Page 6

SIMON

I don’t like the way Myra’s looking at me. Like she can see the truth I work so hard to hide. The reality I crisscross the country to escape.

“Well...” I clear my throat, trying to buy myself time. The answer to her question is not an easy one, and I don’t enjoy discussing the history surrounding it. But for some reason, I made a confession that would lead us right here. Take us to this exact spot.

“Crap. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.” Her eyes drop to her lap. “I don’t like people asking me those sorts of questions. I don’t know why I’m asking you.”

I know why I want to think she’s asking me these questions. I want to believe Myra would like to get to know me. Spend time with me. I don’t for a second believe that’s the case, but in a perfect world...

So, on the off chance my world has recently become a little more perfect, I take a deep breath, blowing it back out before starting the story I’ve been running from for years.

“I was with a woman a long time ago.” I slide my plate onto the small table at my side, appetite lost to the bitterness in my gut. “She had a son.”

I’d thought I finally found the family I’d been searching for. That my days of being discarded and alone were over.

I was very fucking wrong.

When I glance up, I could swear Myra is closer than she was a second ago, and it keeps my mouth moving in spite of the tightness in my chest.

“I got very attached to her son, so when she ended things, it was really hard for me.” I omit the majority of the story, focusing on the primary reason I’m not sure what my brothers have will ever grace my life.

“Near the end, I liked that little boy a million times more than I liked her.” I meet Myra’s gaze.

“And I would’ve stayed with her because of that.

” It’s a shameful truth, but it is what it is.

“I would have made both of us miserable to stay in that kid’s life. ”

I know what it feels like as a kid when someone walks away from you without looking back. How much it can fuck you up when the people who brought you into this world leave you to fend for yourself. And I never wanted to do that to my kids. Including the one I didn’t have a part in creating.

When it was forced on me, everything I thought I could be crashed down. It left me broken. Doubting myself. Questioning my ability to be the kind of parent I swore I’d be.

And positive I’d never put a kid—or myself—in that position again.

I’m so wrapped up in the loss and guilt and regret of that time, I don’t notice Myra’s right beside me until one hand comes to rest on my arm.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” Her words are simple, but filled with compassion.

I try to smile, hoping to ease the upset pinching her brows. Myra’s been through enough. She doesn’t need to wade through my shit too. “So am I.” I pull in a breath, trying to ease the weight on my chest. “But all I can do is learn from it and adjust my life accordingly.”

Myra’s brows weave closer. “Did you? Learn from it?”

I don’t know how to answer that. In some ways, yes. I learned I’m not cut out for anything except forever, especially when kids are involved. But have I figured out how to move forward with that knowledge?

No. In fact, I did the opposite of moving forward.

I ran the fuck away.

A bitter chuckle passes through my lips. “I did learn, but not sure how much good it did me.”

Myra’s eyes move over my face, tracing my features.

“Learning is supposed to be the whole point of life, but not everything we find out is good.” Myra’s lips press into a flat line as her eyes drop to where her hand rests on my arm.

One finger lightly traces the dark lines inked into my skin.

“I was so excited to be free. To get away from the oppression. But it’s not as easy to navigate as I expected. ”

I don’t like the sadness in her voice. It makes me want to comfort her. To reassure her. “It takes time, Myra. It’s only been a year.”

Her blue eyes lift to my face. “How long has it been since that woman broke up with you?”

Fuck.

I shake my head. “What I went through and what you went through are two completely different things.”

“Are they?” Myra almost sounds offended that I’m not comparing my little breakup with the complete dismantling of life as she knew it. “You lived your life one way, and in the blink of an eye, it changed.”

“It was only my life for three years.” I point out the huge timeline discrepancy, feeling like it’s going to win this little difference of opinions we have.

Myra’s eyes widen. “You were with her for three years ?” Her expression softens. “In her son’s life for three years? And then she just expected you to walk away?”

The outrage in Myra’s tone settles a little bit of the pain I still feel over all that happened.

“That’s not exactly what happened. She decided we were done—that I wasn’t what she was looking for—and cut me off completely.

It was at a time when I was leaning a little more toward the wrong side of the law, and I knew if I tried to push things—to fight to keep seeing her son—she could make life very fucking hard for me.

