by Sydney Logan
“Today’s the second visit. That’s why I’m here. I just wanted to give them space. Give Ryder the chance to really reconnect with his mother without me hovering.”
Dana shakes her head. “Jackson is a fool. Why would he let that woman anywhere near his kid?”
“That woman is his mother.”
“She LEFT!”
I nod tiredly. The truth is, I just don’t have the energy to argue about this. And I certainly don’t want to defend Natasha. I glance at my phone, wondering how the visitation is going. Jackson hasn’t called or texted, so I can only assume she showed up and all is well.
I hope all is well.
“My brother loves you, too, you know.”
This snaps me back to reality.
“How do you know that?”
Dana grins. “Because I have eyes, Olivia. It was obvious that night at the gala. Even my parents noticed. They approve, by the way.”
“Anyone has to be an improvement after Natasha, right?” Angel grins.
“True,” she says with a laugh. “But they really do. They see the difference you’ve made in Jackson’s life. And in Ryder’s. They’re grateful, Liv. And so am I.”
Just then, I get a text from Jackson.
Come home.
I glance at the time. Visitation can’t be over already.
Unless . . .
“I’ve got to go.”
“What’s wrong?”
I reach into my wallet for some cash and toss it on the table before scrambling to my feet. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Jackson just said to come home.”
“Text us when you get there!”
I promise I will before flying out the door.
The house is quiet as I make my way inside. Finding the living room empty, I walk down the hallway to Ryder’s bedroom.
It’s empty, too.
Taking a deep breath, I drop my bag in my bedroom before heading to Jackson’s study. I gently open the door to find them there. Jackson’s on his couch, with Ryder sleeping in his arms.
“Jackson,” I whisper.
His bleak eyes break my heart, but the fear and exhaustion on his face disappears as I slowly walk into the room.
“What happened?” I mouth silently.
Jackson just shakes his head as he gazes down at his sleeping boy. Despite our whispers, Ryder starts to wiggle in his arms, and the little boy’s eyes pop open. He smiles softly when he sees me.
“Hi, ‘Livia.”
“Hi, buddy.”
“Did you bring Mommy with you?”
Jackson closes his eyes and kisses the top of Ryder’s head.
“No, sweetheart. But I saw Aunt Dana. She told me to tell you that she loves you.”
“I love Aunt Dana,” he says, his voice soft. “And I love Daddy and Hazel and ‘Livia.”
“I love you, too, buddy.”
“I know. I want you to be my mommy.”
The simplicity and innocence of his request nearly knocks me breathless. Be my mommy. Just like that. As if he’s asking for an extra scoop of ice cream or ketchup for his chicken nuggets.
Be my mommy.
“You love me. You keep your promise. You always come home.”
And that’s when I realize.
Natasha didn’t show.
Jackson’s eyes find mine, and he gives a gentle nod.
I hate her. I hate her so much.
Without a word, Jackson cradles Ryder against his shoulder as he carries his son to his bedroom. I pull back the covers as Jackson gently lays him against the pillow. We kiss his forehead and tuck him in, and within seconds, his soft snores fill the air.
Unable to leave him, the two of us linger in the doorway. Jackson pulls me into his arms, and I rest my head against his chest as his warmth floods me.
“Did she at least call?”
“She did. Said she was sick.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I don’t know.”
We stand there, marveling at the little boy whose heart has been broken all over again, by the woman who’s supposed to love him most.
“He was very calm. No tantrum. No tears. He just kept saying it was okay. That Daddy and ‘Livia and Hazel love him, and that ‘Livia always comes home. Almost like he expected her to let him down.” Jackson’s voice is rough with emotion. “It broke my heart. My five-year-old wasn’t at all surprised that his mother didn’t keep her word.”
With tears in my eyes, I lift my head and gaze at him.
“You’re such a good father, Jackson. Never doubt that.”
“I wasn’t, though. I wasn’t a good father at all. Not until you showed me how to be.”
Tears trickle down my cheeks as I shake my head.
“I mean it, Olivia. You’ve taught me how to be a better father. The only reason my son didn’t have a complete meltdown tonight is because you always come home. You heard him. He wants you to be his mommy. You. He loves you so much.”
Jackson takes me by the hand and leads me to my bedroom. My heart thunders as he slowly closes the door and gently presses me against the cold wood.
“My son loves you. And I love you. So much.”
I gasp softly as fresh tears stream down my face. Jackson’s eyes grow soft as he tenderly cups my cheek. He gazes at me, his face a mixture of sadness, desire, and love. My entire body trembles as his hands ghost down my arms and along my ribs. Leaning close, he lets his lips tenderly brush against my ear, causing me to moan as he makes a trail down my throat and along my cheek, until his lips finally rest just inches from mine.
“I love you,” he whispers in the darkness.
“I love you, too.”
The words are out before I can stop them. The room is dim, but I can still see the smile on his face. Very gently, I wrap my arms around his neck, letting my fingers drift through his hair as his lips continue to hover close to mine.
“Let me kiss you,” Jackson pleads.
