Page 67 of Sweetest Sin
Then, he called me Daddy … and I agreed to chop down a fucking tree.
“Okay, so tell me about this tree,” I say to Damien as we sit at the island while Peyton heats up the dinner that Martha made earlier and left for us.
“It’s in my …” He stops speaking and looks up at me with sad eyes.
I have no idea what I did wrong, but when tears fill his eyes, I glance at Peyton, two seconds away from freaking out.
“Mommy, my book!” Damien cries. “My book is gone. It’s at home.”
He jumps off the stool and runs toward the living room, and we both follow after him.
“My book is gone! I gotta go home and get it.”
Tears track down his face, and my heart, which I thought was dead, squeezes in my chest, reminding me that it’s very much alive and beating.
“Please, Mr. Daddy, I gotta get my book.”
He looks around the large room, hoping the book will appear, but it’s not here, and unfortunately, while their stuff is on the way, it’ll be a few days before it arrives since the company that I hired has to pack up everything and then deliver it.
As I watch my son cry in devastation over a book that he doesn’t have because I had to take him from his home in the middle of the night—because he was going to be kidnapped, thanks to a vendetta that a psychopath has against me and my family—my only thought is that I need to make this right.
Peyton starts to speak—I’m sure to try to calm him, but he shouldn’t have to be calmed. He should have his fucking book. Peyton’s trusting me to make sure they’re taken care of, and I’m not about to fuck this up.
“C’mon,” I say, lifting Damien into my arms. “Let’s go get your book.”
“What about dinner?” Peyton asks. “We don’t have to?—”
“We can eat out,” I tell her. “Damien needs his book.”
I snatch my keys off the table and head to the garage, thankful that I had Janet make sure booster seats were installed in all the cars I use.
Since I have no idea how to buckle a child in, I watch Peyton do it, and then we take off. She doesn’t know it, but because Anthony is still missing, I have several guards following us, and they’ll surround us wherever we go.
“I think we can get it at Target,” she says as I pull out of the driveway and head toward town.
“Chocolate milk with whip?” Damien asks.
“We’ll see,” Peyton tells him. “He knows Target has a coffee shop in it,” she says to me. “Whenever we go, I get a coffee, and he gets a chocolate milk with whipped cream. It’s kind of our thing.” She shrugs.
“Coffee and chocolate milk it is then,” I tell them both.
Target didn’t havethe book—but it had coffee and chocolate milk—and neither did Walmart or Barnes & Noble. But after looking up other bookstores in the area, we were able to find it at the third one we went to. And the smile that spread across Damien’s face when he saw it on the shelf was worth traveling all over South Florida.
“And this isThe Giving Tree,” Damien tells me.
We’re currently sitting on a bench in the children’s section of the bookstore—since he insisted his mom read it to us immediately so I’ll know what kind of tree we’re looking for—while my guys are stationed in several spots around the store and by the front door. There’s going to come a time when my son learns the type of life that he’s now a part of, but I refuse tofollow in my father’s footsteps and force it down his throat. He’s going to stay innocent for as long as possible.
“This is the tree you want in our backyard?” I ask him, pointing to the large tree in the book.
“Yes.” He nods. “This one has apples, but I can get apples at the store with Mommy. I just want the tree to swing on.”
Peyton snorts a laugh, but quickly covers it with a cough before she says, “Damien, any tree we get will be small, and it will take years to grow. I don’t?—”
“I got this,” I tell her with a grin, patting her knee. “You want a tree like this to swing on?” I ask him.
He nods.
“You got it, buddy. But we don’t need to go chop one down … because we already have one in our backyard.”
