Page 49 of Return To You

Chuckling, Noah climbs out from beside me, rounds the vehicle, and slowly unclips our son. He kisses his head and gently passes him over to my dad before going to get our bags.

Noah wasn’t happy about it, but I told him we were staying at Dad's.

He and I are over, and I still don’t trust him overnight with Diego.

Shaking my head, I go to climb out but go still when Cameron rasps, “We fucked up and, yeah, I did believe that photo, and I’ll forever feel guilty over it, but we’re not going to give up, Rose. You’re family….”

Family? Really? After they all left me?

I blink away the tears, climb out without answering him, and walk toward the front door where Noah is standing.

He tilts his head, his eyes taking in my appearance, most likely my now red face, because I want to cry.

He sighs when he realizes I won’t let him in, and says, “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

I give him a slight smile and admit, “You won’t see me. Dad will be here with Diego.”

His jaw ticks, and he grits out, “Where will you be?”

I smirk at him and decide to give him a piece of his own medicine. I say, “I’m going to see the man in the photo….”

With that said, I turn and head inside where my father stands, trying his hardest not to laugh as the front door slams closed, and I grin wide.

“Payback?” Dad confirms, and I shrug, grabbing mine and Diego’s bags.

“Maybe he should have confronted me two years ago and fought for us,” I say, and Dad nods with pride while I take the bags upstairs, dreading Diego’s party.

The boys invited themselves, and I know dad invited Tamara, and with Noah there as well….

This is going to be a long couple of days.

sixteen

Noah – Three Days Later

I suckmy lip ring into my mouth as I check my appearance in the large oval mirror on the wall.

I wore a black short-sleeve button-down shirt open at the collar, with a white tank underneath, black jeans with no rips this time, and my boots.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

My eyes go to the photo of Diego and Rose after she gave birth that’s enlarged on the wall.

Her hair is sweaty, and she’s in a hospital gown, but she looks beautiful, staring down at our son in her arms.

I found it in a box in her tiny closet.

Yes, I was snooping, but I needed to know who was important in her life, and it turned out that it was Diego and me.

The box consisted of pictures of our past and our son, along with dried petals from the flowers I’d given her when I could afford them.

She had several pictures of her and me, the ones she had in her old room in frames, were near the head of her bed, well, not bed, just a fucking mattress on the floor.

All her clothes in the closet were her old ones from high school, and her living room only had the basics, and they all looked old as hell.

She has barely anything, only the memorabilia of our life together, and yet our son has everything he could need.

Guilt is destroying me, knowing she’s struggled, that we all abandoned her when she didn’t deserve it.

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