“Exactly. Mia. After everything. You need to be here. With me. You can’t just take off with my kids.”
Disbelief narrowed my eyes. “And you want me to keep them here? While some psychopath is out there, after me for God knows what? You know I won’t . . . that I can’t . . . put my children at risk like that.”
Faster than I could make sense of it, he gripped me by the elbow, tugging me closer, desperation in his voice. “Then stay with me. Let me take care of you. You know I can protect you. Stay with me, Mia. Be with me. I’ll fix whatever the fuck has gone wrong here. I promise you I won’t let anything happen to you or the kids.”
God. Were we doing this again?
Sadness shook my head. “You know that’s not going to happen, Nix.”
Our relationship had been tumultuous.
Off and on and off again.
He’d been the guy who’d stolen my eye when he’d gone riding by on his motorcycle, bad and mean and every-single-thing I should never want.
I didn’t really know how bad he was until a few months in, when I realized his line of work wasn’t exactly legal.
That I was getting caught up in something that I shouldn’t.
That was right about the time I’d found out I was pregnant with Penny. I’d given him an ultimatum—me and the baby or that life.
He’d walked.
I should have chalked it up to being a blessing, but when he’d cleaned up his life, turned himself around, and had shown up at my door wanting to take his position as Penny’s dad, I’d given him the benefit of the doubt.
Problem was, the man was a whirlwind, sweeping in, turning everything upside-down with a flick of his hand.
A few months later, I was pregnant with Greyson, and we were right back in the same position.
No more.
Not ever again.
I’d learned my lesson the hard way.
Twice.
I wouldn’t be repeating it.
The problem was, he’d been trying to convince me all that time to come back to him. That we could make it work when there was no chance that we could.
There was too much hurt and garbage and distrust littered between us.
But even then, he’d been there to support us. Being the best father to the kids that he could be. He’d even come alongside me when I’d been chasing down a dream of opening my own gallery, investing time and money and effort into the little shop.
My insides clutched at the thought of that building. At the memory.
At the vision of the walls and the floor where she’d lain.
Blood.
So much blood.
“Why not, Mia? Hasn’t enough time gone by? Haven’t I done enough?” he pushed.
My brow drew tight. “And you told me you were doing that because you care about me as a friend. Because you want the best life for our children.”
It was never supposed to come at a price.
He roughed a frustrated hand through his hair, angling away, before he was back to staring me down. “I did it because I love you. Because I always have. Because I love them. Because I want us to be a family.”
I blinked hard, fighting the emotion I could feel welling in my throat. “I’m sorry, Nix. But I can’t stay here.”
Dread filled the hard lines of his expression. “How am I supposed to take care of you when you’re not here? You need to stick close, Mia, until we find out what is happening. And besides . . . you’re just . . . going to walk away from the gallery? You need it.”
Chills crawled up my arms, a slow-slide of anguish and mourning. My hands chased it, like it might be enough to warm the cold spot carved out in the middle of me. “You know I can never step foot in that place again.”
His eyes pinched closed. “Then we’ll find another space.”
I backed up, looking for some space of my own.
“I’m sorry, Nix. But I’m going. Just for the summer. Penny loves it there, anyway. She’ll be with Kallie. You know what that will mean to her. It’s for the best.”
“And what about me?” Disappointment flooded his tone, his normal arrogant posture dampening in the rejection.
Taking another step backward, I gave him the most honest answer that I could. “It was never about you.”SixLeif“Dude, if you even think about bailing on us, I will hunt you down and personally drag your ass back to South Carolina.” The tease Rhys sent me through the phone was delivered with the undercurrent of a threat.
Carolina George’s bassist was loud and crass, his big, bleeding heart worn on his sleeve with a scrap of barbed-wire around it to protect it.
My gaze drifted out the back window of the luxury SUV as I traveled deeper into the Historic District of Savannah. Carolina George had played downtown along River Street enough times in this small city that everything felt familiar.