Where Lightning Strikes (Bleeding Stars #3)(123)

I followed Brendon through the sweeping foyer. Night pressed in over the windows—the city resting below—twinkling through the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows in the living and formal dining rooms.

We passed by and ducked into the den that seemed to be Tamar’s favorite spot in the house. Cozy with a fireplace and plush carpet. Walls covered in big blown-ups of some of her favorite shots she’d taken over the years. Some of lightning. Others of us and the rest of our families and friends.

A ton of Brendon.

As I rounded the corner, my damned breath caught in my throat.

Didn’t matter how many times I saw her. It was always a violent jar to my senses. She was bold and brash, a flash of a million brilliant colors shimmering in the night.

Erotic and seductive.

Pure and sweet.

Angel with a little demon woven in between.

So maybe I didn’t mind it all that much when Red came out to play.

Tamar West was all those things.

This perfect contradiction who would always hold me in the palm of her hand.

She was sitting crisscrossed on the floor, her huge belly resting in the well of her legs, wearing a black tank top that hugged all her curves, mouth curving up as she saw us walk in.

Well, I was walking in. Brendon was running. He slid onto his knees on the floor beside her. “We finished your surprise!”

She pushed her fingers through his locks of dark hair. “You did, huh?”

She slanted me a glance that sent a ripple of affection through me.

Gripping my heart.

Filling me with joy.

Couldn’t quite explain what it did to me to see her with my kid. Seeing the way she loved him wholly, took him on as a part of her because he was a part of me, as shocking and sudden as his emergence into our lives had been.

A week after I went to Arizona to get Tamar back, I’d gotten a call from Kenzie that Brendon wanted to see me. That she and Brad had explained to him who I was, as well as someone his age could understand.

We’d taken things slow so Brendon could get used to me being a part of his life. All of their lives, really. I didn’t want to go barging in like some kind of selfish bastard, demanding time I didn’t deserve.

Honestly, I had been surprised Kenzie and Brad were willing to give any at all. But Kenzie had always been that way, kind and wanting the best for everyone, and she thought the best for Brendon would be me being a part of his life.

During that first handful of months, we’d established a routine. I’d go over to take him someplace cool a couple times a week when I was in town and have him spend the night at our place at least once on the weekend.

Even after two years, we still didn’t have some court-appointed visitation. I just respected Kenzie and she respected me, and we let things take their course.

No.

Didn’t get to see him nearly as much as I wanted. But I cherished every single second I got.

Blue tickled his sides. “Let me see,” she playfully demanded. She was doing her best not to laugh.

Brendon messed with her for a few seconds, keeping it hidden behind his back, before that same tender expression climbed across his face. Same look he got when you knew he was feeling something deep. He stilled before he pulled the bear out.

A little gasp shot from her. Even though she knew what we were making, considering she’d seen the two my mom still kept in her kitchen a thousand times, and Brendon’s, which he never let out of his sight.

Still, moisture gathered in her eyes, and she accepted it from Brendon’s cupped hands, moving to gently cradle it on her lap.

“I love it,” she whispered.

“Really?” he asked.

“Really.”

Not able to stay away, I climbed down beside them. Brendon sat on his knees where he hovered over Blue, and I lay low on the other. Just taking in the moment.

“Do you know what it means?” he asked, like he was getting ready to tell her the greatest secret.

“Tell me,” she murmured back.

“Grandma says it represents a family being stitched together by a new birth.” He traced his finger over the blocks of pink. “Each piece of fabric represents the people who make up that family, and the ribbon is the love that binds it all together. She says they’re really good luck.”

A wistful smile pulled along her mouth. “It’s beautiful. I bet this is going to be your sister’s favorite bear.”

He touched a bright pink patch. “This is you,” he whispered, and moved onto another. “And this is Dad.”

His grin was wide and excited. “And this is my baby sister.”

She smiled at him. “And where are you?”

“Right here,” he said, touching the small block of fabric.

Making this family whole.

Seemed crazy after how many years I’d lived alone, committing myself to suffering day after day in debt for what I’d done, that all those hollow places would be filled. So full I could scarcely remember what they felt like.

There was a piece of me that hung onto them, though. No. Not because I remained in that tortured hell.

These two?

They’d resurrected me from it.

But I did keep them as daily reminders to be thankful. To never forget family was a blessing. Never to be neglected or disregarded or treated as anything less than the most important thing in life.