Needless to say, they were wrong every single time. Not a single one of them walked out of the bar having earned any affection from Lindsey. I made myself focus on spending time with my brothers and not thinking about the strange surge of feeling that came over me when I saw Lindsey’s downturned face.
The feeling didn’t really go away for the rest of the night. It settled onto the back of my neck and just kind of stayed there through the beer, the cheeseburger, and the tumbling tower of curly fries. I couldn’t shake it, and far too often throughout the night, I found myself looking over at the bar, trying to check on her. I was driving myself home that night, which meant I stuck to one beer and perhaps far too many of the fries. They were still sitting heavy in my belly when I got home to my cabin sometime around midnight.
I let myself in and didn’t bother to turn on the lights in the front hallway. The lamp glowing in the corner of the living room was enough to get me there without running into anything. I went into the room and flopped down onto my couch. A few seconds later, just like clockwork, Frankie jumped onto my back. It was the way of the enormous cat. When I got home, the amount of time I got to myself was exactly how long it took for him to get from wherever he was to me.
That was fine with me. He was a good buddy and always put a smile on my face. I carefully rolled over so the giant ball of fluff could settle onto my stomach. Around the size of a small dog, the Maine Coon was massive but thought he was delicate and petite. Which was why he had absolutely no qualms sitting right on my belly and prodding me with his huge paws. I ran my hand over his soft fur, making his purr feel like an engine.
“You want to hear something really strange that happened tonight?” I asked.
The fact that I carried on long, in-depth conversations with my cat wasn’t something I’d readily share with many people. But in addition to being a good buddy and a fantastic masseuse, Frankie was a great listener. He never judged me. Well, sometimes he judged me. But at least when he did, it was just a matter of him jumping down and walking away with his bushy tail up in the air. That night, I just wanted to talk through the strange feeling from the bar and try to figure out what it might be.
“I went to the bar, and I saw Lindsey there looking really pissed off.” I paused for effect, and Frankie looked at me. “I know. Lindsey looking angry. That’s not like her. And when I saw it, I got really upset. I was all of a sudden all knotted up and wanted to go over and stop whatever was happening. It was a really strange instinct. Like I felt protective of her.”
It seemed I’d landed on what the feeling was, but that didn’t actually help me any. Why would I suddenly be feeling so protective over Lindsey? Especially when there wasn’t any imminent danger to her as far as I could see. It wasn’t like I saw some guy hitting on her or touching her. I didn’t hear her shouting or see someone threatening her. She just looked angry, and I felt the need to protect her.
For the first time, I wondered about her life. She grew up around us in Charlotte, but there was a while there when she wasn’t in town. I never really thought about where she might have gone or what went on in her life during that time. Now, I was curious.
The next couple days were an exercise in restraint. Now that I had put my finger on the feeling, I struggled. Not with the fact that I was feeling it, but with not doing anything about it. It took just about everything in me not to go back to that bar and try to fix it. I was a fixer by nature. Hell, I built my career around it. It’s what I wanted to do, but something held me back and said I couldn’t go swoop in and try to make it all better. It wasn’t my place.
That realization made my weekend a special kind of hell.
2
Lindsey
Something about that phone call had ruined my entire night at work Friday. I couldn’t get my mind away from it, and it loomed over my head threw me off for the entire shift. My customers could tell. Not that it was all that difficult to notice the change in me. These were people who came in a couple of times a week, some even more than that. I knew their favorite drink order like I knew the color of their eyes or their tell when they had a particularly shitty day at work or home.
Kevin Barnes sighed like he had giant bellows in his belly, and he kept getting squeezed.
Martin Conroy drummed his fingers against the bar, then pretended he wasn’t doing anything if he got called out for it.
Melissa Aker wore eye makeup that corresponded with her mood and level of stress. The brighter the colors and longer the false lashes, the worse her mood and more desperate she was for attention.
Then there were the ones from my daddy’s time. Rollovers from when he was alive and running the place, the often grizzled old men took up the corners of the bar. They lurked there, hovering over their beers, and grumbled to whoever would listen. Sometimes that was also their beer.
