Page 148

“These are incredible, Tristan,” I murmur. I look at the floorplan he mapped out for us. Over nine thousand square feet, six bedrooms, six bathrooms, a gym, a pool, and not one but two casitas—one for his parents and one for my mom.

It’s more than the twelve-year-old with big dreams for the future ever could have come up with, and he’s offering it to me.

And for real…not just in a dream.

“We could do this plan, which would be totally customized to what we want.” He’s standing behind me as I sit at the kitchen table, looking at his laptop screen, and he gestures toward the floorplan. “Or we could look at a few specs in the same development.”

“What’s a spec?”

“It’s when the builder builds a home on speculation it’ll sell. Sometimes they show up because deals fell through, but it’s always a new home that’s close to move-in ready,” he says.

“So no customizations?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

“Most of the custom stuff would probably already be done, but we might be able to switch out some last-minute options.”

“What’s the difference in how quickly we could move in?”

He shrugs. “I’d have to ask Kate. A fully custom home would take longer. A year or more, most likely. But the specs could be ready tomorrow. Either way, I know Ellie would still love to have us stay with her if there’s a gap between when we need to be there and when the house is ready.”

“Have Kate send you what she’s got in specs, and we’ll start there,” I suggest. “Maybe we can find one close to what we want and see what additions we can make.”

“Good idea,” he says. He pauses. “You doing okay?”

I lift a shoulder. It’s been over twenty-four hours since Miranda hung up on me, and I can’t shake the feeling that I need to try to get in touch with her again. “I’m okay. Fallon is keeping me occupied, but I’m worried.”

“I know, baby. I am, too.” He squeezes my forearm. “I spent some time looking up bone marrow donations.”

“Oh?” I ask. I know a little about it, but as a nurse at a private practice, it didn’t come up too often. “What did you learn?”

“I learned recovery is between one and seven days, and the marrow can be transported to the patient. So if Miranda is scared we’re going to demand access to our son if we donate, we can tell her we don’t even need to be in the same geographical area if I’m a match to him.”

“And how would the Aces feel about you doing this?” I ask.

He lifts a shoulder. “It’s not their concern.”

“It is their concern, Tristan. You signed a contract with them,” I remind him.

“I know,” he mutters. “I’ll talk to Adrian.”

“We can both check to see if we’re matches,” I offer.

He shakes his head. “There’s a recovery involved, and Fallon needs you.”

“I feel helpless, though,” I admit. “I want to do something.”

“You did. You reached out to Miranda, and you’re her point of contact with us. The ball is in her court now, but we can still be proactive.” He gently massages my shoulders, and I tip my neck back as I give into the relaxation.

“Mm,” I murmur.

“You better knock off those little moans right now,” he warns.

I giggle. “Or what?”

“Babe, I’m horny as hell watching you be the woman I always knew you’d become, and I still have to wait weeks .”

“My mouth isn’t off limits,” I say, and for a beat, silence engulfs us as neither of us can actually believe I just said that.

The massage stops, and Tristan’s fingers sink into my hair. He gently tugs my head back, and my eyes meet his upside down. “Then open wide because I have a snack for you.”

I giggle at his words, and my phone starts to ring at that moment, interrupting our intimate moment—and interrupting my thought process as I tried to figure out whether he was serious or not. I mean…I’m up for it if he is. I’m feeling more like myself every day as I settle into this new life, which is about to get flipped upside down in another few weeks when we move to Vegas.

He grabs my phone off the counter for me, and he hands it over to me.

Unknown Number.

I debate picking it up, and then some gut feeling has me swiping to answer. “Hello?”

“Is this Tessa Taylor?” the male voice on the other end asks.

“Yes it is,” I say, laughing as Tristan makes a show of slowly unzipping his pants.

“This is James Wesley.”

My eyes widen as I freeze, and Tristan senses my change in demeanor immediately as his brows knit together. I put the call on speaker so he can hear, too.

“Oh, hi,” I say as I think of what I know about Logan’s dad. I only met him maybe twice, but I remember how gentle he was with his son when he brought him into the office. “What can I do for you?”

He clears his throat. “Miranda…she’s terrified you’re going to take him from us, but I’m terrified we’re going to lose him without you. I told her I’d rather keep him on this Earth without us than lose him to this disease. She agreed, but she couldn’t move herself to make the call. So…here I am…to talk to you, to learn what happened, to get to know you, and to see if you can help.”

“We’re happy to help,” I say gently. “And we won’t take him from you. I know how happy and well-adjusted he is, and I know he must be terrified right now. I would never want to hurt him or you.”

“Why did you call my wife a week ago?” he asks, ignoring everything I just said. Well…maybe not ignoring it, but tucking it away for later.

“I—I’m not sure,” I stutter. “I guess I just wanted to tell her I was here if you needed anything.”

“What happened? Why’d you give him up?” James asks.

I clear my throat. “I was seventeen and my father made me.”

“But the ladies at the agency all said—”

“My father was very good at painting situations in whatever way most benefitted him,” I say, interrupting him. “I didn’t want to give up that boy, but he left me with no choice.” I hear the pain in my own voice even though I’m trying to mask it. “And now…I just want him to be happy and healthy, and if there’s anything I can do, or not do, to contribute to that, just tell me.”

“And the baby’s father?” he asks softly.

“That’s me,” Tristan says. “My name is Tristan.”

“I know a little about Tessa. Tell me something about yourself.”

Tristan glances over at me, and everything feels like it just got a hundred times more complicated.

If he tells them he’s a football player, they can look up what he makes online fairly easily even though that’s the base number and not the final amount that goes into his bank account. And then they might expect certain things.

The thought of them using Tristan for his money and stature but not allowing us to see our son presses a sort of heavy weight on my chest that I’m not sure I’ve ever felt before.

“Um…I’m six feet, five inches tall,” Tristan says.

“So that’s where Logan gets his height from,” James murmurs.

“He’s tall?” Tristan asks.

“Ninety-ninth percentile for height pretty much since he was born,” James says, and a beat of silence follows that. They’ve been with him since he was born.

I birthed him and thought I’d never see him again…and then I did and didn’t even know it.

What a tangled web.

It should have been us, but we can’t change the past. We can only forge ahead. And I can tell Tristan is antsy to get to what comes next instead of standing here making small talk when he abruptly shifts the topic.

“I would like to get tested as soon as I can to see if I’m a match for your son,” Tristan says quietly.

“We’d appreciate that very much,” James says. “I guess…let us know how it goes. If you turn out to be a full match, we’ll figure out where to go from there.”

We say goodbye and hang up, the conversation weighing heavily in the room.

Tristan glances at the clock. “It’s too late to do anything tonight, but I can go get swabbed tomorrow and start the process to see if I’m a match.”

I nod, and I’m about to add more when my phone starts to ring again.

I glance at the screen.

Tiffany Gable.

I click it off, ignoring it, but Tristan saw it too.

“What the hell do you think she wants now?” he asks.

“I have no idea,” I murmur, but I have a feeling we’ll find out soon enough.