” I knew this, because she flat out told me.

If I tried to maintain any contact with her son, she would call the cops and tell them what I—and my brothers—were doing.

At the time I was pissed. Hurt. Hated her for doing what she did.

Now, with the lens of time and distance to see through, I can see why she might have done what she did. It doesn’t make it any less painful. If anything, it made it worse. Shifted the weight of anger and blame from her shoulders and put it on mine.

Myra’s mouth drops open and she makes a weird squeaking sound.

After blinking twice, she sits straighter, the hand on my arm curling against my skin to grip me tight.

“Does she have any idea how fucking hard it is to find a man who wants to be a decent father? To find someone selfless enough to put kids first?”

Now it’s my turn to blink. I know Myra isn’t a shrinking violet. She’s got more spine than most men I know. I’m still a little surprised at the venom in her voice. The murderous intent in her expression. “I don’t know what she knows. This happened a long time ago.”

Myra runs her tongue across the white line of her teeth, snapping it free as her nostrils flare. “I hope she’s fucking miserable.”

I shake my head. “I don’t. If she’s miserable her son’s probably miserable, and he doesn’t deserve that.” I don’t really give a shit about Lenore or how she’s doing. Her happiness is irrelevant to me outside of how it will affect the little boy—now a teenager—I loved like my own.

Myra pulls in a slow breath, easing it out of her lungs. “She’s an idiot for letting you go.”

The compliment sits warm in my chest even though it doesn’t quite fit. I should tell Myra why Lenore leaving me probably wasn’t the wrong decision, but I’m sick of talking about it. Sick of thinking about it. Sick of circling to the past yet again.

Especially when I can’t leave it behind. When I can’t run from the ache it creates.

“You say that.” I motion to her forgotten spaghetti. “But considering you haven’t eaten much of your dinner, you must not be too impressed with me, either.”

My attempt to redirect the conversation works, because Myra’s eyes drift to where her abandoned plate sits on the end table at the other end of the couch. “I forgot we were eating.”

I study her as she picks up her plate and dutifully takes another bite. “You forget to eat a lot?”

I don’t like that Myra hasn’t figured out how to take care of herself. She deserves to focus on herself—what she wants and needs—after spending so many years taking care of a prick who wasn’t good enough to look at her face, let alone touch her skin.

Fucker. I hope he’s having a real nice time in prison. Making a lot of friends. With benefits.

Myra sighs. “It’s not really that I forget.” She takes a big bite of garlic bread. “I just get busy and distracted and before I know it, it’s seven or eight at night.”

I angle a brow at her. “You literally just described forgetting to eat.”

Her lips curve in a hint of a smile. “You weren’t supposed to point that out.”

“Is that how this is going to be? I made us dinner and I still can’t call you out on your bullshit?” I shake my head, letting a teasing smile work onto my lips. “That hardly seems fair.”

Myra rolls her eyes, but the smile on her face holds. “If you plan to call me out on my bullshit, you’re going to be very busy.”

“Good.”

Her eyes jump to where I sit. “Good?”

“Life’s too short to give up your bullshit.” I shrug. “Being easy never got anyone anywhere. So be as difficult and contradictory as you want.”

Myra’s head angles, eyes narrowing like she’s trying to figure me out. “Shouldn’t you be following your own advice?” Myra takes another bite of her dinner. “Because you’re about the most agreeable person I’ve ever met.”

“There’s some things I get wound up about and there are some things I don’t.” I shrug. “Again, life is short. Fight about what matters and let the rest go.”

Myra twirls her fork in the pasta remaining on her plate. “You’re full of wisdom tonight, are you?”

I huff out a laugh. “No one has ever called me wise, I can promise you that.”

“You’re clearly not unwise .” Myra pulls her fork free, using it to gesture around.

“I’m pretty sure this camper cost more than my house.

Add on your truck, and obviously you’re not hurting financially.

You get to see all sorts of cool places instead of being stuck on a dead-end street all the time.

” She stabs her fork back into the pasta.

“And you remember to eat dinner every night, so you’re definitely wiser than I am. ”

She’s given me an opportunity I should refuse. An opening I shouldn’t take. Especially on the tail of the conversation we just had.

But I’m weak. Always have been when it comes to things like this.

When it comes to her .