I knew them and how to read their moods and what they needed. They just weren’t used to having to do the same for me. They came into the bar anticipating a bright smile and happy greeting. Even when they were dealing with aggravation from work, a fight with their partner, or any other of life’s little frustrations, I was there to try to perk them up. Last night they showed up to a distinct lack of perk. For the first time since I took over the bar, I could honestly say I didn’t want to be there.
The thing was, I loved the bar. It was a part of me from the time I was a little girl when my grandpa owned it. Sometimes I would go to visit him there before opening. He’d pick me up and sit me on the bar, so my feet dangled down. A Shirley Temple with three cherries skewered on a pink swizzle stick made me feel grown-up and special. After he died and my father took over, it somehow meant even more.
The bar was where I had my first job. It’s where I soaked in the gossip of the town. It was also what I knew was my future. As an only child, I was my father’s only option for passing on his legacy. Eventually, the bar would be mine. Knowing that’s what was going to happen and that I would most likely end up back in Charlotte, I wanted a break. I wanted to experience something else of the world before my path led me back here.
That was how I ended up furious and on edge the night before, not wanting to deal with the customers or the job that I usually adored because of how fractured my brain felt. It was also why I was sitting on my bed staring at the phone I clutched in my hand, trying to will myself to dial. I had been sitting that way for more than two hours. Ever since getting the voicemail that he left at five that morning.
It was a seriously jerk move of Grant. But that was him. It always had been. He’d called me the night before, completely screwing my shift at work. Then, knowing I was at the bar until late because I had to close up and wouldn’t get back home until the wee hours of the morning, he called again well before I would wake for the day. In fact, when he called, I had only been asleep for two hours. That was on purpose. He just wanted more fodder.
I had to call him back. We couldn’t keep putting off the conversation hovering at the other end. As much as I didn’t want to talk to him, we had to make decisions about Remy. I dreaded every second of it. Dealing with my ex and his family was never a fun experience. Now that they had Remy, it had only gotten worse.
I didn’t know what I expected from the arrangement. When I finally accepted they were going to take my son, I tried to tell myself it was what was best for him. Even though my heart told me that wasn’t true. I had to unclench my fingers from around the phone and face talking with Grant. Remy deserved a mother in his life. It wasn’t his fault he was saddled with me.
That thought gave me the boost of motivation I needed. Latching onto it before I could lose my nerve again, I dialed Grant. I expected him not to answer. That would be just like him. He liked to taunt me, to keep me dangling. It was very well-known that he expected me to be at his beck and call. I should be readily accessible to him at any moment, and if I wasn’t, he held it over me. But if I needed to speak with him, he had no compulsion to extend the same courtesy to me. There was always an exc
use. And that excuse was always carefully orchestrated to make me feel inadequate. It was a reminder that according to both him and his parents, I wasn’t good enough. I was less than them, and I needed to remember it.
He didn’t prove me wrong. The phone rang a dozen times before clicking off. No voicemail inbox. No offering to send a text alert. It just turned off. Another surge of anger rushed up through me. It was the fiery feeling I had in me all night the night before at the bar. I called again and the same thing happened. It took two more attempts before Grant’s voice came over the line.
“Nice of you to finally get back to me,” he snapped.
“This is the fourth time I’ve called. You didn’t bother to answer the other three,” I said.
“You’ll have to excuse me. I was busy doing my braille lessons. If you cared enough to even try them, you might understand how challenging and time-consuming they can be. But I guess that would be just too much to ask.”
Impressive. We hadn’t even actually started the conversation and were already in a fight. That might be a record. Usually Grant could at least exchange greetings and get into the purpose of a call before insulting my parenting.
“Remy is barely three years old,” I said.
“So that means you don’t need to bother yet?” he asked. “My parents started learning weeks before I did. They actually want to connect with him and try to understand the world from his perspective.”
“Being able to interpret braille isn’t going to make them understand what it’s like to be blind, Grant. If he could see, you wouldn’t be trying to teach him to read. You’re only doing this because you think it makes you look impressive,” I said.