He’s such a gentleman. He knows how important it is to me for us to wait. To keep our distance. To not tempt fate. Because we both know, even the most innocent kiss could erupt into more, and I’m just not ready for more.
Not until he’s divorced.
But I’m weak.
And I’m in love.
“Kiss me, Jackson.”
We both whimper when his mouth molds to mine.
It’s after midnight when Jackson kisses me one last time and heads to his bedroom. He didn’t ask to stay in mine, and he didn’t invite me to his. I’m thankful, because I don’t know that I would’ve had the strength to say no.
Too restless to sleep, I make myself a cup of tea and grab my phone before heading out to the terrace. It’s a beautiful, clear night, and in the distance I can see the lights of the AT&T Building, affectionately called the Batman Building by us Nashvillians. As I gaze at the skyline, I’m amazed at the beauty that surrounds me . . . beauty I take for granted because I’ve lived here for so long.
Of course, the city looks even more spectacular from way up here.
Slowly and carefully, I glance over the edge of the balcony. I spot a group of guys, probably around my age, standing on the sidewalk below. Suddenly, they start to sing, and while it’s hard to hear the lyrics, it still makes me smile.
What would they think of me if they saw me up here? Would they assume I’ve got it made? After all, I’m standing on the terrace of a penthouse apartment. How hard can my life be?
Everything looks perfect from far away.
With one last glance at the singers below, I walk away from the edge and sit down in one of the patio chairs. While I sip my tea, I check my email on my phone, not at all surprised to find a message from the principal of Castlewood Elementary. She sent it last week.
I shake my head. Am I really so out of touch with everything that I haven’t even checked my email in a week?
Maybe Dr. Jane’s right. Maybe I do need to focus on something besides Ryder and Jackson.
But I don’
t want to.
Is that so wrong?
Sighing heavily, I read the email from Mrs. Crane, the principal of Castlewood. A second grade teacher is taking a medical leave. They need someone to fill in for the rest of the year.
I close my eyes and envision a second grade classroom, filled with bright bulletin boards and picture books and sweet little faces.
It can all be mine, if I want it.
Do I want it?
Suddenly, beautiful blue eyes flood my mind. The sweet, innocent eyes of a child, and the warm, loving eyes of his father. Both of which are looking at me with so much love that I’m not sure my heart can hold it all.
I love them.
They love me.
Looking down at my phone, I let my finger gently ghost along the email.
And then I press delete.
Another visitation day.
Another Natasha no-show.
“Hazel, this is ridiculous! Two weeks in a row—with the same excuse? Wouldn’t you drag yourself out of bed to see your child? Even if you were on your death bed? Especially when it’s the only day of the week you get to see him?”
With a quiet sigh, Hazel pulls a tray of cookies out of the oven. She and Jackson have both reacted like this, all cool and calm. I don’t understand it at all.
“You’re not mad? Not even a little?”
“I’m not even remotely surprised, Olivia. You have to remember, I lived with the woman for a very long time. This is typical Natasha behavior. You would drag yourself out of bed to see your child. Natasha wouldn’t. None of this shocks me, and I promise it doesn’t shock Jackson, either. We’re heartbroken for Ryder, but we’re not surprised at all.”
I collapse in the kitchen chair. “She just seemed so sincere during that first visit. Like she really wanted to try. She was smiling and friendly and—”
“Natasha never smiles, and she’s never friendly. I knew something wasn’t right. She was here for one reason and one reason only. To check out the competition.”
“But I’m . . . not the competition.”
“You’re right. There’s no competition at all.” Hazel smiles softly and hands me a cookie. “For Ryder’s sake, I hoped her intentions were good, but I didn’t trust her, and I never will. When someone shows you who they are . . . believe them.”
“Maya Angelou said that.”
“Wise woman.” Hazel smiles softly. “Natasha has shown her true colors, time and time again. But Ryder has a father who worships him, a housekeeper who adores him, and a lovely young woman who loves him as if he were her very own. He’s a very lucky little boy, and he’s going to be just fine.”
With a tired sigh, I grab a couple cookies and head to the living room. My boys are on the couch, sleeping soundly. Despite my inner rage, my heart beats a little faster at the sight of Ryder nestled in his father’s lap. While they snore, I consider my options.
I know what I want to do.
Natasha has broken Ryder’s heart . . . again.
Shouldn’t she have to answer for that?
I decide that she should.
I also decide that a phone call’s not good enough.
When I walk back into the kitchen, Hazel is just finishing up the second batch of cookies.
“Hazel, do you know Natasha’s address?”
Her eyes find mine.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Nope.”
She smirks and wipes her hands before leaving the room. When she returns, she hands me a yellow sticky note with an address.
“Have I mentioned how much I like you?” she asks.
I grin and hug her tight before grabbing my keys and heading out the door.
Of course they live in Green Hills.
Known for its million-dollar real estate, the Nashville suburb is filled with manicured lawns and beautiful, historic homes.
Nothing but the best for Natasha.
