Page 60 of One Little Kiss

That’s fine. Everything I need is right in front of me, shellshocked and sad.

“Winnie, I’m so sorry, baby. I-I didn’t think they’d go past the gate.” My hand moves up and down Weston’s back in a gentle rhythm as his body slowly releases tension.

She doesn’t speak, so I sit down beside her with Wes clinging to my chest. His terrified little face is tear stained, and my brain misfires trying to figure out how to make those assholes pay.

“Why would they do that? He’s just a baby. They knew they were scaring him, and they kept going. They surrounded me and wouldn’t let me move.” Her whispered words have me wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into my side.

“It will never happen again, Win. I swear to God, it will never happen again.”

Time speeds on around us, but we don’t move. My tiny family sits huddled together on the sofa as we process the events of the day. Wes falls asleep on me, but I make no move to clean either of us up. Right now, I need to hold them and know we’re safe.

I don’t know how long we sit in the silence as red and blue lights flash through the windows, followed by angry voices, and car doors slamming before it finally goes silent again.

The front door creaks open, and I know I’ll have to have it repaired. Leaning against the sofa cushion, I turn my head to see my entire family file in one by one.

I guess the ban is over.

CHAPTER19

WINNIE

“Winnie?”

I lift my head to find Lexi crouching down in front of me. The house is full of Westbrooks. Whispered conversations all meld together as they attempt to keep the peace.

I blink, bringing Lexi into focus.

“Winnie?” she tries again. “Come with me, huh?”

The gentle hum of the room slowly fades away.

“Actually, I need to go help Colton,” I tell her.

“Colty has Wes in his bathroom. They’re getting cleaned up. I want to get those scratches cleaned out, though, so they don’t get infected.” She points to my chest, so I glance down. Streaks of red seep through the cotton of my shirt.

Pulling at the collar, I peer down at my chest. Weston’s tiny fingernails really did some damage. My heart splinters, having physical proof of his fear.

Silently, I stand. “I’ll shower. It’ll be fine.” I walk on dead legs toward the master bedroom where I’ve been staying at Colton’s command.

“I’ll bring in some antibacterial cream and bandages. Emory is also here if you need help.”

“Thank you,” I reply numbly.

My heartbeat whooshes in my ears as I climb the stairs. I don’t even know how to process everything that happened today, but I could feel Colton’s anger, his fear, his concern. As fucked up as everything that happened today was, he was there to protect us. He was there for me.

When he told me Wes had an accident, I wasn’t surprised. I almost pissed myself, too. The body’s reaction to fear can be visceral. What shocked me was when he refused to give up Weston and opted to give him a bath himself. I’m not sure he’s ever given a toddler a bath before, but not a single person around me questioned it, and the expression on Colton’s face told me he needed to do it. He feels responsible for us being attacked at his home.

My immediate reaction was anger at Colton for putting us in this position, but I knew that wasn’t fair once I was safely back inside of his home. He didn’t hesitate to put himself between us and the danger.

I’m so confused. My body moves on autopilot through his house, and it isn’t until I’m standing in the master bathroom that I realize the shower’s running. My gaze darts to the glass enclosure, and the bits of my heart shattered by broken promises tremble with the effort of healing. Like pieces of a magnetic puzzle, they wiggle and sway, trying to become one.

Colton stands in black boxer briefs under the rainfall shower with Weston’s little head resting on his shoulder. Rocking back and forth, Colton gently sings. I recognize the melody, but it takes me a minute to place the song. He’s singing “We’re Going to Be Friends” by The White Stripes.

As if he senses me standing there, he turns and gives me a sad smile. Water cascades down his chiseled face, but I see the tears. Closing his eyes, he raises his face to the spray, and when he opens them again, he’s put a mask in place. He’s hurting. For us.

Walking toward the shower, it never occurs to me that I’m staring at a mostly naked Colton Westbrook … until it does, and nerves have me stumbling over the shower mat. Embarrassed, my gaze darts around the room.

“I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was for showering with a tiny human,” he admits, glancing down at the underwear clinging to his body.