He glanced past her into the house. “Where is he?”
“Asleep. He was tired, so I bathed him and put him to bed about twenty minutes ago.”
“Can I see him?”
“Of course.” The night he’d shown up at her house, insisting to see Joss, flashed through her mind. “He’s missed you, Trace. So much.”
His eyes cut to her. “Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
His jaw clenched. “Because it’s not true.”
“It is true. He’s asked about you repeatedly. He wants to know where you are.”
* * *
Trace took a deep breath. “What’d you tell him?”
“That you had to go home to Atlanta.”
Trace nodded. He had had to go to Atlanta. Or so he’d told himself. Mainly, he’d had to get away because he’d felt such guilt over Joss. Like such a failure to his son.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
Chrissie’s words cut into his thoughts.
“Why?”
She gave a trembling smile. “Why not?”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but she stepped aside and motioned for him to enter her house. He did so before she changed her mind. Before he changed his mind and took off after his father’s hired car.
“You can go to his room if you want.”
Her voice was wobbly and Trace found himself turning to look at her instead.
“I leave next week.”
She nodded as if she understood, but he wasn’t sure she did. Still, he needed to see Joss, to reassure himself that he was okay. Since Agnes’s dramatic implication, he’d had a sick feeling in his stomach and he needed to see Joss to convince himself that he really was okay.
His nightlight illuminating his precious face, Joss slept on his car bed, snuggled up in his covers, and looking at peace with the world.
Just seeing him wasn’t enough.
Trace went to the bed, sat on the edge, and touched Joss’s face, brushing his finger over his soft cheek.
The little boy’s eyes opened and Trace felt guilt for waking him.
“Daddy?”
His heart squeezed.
“I’m here, Joss.” He touched Joss’s fingers, then held his hand in his.
“Where did you go?”
“Atlanta.”