I expect the place to have a gated entrance, so I’m pleasantly surprised to find that I can drive right up to the house and ring the doorbell. I have no idea what I’m going to say when she answers. If she answers. But then I think about Ryder’s broken heart, and I decide it doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out as I go along.
I ring the bell again, preparing myself for a fight. If she really is sick, I’ll lie and say I just wanted to check on her. But if she isn’t . . .
Heaven help her if she isn’t.
The door opens slightly, and then a little wider.
Natasha lifts her head, and that’s when I gasp. I thought I was prepared for anything, but I was wrong.
I’m not prepared for the black eye and the bruise on her right cheek.
“I’ve been expecting you,” she says, her voice soft and laced with fatigue. She’s wearing a cream-colored robe. “Actually, I expected a call, but this works just as well. Come in, Olivia.”
“I . . . don’t know if I should. Are you okay?
“Of course. Please.”
I follow her through the foyer and into the living room. The house, of course, is nothing short of perfection. It reminds me so much of the penthouse . . . before I moved in, anyway. Artwork adorns the walls and leather furniture fills the room. It’s all beautiful, and I guess I should be impressed, but it all seems unimportant considering the bruises on Natasha’s otherwise flawless face.
“Please, sit. Would you like some tea?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
We sit side-by-side on the sofa.
“I hear you’ve . . . been sick.”
Natasha nods. “I am. Morning and night, it seems.”
“Have you been seen by a doctor.”
“Oh, yes.”
Has the doctor seen your face?
But I don’t ask. Not yet. Instead, I glance around the room, wondering if we’re alone.
“He’s not here.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “Natasha, did he hit you?”
She gingerly touches her cheek. “It was my fault. It’s always my fault. I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m not the easiest person to live with. I’m . . . difficult, David says.”
“That doesn’t give him the right to hit you.”
“Bruises fade,” she says softly. “They always do. And you’d be amazed what a little makeup can hide.”
“So that’s why you missed visitation. Because of the black eye.”
“That’s why I missed tonight’s, yes.”
“What about last week?”
“Well, last week I really was sick. I thought I had the flu.” Natasha laughs and places her hand on her stomach. “But nope, not the flu. Just nine months of misery. Just like last time.”
My eyes widen.
“You’re pregnant.”
She nods.
“How far along?”
“About eight weeks. I didn’t really want another baby. David really doesn’t want a kid. But he will. In time.”
In time?
“Is that why he hit you? Because you’re pregnant?”
She picks at the imaginary lint on her robe.
“He’s not very happy with me. David thinks I did it on purpose. But I honestly just forgot to take my pill. It’s an innocent mistake.” Natasha sighs heavily. “But he’ll come around.”
“But in the meantime, you’ll be his punching bag?”
She says nothing. I’m speechless, too. I’m too stunned to wrap my head around the fact that Natasha is pregnant, by a man who’s abusing her, and with a child she obviously doesn’t want. Again.
“So, see, I was telling the truth about being sick,” she says. “The morning sickness has been dreadful. You’ll tell Jackson, won’t you? That I really am sick?”
“I’ll tell him.”
Natasha gazes at me with a smile. “It’s all working out. We both get what we want, don’t we?”
“What do you mean?”
“You get Ryder and Jackson. I get . . . a fresh start.”
“But you’re p
regnant. By a man who doesn’t want to be a father.”
“He will.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
Natasha shrugs. “It’s early. I have options.”
“And what about Ryder?”
“What about him?”
“He’s your son, Natasha. Doesn’t he mean anything to you at all?”
She bows her head. “Of course he does. But Ryder will be just fine. I’m not a good mother, Olivia. But I want to be. With this baby, I get a clean slate. I deserve that, don’t I? I can learn from my mistakes and give this child an incredible life.”
“Not with an abusive father, you won’t.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and for just a moment, I feel a twinge of sympathy for the woman.
“Natasha, I know Jackson will help you. You can’t stay with this man.”
“We’re getting married.”
That’s when I notice the rock on her left hand.
“Natasha, you can’t. He’s abusive. Look at your face!”
She gently strokes her cheek. “This is nothing. A small price to pay for the joy he brings me. We’re still getting to know each other. I’m learning which buttons to push . . . and which to avoid completely. David says I need boundaries. I need to learn.”
Unbelievable.
“Natasha, I think you’re making a mistake.”
Her eyes crinkle with a sad smile.
“I’ve made my bed, Olivia. And I’m at peace with my decision.”
I have no idea what to say. But I also realize that nothing I say will matter.
“I do have one favor,” she says softly. “I want you to know that I do love Ryder. And I love him enough to let him go. You are so much better for him than I am. Please promise you’ll take care of him?”
“I don’t understand. That’s what I’ve been doing.”
“I know, but I mean . . . you’ll keep taking care of him. Won’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Just tell Jackson to draw up the papers. I’ll sign them.”
Papers?
“Oh, you mean the divorce papers?”
“Well, yes, those, too,” she says. “But also, whatever papers I need to sign that will grant you legal custody.”
Me?
“Wait. Do you mean . . . you want to give Ryder to me?”