Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC 8)

“No, I—”

Hands on my face silenced me. A gentle, barely there touch. His palms were cool and felt almost nice against all of the agony.

“Lizzie, this is not a debate,” he murmured. “You’re not in any kind of state to argue. Beyond that, arguing is takin’ up too much energy. You’re in pain. You need to sleep. Need to trust that I’m gonna take care of your kids.”

Trust.

He wanted me to trust him.

With everything I had left in this world.

“Okay,” I whispered, submitting everything to this man I had promised myself I’d never truly surrender to.

His lips touched mine. “Sleep.”“How you feelin’, babe?”

The words were spoken softly, gently, as close to a whisper as the husky voice was capable of.

Despite this, I sat upright in bed quickly, yanking the covers up. I’d been awake to hear the door opening and closing, but for some reason, I hadn’t computed the silent way in which it was done. I’d just assumed it was one of my children, coming to jump into bed with me. Although it was only really Lily who did that these days. Although he still participated in our movie nights that consisted of all the snacks they weren’t usually allowed and more than one fight over which movie would be playing for the night, Jack was getting much too old to snuggle with his mother.

But it wasn’t my son or daughter in my room this morning, it was Kace. Carrying a cup of coffee and a plate of what looked like dry toast.

Light was barely peeking through the blinds in my bedroom, which meant he’d either arrived here before dawn or he had slept here.

Although that scared me, I really hoped he had slept here because my memory of yesterday was spotty at best. There had been changes in the cool compress on my head. Someone feeding me water—someone who must’ve been Kace upon reflection—small, cool hands in my palm, kisses on my cheek, likely Lily.

But there was no memory of me picking them up from school, fixing them afternoon snacks, helping them with their homework or making them dinner. Of course there weren’t memories of that. Because I hadn’t done any of that.

“The kids?” I asked Kace, ignoring his question. I felt like shit. But like a human, at least. Not a giant ball of pressure, scared to move an inch.

I’d probably be feeling the effects of this migraine for a few days at the very least, though, more likely a full week due to the severity.

“Fine,” he replied, sitting on the bed and pushing the hair from my face. His brow was knitted in worry. I didn’t like it. There was a tenderness to it.

“They’re worried about their mother, of course, but seem to trust me to take care of them. Though Jack has been watching me like a hawk,” he continued. “I think he was waiting for me to slip up in any kind of way.” He chuckled. “So I did my best to make sure I didn’t. Even cooked them enchiladas. They’re famous. With everyone I’ve ever made them for, at least. And I stuffed a bunch of veggies in them.”

I tried to imagine Kace in my kitchen, cooking for my kids. Him driving in the car with them, asking them about their day. A part of me was angry that I’d missed it. I was curious about what Kace looked like in that setting. In my setting.

Then I worried about what they might’ve thought, having a strange man suddenly taking up duties only their father had done previously.

“Now you didn’t answer my question,” Kace probed gently.

Instead of replying, I sat up in bed, hiding my slight wince as I did so, reaching for the coffee that would give me the wits I needed to navigate this conversation.

It was hot, perfect, just the way I liked it. Black. Two sugars. I couldn’t remember making coffee with Kace, so it made no sense that he knew how I took it, yet he did.

“You need to eat something,” he suggested. “Could only get water into you yesterday.”

More worry in his voice.

I forced my walls up, the ones that came down with the vision of him eating dinner with my children.

“I know what I need,” I said, voice cold. “Thank you, for taking care of me yesterday, for taking care of the kids. I appreciate it. But I can take it from here.”

Kace wanted to argue. I could see that, clear as day, even though it was only early morning. He wanted to take care of me. Didn’t like to see me in pain and wanted to shoulder responsibilities that weren’t his.

But he didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he brushed the back of his fingers against my jaw and stood up. “Okay, baby. You win,” he said. “But soon, you’re gonna get tired of holding that hand up, the one you’re usin’ to push me away. You’re gonna use it to hold on, to pull me in. I’ll wait.”