Side Hustle (Dawson Family 3)

“I figured he would. I can show you to the guest room upstairs if you’d like.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” We go upstairs.

“This used to be Quinn’s room, and when she lived in Chicago, she’d come and stay for the weekend. There should be face wash and soap in the bathroom if you need any.”

“Thank you.”

Mrs. Dawson looks at me and smiles. “And thank you, Scarlet, for making my Weston happy again.”

Don’t thank me yet, lady.* * *

Wes rolls over and pulls me to him. The rough skin on the palm of his hand slides under my shirt and over my stomach, and I inhale deeply, not opening my eyes. It’s early in the morning, and we’re still at his parents’ house.

He didn’t talk about what happened when he came in last night. He looked tired and worn and not even his mom questioned him on it. I’ve been dying to ask, but I’m going on the whole no news is good news thing.

Once we were in bed together, Wes kissed me hard and made love to me. I know he’s worried this whole mess with Daisy will send me running, but he has nothing to worry about. The expectation of finding someone with no baggage, with nothing from their past that could come back to haunt them, is ridiculous. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. We’ve all had the best-laid plans come crashing down.

It’s not the past that makes up who you are. It’s how you continue forward with your life. Which is why I know we can work out. I’m not the same girl I was when I first laid eyes on him, when my only thought was oh shit, both because I knew he was the right amount of brooding and gorgeous to get under my skin and because he wasn’t the rich asshole I thought I’d be working for.

And even if I had started working for Quinn and Archer…I don’t think I would have gone through with things. They’re both good fucking people. Quinn is my friend now.

I swallow hard and let out a shaky breath. I fell in love with Weston, but it’s deeper than that. There’s Jackson, of course, and the rest of the Dawsons. I love that whole family.

The toilet flushes in the jack-and-jill bathroom, and I sit up, peering in. Jackson steps onto a stool at the sink to wash his hands. He doesn’t know we’re here. I wait until he’s drying his hands to whisper his name. He does a double-take and then runs in, jumping on the bed.

“Shhh,” I whisper. “Your dad is still sleeping.”

Jackson hugs me and then squirms out of bed, running back into his room and returning with Ray, who’s looking more tattered and worn as each day goes by.

“He told me he gets lonely,” Jackson says, situating the unicorn under the covers with us. He’s sandwiched between Weston and me, and Wes wakes up with a smile.

“Hey, buddy.”

“What are you doing here, Daddy?”

“I missed you too much.” Wes wraps his muscular arms around his son, making Jackson look so small nestled against Wes’s large frame. “Did you have fun with Grammy and Papa?”

“Yes! We made cake and I helped change a poopy diaper,” he says proudly. “And I was the only one who got Emma to stop crying.”

“You’re a good cousin,” I tell him, pulling the blankets up over all of us. We lay in bed for a few more minutes. Then Jackson says he’s hungry and gets crabby when Wes tells him to let us go back to sleep.

“Go find Grammy,” Wes mumbles, turning over. “You’re at her house.”

“I want you,” Jackson whines.

“I’ll take him down,” I offer.

“You don’t have to,” Wes grumbles. “Jackson, it’s early. Lay back down.”

That starts a crying fit and Wes gets up with a huff. It’s not even seven AM yet, and the house is quiet. Well, until we go into the kitchen. Then all four dogs come running, thinking we’re going to feed them breakfast. Wes lets them out and plugs in the coffee pot.

“Want any?” he asks, getting out a mug.

I shake my head. “I’ll have tea instead if there is any.”

Wes puts on a kettle and turns on cartoons for Jackson, who cuddles up with a blanket on the living room couch and isn’t interested in breakfast anymore. But we’re already up, so we might as well eat.

“Morning,” Mrs. Dawson says, coming into the kitchen a few minutes later. She looks at the cereal we’re eating and shakes her head. “I’m going to make you a real breakfast.”

“You don’t have to,” I tell her, rather enjoying my Crackling Oats.

“There’s no point in arguing,” Wes whisper-talks. “Food is love in Mom’s eyes.”

“Food is comforting, and I figured after last night you could use a little extra comfort.” She pulls eggs and bacon from the fridge and looks at Wes, waiting for him to explain things.