Page 69 of The Life We Left Behind

Cade hesitated and then asked, “What happens now?”

“Well, he really wants to meet you, monkey. Do you think that would be okay?”

He nodded quietly, turning his head to stare out of the window, and I sank into the snuggle while I could get it.

This was going to be a difficult transition for Cade. And I had no idea what expectations Trace had coming into this.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” Cade asked quietly.

“Oh, honey,” I clasped him tightly to me. “There’s no way that’s ever going to happen. You’re an amazing kid, Cade. If you can win over child-hating Blake, then I’m pretty sure it’s impossible for anyone not to like you.”

He looked up at me with a wry expression on his face that no kid should be able to hit so perfectly. “There are people who don’t like me, you know.”

“I doubt it!” I scoffed. “Maybe strange people with no taste,” I relented when he poked me and laughed. “You know them. They eat broccoli for fun and think poodles look like normal dogs.”

He snorted, and I couldn’t resist his infectious giggles.

It didn’t take Blake long to appear in the doorway. “Hey, are you having fun without me?”

“We would never!” I denied, which made Cade giggle even more.

“Hmmm. Well, I guess I’ll just go downstairs and eat pre-dinner ice cream all by myself then,” she said, pouting as she winked at Cade and then turned to head down the stairs.

“That’s not a thing!” I shouted after her, but Cade was already moving. “We eat vegetables first in this house.”

He raised his hands in surrender and slowly started to back out of the room. “I would, but it would be rude to make a lady eat alone,” he quipped before spinning on the spot and darting out of the room.

“Where did you learn that?” I asked more to myself than anyone else since I was now totally alone and could hear the telltale clatter of bowls in the kitchen. “Great, and now I’m talking to myself.”

It was worth it when I made my way to the stairs to the sound of laughter in the kitchen. Blake had been a blessing since I’dmet her, but the relationship she had with Cade was so precious. They were best friends, but he still looked to her as an adult to lead the way.

My mind turned back to her suggestion about moving here. I hadn’t realized that she was struggling so much in the city. Maybe we would all benefit from some time out here to reset and think about what we wanted to do. But was that what I wanted? I didn’t know where I stood with Trace, and that wasn’t something that could be decided in a few hours. We needed time to get to know each other again. We’d spent a long time apart. We were only teenagers when we’d last been together, and so many things would have changed over the years. But that time wasn’t going to happen if we left for the city.

I looked around the house as I slowly wandered down the stairs. It was in really good condition. There wasn’t much that I’d change. Maybe I’d put my own touch on a couple of the rooms, and definitely redecorate Cade’s room, so it felt more like his.

Was I really considering this?

I stopped in the kitchen doorway and watched as Blake tried to bargain down to one scoop because the pot roast that we were having for dinner was nearly ready, even if it was less appealing. Cade grinned and shrugged, ending up with one and a half scoops, which was essentially two scoops. It just made Blake feel better calling it a half.

We could take the summer. Test it out. See if we could tolerate living in the same town as Regina Farrington without me hitting her with my car, reversing back over her, and then hitting her again, just to make sure.

Okay, maybe I wouldn’tactuallydo that. Prison wasn’t really my scene.

But she’d hurt my son. She wasn’t walking away from this with her head held high like she usually did.

Blake waggled a bowl in my direction, and I headed to the kitchen table. If everyone else was having ice cream for dinner, I wasn’t being left out.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

TRACE

Igripped the steering wheel with both hands and stared at the farmhouse nervously.

This was it. This was the first time I was going to meet my son.

I glanced at the grocery bag on the passenger seat, wondering if it was a bad idea. What if he hated it? I had no idea what he liked. He was nine years old, and I didn’t even know anything about him apart from his first name.

I felt the anger and the sadness starting to bubble up inside me again and fought to push them down.

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