Page 106 of That Reunited Feeling

Tom turns to me. “Can I get you a drink or something?”

His question rips me down the middle.

There is nothing I’d like more than to curl up on that sofa with him by the fire with a hot chocolate, then take a long nap in his lap. But I’m a mother with responsibilities I take seriously.

Or at least I did until I listened to my clit more than my head and jetted off to London. Lesson well and truly learned.

Being a good mom is mutually exclusive from this ridiculous fantasy thing with Tom. “No, thanks. I have to get back. I don’twant to leave Dylan on his own longer than necessary. Just came to apologize to Maggie.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes, I do. It’s all my fault.”

“No, it isn’t. He’s just a kid.” Tom leans back, one arm draped along the back of the sofa, perfectly placed for snuggling under. “You know I did a bunch of stupid shit when I was a kid. You were there for most of it. And I’ve turned out okay. Right?”

“Not the point. Absolutely not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point is that if I hadn’t been so selfishly caught up in…” I gesture from his sexy head to his sexy feet “…everything, I would have been here. And none of this would have happened.”

“You think if you’d been home the kids wouldn’t have taken the stuff from the chemistry lab and had a laugh with it in the corner of the library?” He shakes his head.

“Yes. I do. I think he took advantage of the situation. A situation I should never have left him in.”

“Well, I think thirteen-year-old boys will be thirteen-year-old boys. And you know why I think that? Because I once was one.”

“And he needs exactly what you needed—stability. But what did I do? Jetted off to London for paid-for shopping trips, singing with a famous band to an arena full of people, and”—I check over my shoulder and drop my voice—“mind-blowing sex.” Tom’s lips curl into a proud smile as his eyebrows waggle, acknowledging his part in that. “And I should have been home, giving Dylan the stability he needs to not go off the rails like you did.” I huff and shake my head at myself. “Who the hell do I think I am?”

“You are an amazing mother, Hannah. That’s who you are. You’ve dedicated the last thirteen years of your life to Dylan.”

“And if I’d been here for him yesterday, instead of there”—I point out the window as if that’s where London is located—“perhaps he wouldn’t have been mixing volatile substances.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Hannah.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “It breaks my heart to watch you do that. Please don’t blame yourself.”

“My job is to look after Dylan and keep him safe. My job is not to fly around the world browsing record stores, having lunch with world-famous reporter-punching sports stars, and rediscovering the power of orgasms.”

He gazes up at me, head tilted, one side of his hair swinging free. If he’s about to make a crack about the greatness of those orgasms, I will seriously lose my shit.

Instead, he just looks at me. Like he knows I’m saying this is the end of the road.

And it is. It has to be.

It should be easier than this. I spent a very long time telling myself I hated him for how he left. But now my whole body yearns for his whole body. My brain yearns for his smart yet stupendously disorganized brain. And my heart yearns for his generous, thoughtful, passionate heart.

Tom breaks the silence hanging between us. “Did you read him the riot act?”

“Hell, yes. He’s suspended for a week. And since being off school is more of a vacation than a punishment, I’ve banned him from video games as well.”

He nods in solemn approval. “There’s probably no punishment more severe than that.” Then a smile appears. “Hey, I can teach him some more guitar, to keep him busy, if you like.”

And my frustrated fury is back. “Oh my God!” At least it will help me build a giant mental wall between me and Tom. “Am I dealing with two idiot kids? You’re as bad as Dylan.”

“What does that mean?”

“He asked if he could have more guitar lessons from you while he’s off, and I told him absolutely no.”

“Why?” Tom’s brow wrinkles with genuine bafflement. “Don’t you think it would be good for him?”

---