Page 10 of Loaded Laces

“You good?” he asks as I yank up a pair of sweats, not bothering to take the time to put my suit back on.

I’ll get the rest of my shit tomorrow.

Sneakers on, keys and wallet in my pockets, jacket in my hand.

“I’m good,” I mutter.

I smell like shit and need a shower like I need my next breath, but I’ve been worse.

I move back out into the hall before anyone else can stop me and find that the kid hasn’t moved.

Belle has, though.

She’s standing between her son and the door.

I consider my options then start walking back down the hall.

“Are we supposed to just keep trailing you like puppies?” she asks, her toneallattitude. “Or are you going to give me my keys back?”

I turn the corner, shove open a door, and nod to the kid. “Bathroom.”

His eyes fill with guilt, telling me that what he’d told his mom outside was a lie. But he steps inside, closes the door, and I back up, leaning against the opposite wall.

A hand appears in front of my face.

“Keys,” Belle demands.

The toilet flushes, and I hear the sink go. Good kid. Trained well.

“You going to tell me why he has my eyes if he’s not mine?”

Hereyes deliberately avoid mine.

Same as Ideliberatelykeep her keys in my pocket.

The door opens, and I glance down at the kid. “Good?”

He nods.

Belle sighs.

I start walking.

Only, when I push out the door, I don’t lead us back to Belle’s piece-of-shit car. I head straight for my SUV.

“What are you doing, West?” she snaps.

“You came all this way, after all these years pulling this shi—” She stiffens and flicks her gaze to the side. To the kid. “Stuff,” I correct. “And it was important enough to come here now, after”—I flick my brows up—“everythingthat went down between us…”

She sucks in a breath.

“Since you did all that”—I hold her eyes—“we’re going to talk about it. And we can’t do it in a parking lot.”

“I—”

“It’s late. I’m beat. Your kid needs to get horizontal. He can do that in the spare room at my place, or he can do it at your place, but I’ll drive you both there then take off when it’s sorted.”

“What about my car?”

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