Page 51 of Love Notes & Lifelines
A flash of skin at her waist. The denim clinging to her ass. My mind is telling me not to be an asshole, because I literally just told her that I don’t do personal, but every other organ and muscle in my body believes otherwise.
“All set,” she says, lifting a brow.
Shit. She caught me staring. Again.
There’s not even a reason to look in the rearview mirror because the back is filled to the roof, but my gaze drifts to her as though she already has me on a leash.
“Are you sure we don’t need that other stuff?” I ask, pulling back onto the road. Focus on the girls, Beck. Not on how unfairly hot the nanny is or how sweetly she would come for you.
Damn it.
Emmy’s belly laugh draws my attention back to the mirror. Stella makes a funny face and both girls giggle.
The car vibrates violently—a safety measure that alerts me when someone in front of me is slowing down.
Jesus, Beck. Eyes on the road.
“I’m sure,” she finally says. “The girls have always lived in this SailportBayhouse, right?”
“Ah.” Regret coils in my chest as potent as acid reflux. “I’m not sure.”
I sense her watching me. It’s a goddamn magic ability I didn’t ask for, but I focus my attention on the road.
“Let’s assume they have,” she says. “That means all their stuff, all the things that feel like home will be there too. Unless…who owns the house? Has anyone cleared it out?”
“It’s always been in the family.” I think, unless my father willed that away to Delacroix too. “I called my cousin, Tabby, last night. She’s making sure it’s ready for us.”
“Good! Then I’m sure we’ll be fine, and I can get anything we’re missing when I go home on Saturday.”
My nose wrinkles on the word home. Where do I consider home? The penthouse has always been just that, the penthouse. Home hasn’t been part of my vernacular in years.
I nod but allow my mind to wander as we drive for another hour in silence. Well, not silence—Stella keeps the girls entertained singing inane songs about monkeys and being happy.
And they laugh. They laugh more in this hour than they have with me the entire time I’ve had them.
See, Stella! I don’t do personal. Not with you, and not with them—they only laugh like that for you.
My sister’s face flashes before my eyes. But it’s a distorted version of her and it’s gone just as fast.
Fine. Lying to myself has never been this habitual before. So yes, I’ll do whatever I can to give these girls a happy childhood—even if that includes allowing a modicum of trust—for them. I can do that. I had a happy childhood…didn’t I?
Perhaps I shouldn’t have given up on therapy so soon.
But how do you give something that you no longer understand? Adulthood stole my young innocence the day I walked away from Sailport Bay—the day I walked away from everything that made me who I am.
Stella’s hand lands on my shoulder and I almost swerve into the breakdown lane. She actively avoids contact with me most of the time, and it’s for the best.
Does she remember how explosive we were? Is that why?
“Are you okay? Do you need me to drive for a bit?”
I shake my head, running a hand through my hair. “I’m good. Sorry, I was thinking. We’ll be there soon.”
When I sneak a peek in the mirror, she’s already watching me, but I can’t hold her gaze. Something is happening to me that I can’t get a handle on, and I need to be at the top of my game. For the girls, for my company, and for myself.
“Okay,” she says softly, but her tone tells me she doesn’t believe me.
You don’t know me, Stella Jane. Not at all.
