Page 5

Five

West

“Wait here a second, kid,” I order quietly as I move into the dressing room—this being different than the locker room where the press congregate for interviews.

Different because it’s where we all shower and change, and the last thing the kid needs to see is a bunch of naked dudes.

I watch him nod then lean back against the wall.

Good.

I move straight to my stall, rip off the rest of my gear, ignoring the curious look that Huddy tosses my way, and get dressed in record time.

“You good?” he asks as I yank up a pair of sweats, not bothering to take the time to put my suit back on.

I’ll get the rest of my shit tomorrow.

Sneakers on, keys and wallet in my pockets, jacket in my hand.

“I’m good,” I mutter.

I smell like shit and need a shower like I need my next breath, but I’ve been worse.

I move back out into the hall before anyone else can stop me and find that the kid hasn’t moved.

Belle has, though.

She’s standing between her son and the door.

I consider my options then start walking back down the hall.

“Are we supposed to just keep trailing you like puppies?” she asks, her tone all attitude. “Or are you going to give me my keys back?”

I turn the corner, shove open a door, and nod to the kid. “Bathroom.”

His eyes fill with guilt, telling me that what he’d told his mom outside was a lie. But he steps inside, closes the door, and I back up, leaning against the opposite wall.

A hand appears in front of my face.

“Keys,” Belle demands.

The toilet flushes, and I hear the sink go. Good kid. Trained well.

“You going to tell me why he has my eyes if he’s not mine?”

Her eyes deliberately avoid mine.

Same as I deliberately keep her keys in my pocket.

The door opens, and I glance down at the kid. “Good?”

He nods.

Belle sighs.

I start walking.

Only, when I push out the door, I don’t lead us back to Belle’s piece-of-shit car. I head straight for my SUV.

“What are you doing, West?” she snaps.

“You came all this way, after all these years pulling this shi—” She stiffens and flicks her gaze to the side. To the kid. “ Stuff ,” I correct. “And it was important enough to come here now, after”—I flick my brows up—“ everything that went down between us…”

She sucks in a breath.

“Since you did all that”—I hold her eyes—“we’re going to talk about it. And we can’t do it in a parking lot.”

“I—”

“It’s late. I’m beat. Your kid needs to get horizontal. He can do that in the spare room at my place, or he can do it at your place, but I’ll drive you both there then take off when it’s sorted.”

“What about my car?”

She makes a good point.

It would make sense for her to drive her car where we’re going to talk. But we need to actually talk . Which means I can’t let her drive on her own, otherwise she’s likely to disappear again and the next time she re appears, it’ll be with something worse than a question and a kid who supposedly isn’t mine but who has my eyes.

“I’ll have someone get it back to wherever you end up tonight.”

Even if that’s me taking an Uber back here and driving the POS to her place.

Then, before she can argue any further, I hit the locks for my car, open the back door for the kid. Quinn, to his credit, glances at his mom.

Christ, she’s beautiful.

And furious.

But she tables the anger and jerks her head toward the open door.

Only then does Quinn hop into the back seat, and I see him reach for the belt, buckle up.

Good kid.

I shut the door, glance back at her and lift my eyebrows.

She sighs then stomps around the back of my SUV and climbs into the front seat, slamming the door hard enough that the entire vehicle rocks. My lips twitch.

When she used to have an attitude like this, I’d draw her close and kiss her until she stopped being mad. I wasn’t all that good at it back then, the kissing, the sex, but I learned how to take care of her, learned what she liked, learned how to hold off getting my pleasure before she got hers.

I reckon I can kiss a lot better nowadays.

And that I’d be a lot better at giving her pleasure before losing hold on mine.

Shoving that thought down, I yank open my door, climb inside.

“Your place or mine?”

There’s a sudden burst of tension, coming from both the front seat and back, but Belle’s voice is quiet when she says, “Yours.”

I wait a beat, wonder if either of them will say anything else.

When they don’t, I turn on the ignition and pull out of the garage, driving out of the downtown area and up into the rolling green hills. She’s staring out the window, and not a word is spoken by either of them as I go—though, I think for Quinn’s sake, that’s mostly because his nose is buried in his phone, the flashes of light from the back seat telling me that he’s playing a game. In Belle’s silence, I can’t read anything aside from pissed, but I don’t miss that as each mile passes, the tension in her body ratchets up until she’s a fucking statue in the passenger’s seat.

Pissed and…something else I haven’t teased out yet.

I hit the clicker to open the garage, pull inside, and shut off the ignition.

Then I’m leading them into my house.

“There’s an Xbox in the family room,” I say, pointing across the hall. “If you and your mom are both cool with it, you can play while your mom and I talk.” I walk to the pantry, push open the door, and flick on the lights. “Help yourself to any food in here or”—I nod at the fridge—“there. Drinks are in the door of the fridge in the island.”

Quinn’s eyes are wide then he turns to his mom and I know he’s seeing the same thing I am—a woman who looks freaked the fuck out. “Maybe I should stay while you two are talking,” he whispers.

Good kid. Smart kid.

“Up to your mom,” I say going to the fridge and grabbing out two chocolate milks and a Diet Coke. I offer him one before I set the Diet Coke in front of Belle on the counter.

“ You drink chocolate milk?” he asks, mouth dropping open.

“Best post-game snack on the planet,” I say, shoving the straw in and drinking deeply. “Nice that it doesn’t taste bad either.”

He grins, starts in on his own milk.

Pop!

I turn, see that Belle has tabled her freakout and is drinking from the can. With a quiet “Ah!” she sets it on the counter then she nods at Quinn. “No first-person shooters,” she says softly, and it takes me a moment to realize she’s talking about the type of game he’s allowed to play. “But free rein on the rest of the Xbox.”

“Really?” he asks, eyes lighting up.

Her mouth hitches up. “Really.” He starts to turn for the other room, pauses when she adds, “So long as you promise that you’ll put it down when you get tired and sprawl out on the couch.”

I don’t comment as he nods.

I also don’t comment on the fact that her words indicate this conversation is going to take a while.

I just drink my chocolate milk.

And I wait.