The Takeover (The Miles High Club #2)(120)

I get out of the car, angry that my children would choose him over me. Surely they get my point? Don’t they have any loyalty to their father?

“Get out of the car,” I demand to the boys.

Fletcher gets out.

“Get out of the car,” I snap. Patrick slowly gets out.

Harry sits tight.

“Get out of the car, Harrison.”

“I’m going with Tristan.”

I’m furious. How dare he say that in front of the boys and put me in the position where they think I’m the bad guy? I’m being loyal to their father . . . and so should they.

“You will do no such thing.” I yank the door open and grab his arm as he fights me. “Let me go!” he screams as he kicks at me. “I want to stay with him.”

Tristan pinches the bridge of his nose, overwhelmed by the situation.

I struggle to get him out as the two other boys watch in horror, and I slam the car door hard.

The tires screech as Tristan takes off like a maniac.

I turn to the boys. Tears run down their faces as they glare at me. “I hate you,” Harry cries. “Make him come back.”

He runs inside and slams the door.

“You ruined everything, Mom!” Patrick yells.

They turn and run inside after Harry.

I close my eyes . . . fuck, how the hell did that escalate to this?





Chapter 24

Love is stupid. Love is blind.

Love is a fucking bitch!

I have the shower on full bore to block out the sound of my heart breaking . . . I don’t want the boys to see me cry. I stand under the hot water as the tears run down my face. The lump in my throat is big, the hole in my heart a giant crevasse.

Where the hell did that argument come from?

I had no idea any of that was on Tristan’s agenda.

It shocked me—scared the hell out of me, if I’m honest. I get a vision of the hurt in Tristan’s eyes, and my heart drops.

What have I done?

I pushed away the only person who has my back.

Tristan.

My beautiful Tristan, the man who loves me. The one who has cared for all of us . . . the man who would literally walk across fire to please me . . . wants to take on my children, and I just . . . can’t.

I can’t be that irresponsible and blinded by love.

Why would he want to adopt them? What benefit would it have for him?

If he’s with me, he has them.

Letting him adopt them only gives him the power to take them if he doesn’t need me anymore.

No woman in her right mind would allow a future partner to adopt her children by law. Not when they are already happy and stable. There is no reason for him to want it . . . other than if we break up.

He wants legal assurance that no matter what happens between us, he will always have them.

No.

I’m sorry.

I can’t give him that.

Because I know that if we ever broke up, it would be because he cheated or did something to have caused it. I would never do anything to end us—I love him too much. And in that event, there is no way in hell I would be packing up my sons to go to his house every weekend to play happy family with his new girlfriend.

No woman would ever agree to this. No matter how in love she was. No matter who the man was . . . no matter what her sons wanted.

I screw up my face in tears when I picture their broken little faces as he drove off.

You did the right thing, whispers my conscience.

“Did I?” I reply. “Because it sure doesn’t feel like it.”

My shoulders rack with sobs; I have this sick, heavy, fucked-up lead ball in my stomach. I want to throw up or run away, and I want to go to him . . . but I can’t do any of those things.

I stand for a long time under the hot water. With every minute that passes, along comes a little more guilt.

The vile taste runs through my bloodstream like poison. I’m sickened by what I said to him this afternoon, mortified that I could be so cold and hurtful. He’s only ever loved us.

“I feel like I betrayed my best friend.” I see the tears in his eyes when I said those horrible things, and I cry harder.

“Oh God, I’m done with this stress. Why is nothing damn easy with me?” I sob. “Why does everything have to be so fucking hard?”

I want to live in this house with my boys . . . and Tristan.

That’s it. Nothing fancy, nothing different.

Why does he want things to change? It doesn’t have to be like this.

The boys aren’t talking to me. They’re all in their bedrooms, the house is quiet and sad, and I know Tristan is alone and heartbroken in his apartment.

I slide down the wall and sit on the hard, cold tiles. I roll into a ball to try to protect myself from the pain.

But there is no antidote for this situation . . . I’m going to lose him.

Maybe I did already.

Sadness is heavy. Sadness is still.

I lie in the darkness and watch the time tick by: 11:53 p.m.

My mind goes to my beautiful man. What’s he doing?

I can’t do this. I can’t lie here and do nothing.

I have to try to fix this. I can’t go to sleep without speaking to him. I lean over and grab my phone from the side table and dial his number. My heart beats nervously as I wait for him to pick up.