Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart, #3)(86)

It wasn’t like I regretted it. At all.

That didn’t mean there weren’t traces of worry flickering around in my mind. Warning me that we had no plans. That I had no idea where we were going to go from here. And that tiny, tiny seed of dread that Maxon wasn’t ready.

That he still harbored so much pain, and it was liable to come busting out at some point.

There was an even tinier sprout of alarm that he might have woken up to second thoughts and used that window as an escape.

My gaze moved to the window, drapes fluttering on the breeze, and my mind filled with all the times that he’d come in and out of it.

Coming to me.

For me.

My fingertips stroked over my bitten, swollen lips that were splitting into a grin.

I refused to worry about all of that right then.

Slipping out of bed, I pulled on my tank and sleep shorts from the floor, trying not to blush like mad remembering him peeling them off.

Barefoot, I rushed out to find my boys.

Their bedroom door was already wide open, and I could hear laughter wafting up from the kitchen.

I padded downstairs, holding onto the railing, mouth tipping up in affection as I listened to their joy filling the air.

It filled me full, too.

This.

This was what was important. The happiness of my boys. The very thing I’d dedicated my entire life to echoing from the kitchen.

No matter how I was feeling right then, no matter the questions that stirred and the old fears that tried to push to the forefront, I could rest easy in that.

I pushed open the swinging door, doing my best to stride right in like I hadn’t spent the night rolling around in the hay with the very man I’d promised would never have the chance to break me again.

Then I was stumbling, inhaling a shocked gasp when I saw he was there, at the table with Dillon on his lap.

My youngest son was howling with laughter as Maxon tickled him.

Benjamin clapped where he sat beside them, cheering, “Get him, Mmmack!”

I didn’t know when they realized I was there, but suddenly Maxon slowed, shifting to look at me from over his shoulder.

The energy shifted.

Intense and alive.

The rest of the eyes in the kitchen turned to land on me.

Nothing but a target.

I stood there fidgeting, sure it was written all over me that I’d dipped my fingers into the cookie jar one too many times last night.

Dillon popped his head up my direction, hanging onto Maxon’s shoulders. “Mom, you’re awake! About time. It’s almost time to eat. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, don’t you know that? Grams is making pancakes and eggs because we need our protein, too. And Mr. Mack is gonna eat with us!”

Right. Right.

Mr. Mack was gonna eat with us.

I struggled to readjust my image of how I’d imagined this morning would play out, wondering just how it was that Maxon had ended up sitting there at the table.

Redness crept to my cheeks as my gaze swept the faces staring back at me.

My daddy pretended as if he were reading the paper, but there was no missing the concern in his eyes when he sent me a questioning glance over the top of it, and Benjamin was shooting me one of his crooked, happy grins.

And Maxon—he was looking at me as if he were contemplating throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me back upstairs.

A shiver rolled down my spine.

Oh, this was not good. So not good. Because my mama was at the stove, slanting me a sly smile as she took me in. “Yes, look who showed up at our door, bright and early. What a nice surprise.”

Her eyes went wide with the implication.

“Oh . . . I . . . hi.” I sent him an awkward wave. “Good mornin’.”

Maxon smirked, that dimple peeking out.

My belly twisted.

Oh God, this really was bad.

“I . . . um . . . coffee.” I flailed a hand in the general direction of the coffee maker, and I dropped my head, making a beeline for the other side of the kitchen. Hands shaking, I fumbled to get a cup from the cupboard, and I was surprised I even got a drop into the cup with the way the carafe trembled when I poured it.

“Need help with that? You seem a little . . . flustered,” my mama teased, voice lowered to remain out of earshot, grinning a conspiring grin.

I groaned a panicked sound, peeking over at the table, wetting my lips as I sucked for a cleansing breath. “Help. Yes, yes, I need help.”

Because I didn’t have the first clue what I was supposed to do right then.

“Something bothering you?”

I pressed my face into my hands, and then I was peeling them away, leaving them up at the sides like a shield. My voice dropped to a mortified hiss. “I slept with him, Mama.”

No need to give her the detail that it’d been five times.

“Well, that’s plenty obvious. Have you seen your hair this mornin’?”

My hands flew up to the ratted mess.

Oh God.

She chuckled.

“This isn’t funny, Mama.”

I smoothed out my tank, as if it could smooth away the agitation and embarrassment.

“Did he just waltz in here from upstairs?” I questioned in horror, peeking over there again and wondering how I was supposed to explain an impromptu sleepover with my boys. For a beat, my attention got wrapped up in the easy way Maxon leaned over and drew something with Benjamin, talking with him as if being there was the most natural thing in the world.