Page 3 of Tough Love

I don’t know. Have I?

“I guess.” I finally tear my gaze away from my nephew—the child whose name I don’t even know—and address the cop.

The stunningly good-looking cop.

The all toofamiliarcop.

The cop whose head is cocked to the side as he waits for me to stop flapping my jaw soundlessly and say something.

“Evan?” My legs weaken, and I shoot my hand out in preparation should I collapse. “When …?”

“Hey, Amelia.” His lips quirk up in a soft smile, yet his piercing blue eyes hold all the pain I feel echoed deep in my soul.

He left me. Right when I needed him most, he just up and left. And here he is now, when I don’t need anyone anymore, and I’m not sure what to make of that. Questions float through my mind, blurring with each other as I stare at the boy I once loved—the boy I never stopped loving.

“Why did you go?”

“Why didn’t you call?”

“Did you love me?”

So many things I want to say. None of which are important given the current situation.

“My parents are on the way,” I word vomit, still mesmerised after all these years by those striking blue eyes that are the colour of a summer day in the middle, ringed with the deeper shade of an approaching storm. “They can help.”

He nods, gaze moving to the boy, and then back to me. Does he have questions for me too? Or am I a closed chapter in his life? An inconvenient reminder?

More likely he’s probably wondering why I haven’t cuddled the child, said hello, or so much as acknowledged he’s my problem now.

“What’s his name?” I whisper, the blush of shame burning at my cheeks as I avoid Evan’s stare.

“Briar.” He frowns.

“Okay.”

“Pardon me for asking,” Mr Sure-grew-up-to-be-sexy asks, “but he’s your sister’s kid, correct?”

“Right.”

“And you don’t know his name.”

I shake my head, not missing the fact Evan moves slightly to the side so he’s effectively body-blocking me from Briar. He’s dubious. And so he should be. It’s his job to be worried about the welfare of the innocent.

Pity he couldn’t show that eight years ago.

“Family problems,” I explain simply, craning my neck to look around him at the kid.

He nods, grumbling knowingly. He was there for the start of it. He doesn’t need me to elaborate onwhothe problem was. He just doesn’t know the crux of it, the reason for the fallout, what happened after he left.

“Why did you go?” I blurt, the question evading my internal filter.

His gaze swings my way again, and he frowns. “It’s complicated.”

“Just like using a phone was?” I can’t hold back a second longer. He left me hanging, heartbroken, and alone. He was the first boy to steal my heart, and he never gave it back.

“Amelia.”

I shake my head, lifting a hand to stop the placating rubbish that’s no doubt about to spill from those full lips. Besides, there’s a much more pressing issue currently manoeuvring a Hot Wheels car into the garage.

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