Page 119 of Average Joe

Why was I so unlovable?

God! I had to stop.

I parked my ass on the sofa, making Ginger bounce from a tucked ball to her back, her legs sticking straight in the air and her tail wagging.

Bruce grunted at me from his bed in the corner.

I slid to the floor, crawled his way, and kissed the big, beautiful mutt. “Thanks for sticking around, boy. Please promise you’ll never leave me.”

Joe found me that way, a misty-eyed mess on the floor, holding tight to the one warm thing I had to cling to at the moment.

“Baby,” he whispered.

I hadn’t heard him come in. Maybe he’d been afraid to wake me. Silly man had no clue the torture I’d put myself through.

I exchanged one warm embrace for another, throwing myself into Joe’s strong, steady arms, tucking my face into his neck, where sanity thrived.

“Babe.” He slapped my ass, prying my arms from around his neck. “We’re not alone.”

Time froze. My fingers curled into Joe’s shoulders, and I dared a peek around his bulk. My ticker dropped to my gut and bounced back up into my throat.

Dylan stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped forward, head down, but those golden eyes lifted to mine. Strong and healthy. So fucking beautiful.

“Hi, Mom.”

A strange euphoria washed over me, and I could swear I caught a glimpse of Heaven. My baby. My baby. Oh, my God, my baby! My voice wouldn’t work, but my eyes leaked something fierce.

Joe lowered me to my feet. On a sob, I threw myself at the poor boy, making him stumble backwards, but his lanky arms wrapped around my back, and he squeezed like he’d missed me every bit as much as I’d missed him. How could I ever let go? How could I ever let him out of my sight again? I breathed him in. He smelled like the same sweaty boy, and dear God, how I’d missed that dirty funk only boys could pull off.

Minutes later, Joe slipped past us, dogs in tow, and before he shut the door behind him, he clapped Dylan on the shoulder and said, “See you later, kid.”

I was so fucking in love with Joe Kaine.

Minutes passed before I mustered the courage to let Dylan go. I released my death grip and stepped away, giving him room to breathe.

“We have so much to talk about,” I croaked, taking in every inch of him.

Dylan nodded. Dark circles framed his eyes. We needed to talk, but he needed sleep. I never wanted to close my eyes again for fear of losing another second with my son.

“There are fresh sheets on your bed. Why don’t we talk after some shut-eye?”

Dylan nodded, kicked at the floor, then hit me with a gaze that held deep regret. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” came out a mumble but had no less impact than if he’d shouted.

“I know.” I hooked his arm and led him down the narrow hallway and to his room.

Dylan stepped inside. Other than cleaning, I’d left everything as it was. He studied the small space, scrubbed a hand through his dark hair, kicked off his Nikes, and said over his shoulder, “You got a dog.”

“He’s a great dog.” I blew a kiss and closed the door, allowing him privacy despite wanting to jump into his bed and hold him forever.

Then I snagged a pillow and blanket from my room and curled up on the couch, right next to the front door, just in case.

* * *

You’d think I was the luckiest woman alive, sitting across the table from two of the most beautiful men ever created. But for the moment, I wanted to kill them both because they had just pierced my chest with a lethal dart.

“You’re taking him where? And when did you decide this?” I’d had zero minutes of shut-eye. Safe to say, my mood was volatile.

“Mom.” Dylan’s overgrown hair fell in his eyes, and he shook his head as if that would help. “It’s a good idea.”

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