, and my voice came soft. “Sometimes, I watch him just . . . walkin’ . . . and joy explodes in the middle of me. I spent so many years worried that he wouldn’t be able to run and play. Seeing him like this? It feels like a miracle.”

“He is a miracle.” Maxon’s tone was as jagged as the gravel under our feet.

I glanced over at him.

The sight of the man was nothing but a thief sent to steal my breath.

“Maxon—”

“Need to tell you something.” He cut me off.

Anxiety pulsed through his body. It sent a hammer of dread assaulting mine.

My teeth clamped down on my bottom lip, and I struggled to prepare myself for what he might say. That yes, Benjamin was a miracle—wonderful and inspiring and kind—but that it was all too much.

Nothing I hadn’t heard before.

I could handle it, right?

“The day you left when you came and took care of me?”