“Wes, please.”
“No. Get. Off. My. Porch.” I open my clenched fists and go inside, slamming the door shut behind me harder than I meant to. It rattles the whole house and probably scared Jackson. I lock the deadbolt behind me and stride forward to go upstairs and check on Jackson.
And then I realize the boxes of valuable family heirlooms aren’t in the living room anymore.38WestonI can’t move. Not yet, not while my mind is going a million miles an hour. Scarlet wouldn’t steal them. She’s not a bad person. She’s not a con artist or a thief. She’s Scarlet, a quirky girl from Chicago who likes paranormal romance, drinking tea, and looking at the stars.
She’s the woman I love.
But the boxes…I shake my head and move through the small foyer, going to the other side of the house. The boxes came from the basement, and maybe she put them back. I run down the stairs, getting hit with cool, musty air, and pull the string light at the bottom of the stairs. The basement is cold and damp most of the time, typical of older houses in this area. We use it for storage, and the washer and dryer are down here too. I go around the stairs to the storage section, and see the boxes neatly put away. I pull one out and open it. Everything is inside.
And now I’m feeling bad for even doubting her. I put my head in my hands and let out a breath. What the hell am I doing?
“Daddy?” Jackson’s voice echoes through the house. Shaking myself, I go upstairs and find Jackson in the kitchen.
“Can we eat now? I’m hungry.”
“Of course.” Having forgotten about our food, I heat it up. Jackson only wants an egg roll anyway and asks for a piece of toast with peanut butter on it instead.
“Is Scarlet still sleeping?” he asks. “Can I bring food up to her?”
I never lied to him about his mother, and I don’t want to lie to him about Scarlet either. But—fuck—what do I say?
“She had to go visit her sister,” I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
“When will she be back?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m not sure.”
I put the groceries away while Jackson eats. I should be hungry, but my appetite is gone. I can’t get Daisy’s words out of my head. I don’t know what to believe, and the best thing is to ask Scarlet. I call her and get her voicemail.
“Scarlet, it’s Wes…call me. Please.”
I put my phone down and pace around the kitchen, feeling more and more anxious as the minutes tick by. It’s like history is repeating itself and I’m damned to live through this again and again.
To be left over and over.
But this time, it’s different. This time, I’m in love with the woman who left me. This time, there was no small relief in knowing she was gone, that our constant arguing was finally over. Daisy and I should have separated long before she left. I wouldn’t change a thing that would take Jackson away, but if things came about differently…if we at least talked about the issue we ignored and hoped would go away things might have been a lot better for all of us.
Which is why I’m not going to sit back and hope things fix themselves. Not this time around.* * *
I push open the door to Getaway, and bright sunlight spills into the dimly lit bar. Logan’s car is parked out front.
“Oh, hey, Wes,” Danielle, one of the other bartenders says, looking up from behind the bar. It’s Saturday, but the bar doesn’t open for another few hours, but one of my twin brothers is always here getting things ready for the night.
“Is Logan here?” I set Jackson down and look around for him.
Danielle shakes her head. “No, we had an issue with our hard liquor delivery, so he ran to Newport to pick it up himself.”
“Oh, bad timing on a Saturday.”
“You’re telling me. Owen is here, though. He’s in the office. Want me to get him?”
“Yeah, thanks, Danielle.”
She gives me a smile, looking a little concerned. I’ve never come in here during the day like this, so it’s obvious something is up. Danielle disappears into the office behind the bar to get Owen. I was hoping to talk to Logan because he’s a good voice of reason, but maybe Owen’s the better one to give advice on this situation. We’re the least alike, and hearing what he’d do could do me some good.
“Hey,” he says, hurrying over. “What’s going on?”
“You got a minute?”
“Of course.” He looks at Jackson. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m not sure.”
Danielle comes around the bar. “Hey, Jackson, want to play pool with me?”
“Thanks,” I tell her, and she takes Jackson’s hand, leading him across the bar to the pool table.