Where We Belong (A Touch of Fate 1) - Page 83

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just that I know Dallas, and there’s no way—” I refuse to let him finish that sentence. I should have known that he wouldn’t believe me. Dallas was his best friend and confidante, and even though he fucked up in unimaginable ways, Tyson will always see him as the proverbial older brother. Cutting my losses now seems the best way to go about this because there is no way in hell I’m going to sit through anyone telling me that Dallas is a saint, and I’ve come too far to let Ty drag me back down that road. I’m a fucking idiot for even thinking this whole situation could end differently.

“GET. OUT.” My words are slow and concise, and right when he opens his mouth to respond, my mom pulls up in front of the house and Max jumps out of the car. Taking a shuddering breath, I turn away so I can wipe my eyes and I see Tyson do the same.

“Tyson!” he hollers, bouncing up the sidewalk. “Did you tell mom how much fun we had today?” Ty rushes to Max and bends down in front of him. I watch silently as his eyes flit anxiously across Max’s face, and I know exactly what he’s doing…he’s looking for the similarities that have been there all the time. He is cataloguing everything about Max that is unmistakably identical to Dallas.

“I didn’t,” he says gently, patting Max’s arm. “I thought you would want to tell her.”

“I do!” Max responds, jumping over to me. “Mom, do you want to hear what we did today?” My head nods on its own accord and my distant eyes find my mom.

Are you okay? she mouths, looking back and forth between Ty and me. I nod feebly and she pushes past us to take Max into the house. “Let your mom and Tyson finish up, and then you can tell her all about it.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Ty declares and Max turns around, offering up his pinky.

“Pinky swear?”

The quiver in Tyson’s chin is small, but I see it. “Pinky swear.” His voice cracks as he locks pinkies with the tiny person he now knows is his nephew. Max smiles, and after he walks away, Tyson turns toward me and marches right into my personal space. His eyes lock with mine, full of determination, and when he speaks, his voice is low and unwavering.

“I’m going to leave because we both need to calm down, but this is not over.” My watery eyes meet his, and I watch a tear streak down the side of his face. He cups his hand behind my neck and lowers his mouth to mine, and I wonder briefly if he can feel my resolve slipping…if he can feel my heart thundering in my chest at his close proximity.

His mouth descends but pulling away isn’t an option, because I know that this is the last time I’ll ever kiss Ty. He is so very wrong if thinks that this isn’t over. Little does he know that this is something I cannot—and will not—budge on. My eyelids drift shut, pushing out a few more tears, when his soft lips find mine. He kisses me once, twice, and a third time before he whispers, ‘I love you’ and walks out the door.

SEVEN DAYS.

It’s been seven long days since I’ve talked to Tyson, but it hasn’t been for a lack of trying on his part. I plop down on the coach, pull an afghan over my legs, and flip on the TV as I shove a bite of ice cream in my mouth. This is what I’ve done every single night since he walked out my front door.

That same night, he sent me a text that read, I’ll call you tomorrow. I ignored it, along with his call the next day. He left two voicemails, both of them pleading for me to ‘please call me back,’ which of course, I didn’t.

Tossing my head back on the couch, I growl, wondering if I’m making a terrible mistake—quite possibly the biggest mistake of my life. No, I tell myself, shoving another heap of ice cream in my mouth. I mean what the fuck did he think I was going to say when he practically called me a liar and whore all in one breath?

“He was confused,” Quinn answers, causing me to sputter at the realization that I said all of that out loud.

“He was a dick,” I retort, a little taken aback that she defended him. She shrugs once and tosses a piece of popcorn in her mouth.

“Can you blame him?” My head rears back and my hand freezes in the air, halfway to my mouth.

“Yes!” I scoff, letting the spoon clatter when I drop it in the bowl. “Yes, I can blame him. Jesus Christ, Quinn, whose side are you on?” Suddenly, I’m feeling overheated underneath the fuzzy blanket. Tossing it to the side, I take off for the kitchen, not sparing a glance in Quinn’s direction. The soft shuffle of her feet tells me she’s following me, but I don’t turn around. Opening up the cabinet, I grab a wine glass and slam the door a little too hard, causing the glasses on the shelf to clatter. I pour myself a glass of wine and chug half of it in the first sip, because Lord knows if I have to battle Quinn on this, I’m going to need some alcohol in my system. In fact, this wine may not be strong enough.

“Can I have a glass?” she asks softly, and I hand her one without making eye contact. She reaches for the bottle, filling the goblet half-full, then pulls out a chair and sits down at the table.

I can feel her eyes burning through me like a hot poker, but I refuse to turn around. I keep my eyes trained on the window as I peer into a dark canvas of emptiness. My eyes gravitate to the tent that is still pitched in the backyard from the campout, and my gut twists in a tight knot.

I miss him.

And worse than that…Max misses him. I’m definitely not winning any mother-of-the-year awards right now. Over the last five days I’ve come up with every reason in the book as to why Tyson hasn’t come over and why Max can’t call him. Last night he cried when I tucked him into bed, wanting to know if Tyson still loved him. His words shot straight through my heart, and that was the first time I truly believed that I was making a mistake. Before it had just been a fleeting thought that I was able to justify in my head as being false. But as Max sobbed over missing Ty, my heart cracked and something inside me changed.

“Are you done being an idiot yet? Because that’s how you’re acting…you do know that, right?” My head swivels in Quinn’s direction and she meets my gaze head-on.

“Fine. You want to take his side? Go on, convince me that I’m wrong.” Her eyes soften at my false bravado and she kicks a chair out, motioning for me to sit down. I fall into it with a huff and she laughs, scooting closer to me.

“Why did you get so mad at Ty?” she asks without missing a beat.

I tip my glass, draining it, and she pushes hers across the table to me.

“We’ve gone over this, Quinn.”

“Humor me.”

“Ugh. Fine,” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest, simply because it makes me feel less vulnerable. Knowing I’m about to rip open some wounds that haven’t seen the light of day in quite some time, I need all the help I can get. “Once Dallas,” I cringe at the mention of his name, “was brought into the picture, Tyson lost all faith in me. In the blink of an eye, everything I told him became a lie. He couldn’t believe that Dallas was capable of doing something so heinous, and he said so himself.”

Tags: K. L. Grayson A Touch of Fate Romance
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