Scarlett sat back, studying me again. "Where's the rest of that whiskey?"
Obliging, I got the bottle and poured a healthy splash in both of our glasses.
Finally, she asked, "Should I ground him?"
I wasn't sure if this was a test or Scarlett working it out and asking for input. Either way, my answer was the same. "Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because the fallout from today is going to be punishment enough."
Scarlett took a long sip of her whiskey. "Elliott is such an asshole. Thatcher loves him so much, and Elliott…" She drifted off, anguish for her son in her eyes.
"Once this sinks in," I said, "what his dad did, how bad that could have been… He'll still love his father, but he'll never see him the same way. That's a lot for him to handle. He doesn't need to be grounded on top of it."
I didn't know how to be a parent, but I knew what it was to be that kid who lost hope for his father. I knew what it was to realize the father you loved was never going to love you back the same way. Was always going to let you down.
"That's the way I was leaning, too." She tipped her head to rest on my shoulder. "Of all the lessons he has to learn, I hate that this was one of them."
"Me, too." I waited, the quiet darkness cocooning us, the golden light from the lamp giving the room a warm glow. Was she going to ignore what I'd said?
Her voice, when it came, was the softest vibration of sound. If I hadn't been holding my breath, I would have missed it.
"I want to stay with you." A quick intake of air, as if she was surprised the words had escaped. Then again, louder. "I want to stay with you, Tenn. I really do. But it's—" She stopped, searching for the right word.
"Complicated?" I supplied.
"So insanely complicated. There's the boys, and my job, and the house…"
Counseling myself to be patient, I pushed just a little. "Which of those is the biggest complication?"
"The boys," she answered instantly. "I know a lot of people would say I can't let children dictate my life, but they're my boys. We're a team." She turned to face me, entreaty on her face.
"I want you to stay, Scarlett. Not for the summer. I want you to stay forever. You and the boys. If they don't want to be here—" I stopped, not sure what to say. "We'll figure it out."
"They need time," she said, worry creasing a line between her brows.
I kissed the worry line, wishing I could wave a wand and erase everything keeping me from her. I wanted this bedroom to be ours. I wanted those boys to be mine with a visceral need I'd never expected. I wanted it all right now, and I couldn't have it. Not yet. Maybe never.
I wasn't admitting the possibility of defeat. Only delay. They needed time. That was one thing I had in abundance.
"I know. Let them settle in. Relax. Enjoy summer in the mountains. We still have a Roman emperor to find."
The worry line disappeared as Scarlett's brows shot up again. "How could I have forgotten about Vitellius? He has to be here somewhere, right? If Bryce is the one who stole the bust from Elliott—he could have stashed it somewhere else, but Heartstone Manor makes the most sense."
"We'll check in with Hawk and Griffen tomorrow, but that's my guess. And if the Vitellius is here, Elliott will show up eventually."
Scarlett took a quick sip of whiskey, surprised to find the tumbler empty again. "This isn't over, is it?"
"No, it's not."
It wouldn't be over until we found that bust and got it back to the rightful owner. Until that happened, we were all in danger, no matter how much we wanted to pretend saving Thatcher was the end of it.
Thanks to Elliott, it would never be over as long as the bust of Vitellius was still out there.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
SCARLETT
I cracked the door to my room, peering into the dimly lit hallway. The boys were out cold, exhausted after another day of playing with Nicky in the morning and swimming in the afternoon. While August never stopped moving, Thatcher liked to escape to the family gathering room to make use of the gaming console Tenn had shown him or chill in our sitting room with a book. Between the pool, the hours spent gaming or reading, and near-constant raids on the pantry, my oldest child seemed to be okay.
He was and he wasn't. I knew my boy, and he was mostly his usual self. Mostly. He had the cook and Savannah wrapped around his little finger with his shy smile and patience with the younger kids. But there was a heaviness to his eyes, a deep quiet surrounding him that I wasn't used to. I knew I couldn't fix it for him, and I tried not to hover. Parenting had been so much easier when all their hurts could be fixed with a band-aid and a kiss. This was nothing so simple.