I scoff at the imaginary reminder. She was a woman of action. When Dad took off, she went to work. She went from being a stay-at-home mom to a mother with two jobs. When she realized she wasn’t getting anywhere, she took action. That action, swallowing the bottle of pills left over from Ezra’s dental surgery several years before, left her dead and the two of us parentless.
Ezra predicted Dad would come back, but he never did.
I’ve heard more than once that men go after women like their mothers and women look for men like their fathers. Ezra has avoided that fate by not getting into relationships at all, but true to that prediction, I clung to Ty Penman like he was my salvation. I welcomed him back into open arms on more than one occasion. That was, until the anger issues got out of control. One day, I told him I couldn’t live like that anymore and asked him to leave. I never imagined he’d stay gone forever. It wasn’t unusual for him to leave for a few weeks at a time, but he’d been gone for years. Knox was barely six months old at the time. He’s five now. We haven’t seen or heard from him since. See? Just like my dad.
I cry harder when I feel a warm hand on my back. Ezra may be distant more than usual these days, but he’s always there for me when I’m feeling lost and desperate.
“What’s wrong, little man?”
I jerk up at the sound of my brother’s voice still across the room.
With a sad look in his eyes, Knox is standing beside me.
“Hi, honey,” I tell him, quickly swiping at the tears streaming down my cheeks.
His own little eyes start to swell with tears, and I pull him to my chest.
“It’s fine, sweet boy,” I promise him. “Everything is fine.”
Lying to my kids comes easier than it ever should, but my adult worries aren’t their concern.
“You’re crying, Momma,” he says, his words getting lost in my t-shirt.
“It’s fine,” I tell him again. “I promise. Everything is fine.”
When he pulls back, I have to look away from the despair in his eyes. In this moment, I’m grateful he never had to see exactly who his father was. Ty would tell me to stop crying and fucking get over it. He could be the cause of all of our problems and wouldn’t bother to lift a hand to correct any of it.
All I see right now is worry and compassion in my son’s eyes.
“Let’s go to bed,” I tell him as I stand from the sofa.
I pick him up, balancing him on my hip as I leave the room.
Ezra doesn’t say anything to try to stop me, and I’m grateful for that.
He’s given me so much already, but his apathy tonight leaves me feeling less than loved.
I hold on to my little boy, cradling him to my chest as I climb into the bed. I don’t bother with changing my clothes until after he falls asleep.
The tomorrows are getting harder and harder to face, but I’m lucky to have three amazing kids. They keep me fighting. They keep me grounded.
Unlike my own mother, they keep me alive.
Chapter 4
Finnegan
“You’re not just saying that to be nice?” I ask, running my fingers through my thick hair.
“What?” she asks. She seems extremely distracted this morning, and I know it has more to do with her than my proximity.
“My hair color. You really like it?”
“Almost as much as I like your accent.”
I give her an easy smile. She seemed out of sorts when I walked in this morning, and I’ve made it my mission to change the trajectory of her day before she leaves the gym. A woman as gorgeous as her not smiling is a travesty.
“Yeah?” I ask, my own grin widening.
“Are you the type of man that needs compliments to function?”
I love the playfulness in her tone, and I would probably fall head over heels in love with this woman if she didn’t seem so damned distracted today.
“As much as the next person,” I say with a lazy shrug of my shoulders. “How do you feel about them?”
“Men who like compliments?” She shakes her head. “That’s a lot of work.”
“Compliments, Kendall. How do you like compliments?”
She pauses for a long moment, her eyes searching mine before she responds. “I like genuine people, Finnegan.”
“Finn,” I say. “My friends call me Finn.”
“Is that what we are? Friends?”
I give her a wider smile. “Of course we’re friends.”
“I’ve never been friends with a Scottish man before.”
My smile immediately fades away, but then she bites the corner of her mouth. My eyes narrow to slits.
“I’m not Scottish.”
A sweet chuckle escapes her lips.
“But you knew that, didn’t you?”
“What do you mean? Are you British?”
A rumbled growl escapes my lips, and she looks immensely giddy at my reaction, her eyes locked on my lips.