My throat thickens. I clear it. “Not only that. His mom passed away, so I’m”—fuck, why does my voice keep cracking?—“I’m supposed to take him. Full time, I mean. I’m going to ask for full custody if the paternity test comes back positive.”
Her forehead creases, and her lips part. Before I know what she’s doing, she’s closing the gap between us and wrapping an arm around my neck and pulling me in for a quick, fierce hug.
How did I forget how fierce this girl could be?
Her scent surrounds me. Something inside my torso, my dead center, loosens at the familiar, comforting way her body presses into mine. Without thinking, I bury my head in the crook of her neck and take a deep, shaking breath, my arm somehow finding its way around her middle.
She’s warm and soft, and shit, I’d sell my soul to Satan if he’d make her glide her fingertips tenderly through the hair at the nape of my neck, just how she used to.
I sincerely hope I don’t smell too bad. I was sweating like a hooker in church during my workout. And let’s not forget about the puke.
“How about this,” Amelia murmurs in my ear. “I’ll come up for one drink. One. Okay?”
I nod, too overwhelmed with relief to respond for a full heartbeat. “Mmfkay,” I say into her neck, my stubble catching on her skin.
A tremor vibrates through the muscle halfway between her spine and side.
Amelia Fox does not like the feel of my hands on her. Not anymore.
That road leads nowhere, so it’s one I sure as hell ain’t gonna go down.
“You want a ride?” I straighten and look at the idling Mazda. “Is that—?”
“An Uber? Yeah. My car . . .” She shakes her head. “I’ll take that ride. Just let me tell this guy real quick that he can go.”
I hand Amelia her vodka soda with a slice of lime, and her brows shoot up.
“Take a sip,” I say, wiping the condensation from the glass on my shorts. “Lemme know if I got it right.”
Amelia sips, making a noise of appreciation that makes my skin tighten. I blame it on the fans whirring silently over our heads; it’s gotten warmer this afternoon, sunlight slanting through the screens, and the air would be almost soupy without some movement.
We’re on my back porch. Amelia’s taken a seat in one of the rocking chairs facing the view. My house overlooks a dramatic swath of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the slopes so tall and the sky so big it takes your breath away.
But I don’t think the mountains or the sky have anything to do with the squeeze in my lungs right now.
“Perfect.” Amelia smacks her lips. The fans make a tendril of dark hair feather across her forehead. She doesn’t touch it, but I want to. “This is just right, Rhett. Thank you. How’d you know I drink vodka sodas?”
Lifting a shoulder, I fall into the rocking chair beside hers with a small groan. My hip flexors always tighten up after a workout. “Lucky guess. Saw you drinking something see-through at the engagement party and knew it had to be either club soda or tonic. Gin or vodka. You grabbed vodka at the liquor store, and I remembered you don’t have much of a sweet tooth, so tonic was out.”
Amelia blinks, eyes flicking to her drink, then back up to my face. “That’s thoughtful of you.”
I bring my own glass to my lips and try my very best not to polish off my whiskey in a single gulp. I wince at the delicious bite of the liquor on my tongue. “I’m a thoughtful guy. Except when it comes to my own flesh and blood, apparently.”
“Rhett, go easy on yourself,” she says, frowning. “You said you just found out about your son. Tell me what happened.”
I do. I set my whiskey down, and I tell her everything. Getting the words out is easier and harder than I thought it would be. Amelia listens intently, glass sweating in her hand as she nods, eyes kind, encouraging me to keep going when I get to the really bad parts and I want to stop. Panic threatens to overwhelm the dam inside my chest. When it finally spills over, I fold my body in half to keep the flood contained. She reaches out and glides a hand over my shoulder blades.
“How the fuck am I gonna do this, Amelia?” I ask, elbows digging into my thighs. Thumbs digging into my eye sockets.
“First, take a deep breath,” she replies, pressing her palm to the center of my back, right between the blades. “That’s it. Now take another.”
I sit up, making her hand fall away, and immediately my pulse starts to thump again.
I swipe my whiskey off the side table and knock the rest of it back. Fire spreads down my throat and through my chest, cinnamon-y and sweet.