Page 124 of Forgive You

“Out.”

34

Painting my nails is supposed to calm me down. To make me feel better.

It’s what I do to look at the bright sight of life. Today it’s serenity blue. But it’s missing its mark because it reminds me of the small specks in Jason’s eyes that dance around his irises whenever he’s laughing.

I’ve been ignoring him all day.

Used the lame excuse as I did yesterday, telling him I’m spending time with Charlotte, when she and Hunter have been out all day while I watched the kids.

Something he would have probably loved doing with me. He loves kids. Loves Logan and Lizzie. I see the way he is with them. I still remember the first time he held Logan.

Jacob and I were onanotherbreak, and I swear my ovaries turned into a full-blown marching band the second he smiled at the mini version of Hunter. Pure love was written on his face, and I don’t even wanna think about what it will do to me to see him with his own kids.

With our kids.

My throat closes up, and I deliberately blow out a breath to get rid of the ache. A quick tear blurs my vision as I stare at my nails, as I continue adding polish with a steady hand.

It’s true, though.

I wanted to murder Kayla when she called me out on it like that, but she’s right.

I love Jason. I wanthimto be the one waiting for me down the aisle. I want him to be the father of my children.

Spending today with the kids only solidified that. Today, at the park, I helped little Logan down the slide while Lizzie slept in her stroller, and I saw a mini version of Hunter.

A real charmer, a crooked grin, bright green eyes just like his parents. And all I could think of was how cool it would be if there was a mini version of Jason right beside him?

That’s what I want.

That’s what my heart wants.

My mind? It’s still a little on the fence, but I’m not sure I can keep this in any longer.

I have to tell him the truth.

Simply because I see what a thick wall it’s forming between us if I don’t.

First, I just need to find a way to make sure he’s not taking the fall for my mess.

“Auntie Jules?” I glance up at the toddler in the open doorway leading into the kitchen.

“Hey, little man.” I wipe away the excess moisture that manages to escape my eyes, then conjure a smile on my face. “What’s wrong?”

I close the bottle of nail polish, then dry my nails by flicking my hands through the air.

He looks utterly adorable with his red and black Hurricanes pajamas, courtesy of Uncle Jensen. His blond hair is a little tousled, his cheeks blushed from the afternoon sun.

He ambles toward me with his little feet, and I scoop him into the air until he’s sitting on the breakfast bar within the safety of my arms.

“No cry.” His tiny hands brush over my slightly tainted cheeks. “Be happy!”

Oh, the simplicity of being a child.

I laugh. “I’m happy when I see you. Why aren’t you sleeping? It’s bedtime.”

“I miss Mommy.”

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