Page 47 of Snow Harm, No Foul

“This is going to be the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had,” she wheezes, slowly coming back down to earth.

“You’re tellin’ me.”

“What are we going to say to him?”

I slide a hand into my pocket. “The truth.”

“All of it?”

“He’s goin’ to learn about the baby anyway, Ivy. Better to tell him now and deal with the brunt of the backlash while he’s already here.”

She chews on her lip before nodding. “You’re right. I’m just—I don’t feel guilty about what we’ve done, even though I probably should. It’s just my inability to not people please that’s upsetting me. Travis may not deserve my kindness, but he’s still your son. And while that’s so damn complicated, it also makes it harder to hate him. He could become my family in a really weird way.”

I cross the room and wrap an arm around her shoulders, tucking her into my chest. She holds my middle and buries her face in my chest, exhaling slowly.

“Just remember that you don’t owe him anythin’. If he disrespects you, he can fuck off. Son or not, I won’t stand here and listen to anyone mouthin’ off about you.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t got to thank me for takin’ care of you.”

“Yes, I do,” she whispers.

“Goin’ to keep doin’ it.”

“And I’ll take care of you, too, Niko. If he thinks he can be rude to you like he was the last few times you were around us, I’ll tell him off.”

She was always scolding him for his lowball comments and attitude when they were together. If he knew that it made me hard to see her standing up for me, he would have put an end to me ever coming near her.

I set my chin on the top of her head and huff a soft laugh. “Thank you, baby girl.”

Her hands sweep up and down my back in comforting motions that have me ready to barrel down this door and tell my son to fuck right off. But I don’t.

Easing back, I pinch Ivy’s chin and drop my head for a kiss. She hums against my lips and blinks up at me with twinkling eyes.

A clang sounds from out in the bar, and I stiffen, eyeing up the closed office door. “Think he’s shatterin’ glasses out there?”

She snorts. “More like drinking all your beer.”

“Can’t believe you were pretendin’ to like that shit for so long.”

“Not anymore,” she sings, bumping me with her hip on her way to open the door.

Before she can open it, I’m palming her ass through her dress. “Never again.”

“Is it too early for a virgin peppermint daiquiri?” she asks.

I close my hand over hers on the door handle, and we twist it together. With my mouth grazing the back of her ear, I mutter, “Not at all.”

She’d be damn near skipping out of the room if it weren’t for my son waiting for us. We’re too quiet as we make our way down the hall and into the bar.

Travis is waiting for us with a long neck in his hand despite the early morning setting. There’s a trail of snow leading to where he’s perched over the bar, glaring at the shelves of alcohol on the wall.

His shaggy blond hair hangs in his eyes and curls at his neck, in desperate need of a trim. The stubble on his jaw has been there since he was sixteen and boasting about sprouting hair on his face before I did. In reality, I’d started growing a mustache at the exact same age, but I let him believe he was just better than me.

In a well-fitted, red henley shirt and dark jeans that don’t rise above his ankles when he sits, he appears well-dressed, as if he either stopped here on his way somewhere else or has magically started caring about the way he dresses. Usually, he’s in sweatpants and a hoodie.

“What are you doin’ here?” I ask gruffly, pulling a stool out at the end of the bar for Ivy.

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