“My parents said you would say something like that. They knew you would try to find fault in me connecting with my son.”
The second mention of his parents in thirty seconds got my blood boiling.
“Again, learning how to read braille is not being there for him. If you really wanted to connect with him and understand his experience with the world, there are plenty of other things you could do. But I didn’t call to talk about this. We need to make some decisions about Remy and our visitation schedule.”
“You’re right. That’s something we need to discuss. My parents suggest monthly supervised visits in our home or a place of our choosing,” he said.
I was so stunned by the statement, I couldn’t speak. There was no way I actually heard that correctly. Grant was a lot of things, but straight up stupid wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t genuinely think I would go for that.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.
“I’m in no way kidding you. Remy is finally in a stable home, and that’s the way it should stay. Bouncing around from place to place all the time isn’t good for him. He’s going to be confused and upset, and that is disruptive for any child. But particularly one with a disability,” Grant said.
“Stop using that as leverage,” I warned. The anger made my voice rough and gravelly, but I didn’t try to change it. “I’m not even going to begin to entertain that suggestion. You better come up with something else.”
Grant scoffed. “If you’re going to be unreasonable, fine. What do you suggest?”
He said it like a dare, as if he didn’t think I would actually be able to come up with an arrangement. Or that I wouldn’t have the guts to say it. Grant had an extremely elevated view of himself and an even more exalting view of his parents. To him, they could do no wrong. Every word out of their mouth was absolute gospel, and every opinion should be hung on and honored. Nobody else and no other thought mattered compared to them.
I knew it from the beginning. It was why I never should have dated him. Even in the earliest days when I thought things could be good between us, I felt the resistance. After the very first time I met them, I knew his hyper-waspy family would never accept me. They would never look at me as anything but an ill-advised fling their son got himself wrapped up in and would get over. There was never a question as to whether they would try to get to know me or put any value in me or our relationship. They would never see me as good enough.
But I never thought they would all but force me to give up my son.
“I’m not going to have someone watching me spend time with my son. He is my child, and I have never done anything to hurt him.”
“That’s up for interpretation,” Grant said.
The words might as well have come out of his father’s mouth.
“No, it’s not. Supervised visits are off the table. And so is meeting at your house. I’m not going to be treated like a guest or a visitor in his life. I will pick Remy up and we will spend time together, without supervision, wherever I see fit. And I want him twice a week.”
“You’re being unreasonable. You can’t expect my parents and me to just disrupt his life like that so suddenly.”
“Your parents don’t have anything to do with this. Remy is our child. He doesn’t belong to them, and they have no right to give their input into the way he is raised. Especially not when it comes to when and how I spend time with him. They are not his parents. I am.”
We continued to argue. The longer the conversation went, the more my stomach twisted and churned. I had to get out of bed and pace through the bedroom to get rid of the anxious energy building up inside me. But I wasn’t going to back down. Nothing was going to make me accept him cutting me out of my child’s life and making it impossible for us to have a relationship.
It took another hour, but finally the call ended, and I dropped the phone to the bed. We had come up with an acceptable new visiting arrangement, but I didn’t feel better. I didn’t put it past Grant to have tricks up his sleeve and other ways he was going to try to make my life as miserable as possible while using my son as a weapon.
I considered my options. But I didn’t really have many. Nick was the only person who came to mind, and I sent him a text. His response was a relief. I needed someone by my side, and he was really all I had.
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A Note from the Author
Thank for you taking the time to read my latest release.
I hope you loved reading my story, as much as I enjoyed writing it.
It would mean the world to me if you could take some time to leave a quick review for this book. Reviews allow me to understand how my readers truly feel, and they keep me improving to be better.
I appreciate you supporting me, thank you so much.
- Natasha L. Black
Books by Natasha L. Black
Freeman Brother Series
Millionaire Boss
Millionaire Daddy
Millionaire Crush
Forbidden Lovers Series:
Billionaire Boss
Date Your Brother’s Best Friend
Falling for my Enemy
Forbidden Crush
Damaged
Complete box set below:
Forbidden Lovers: A Contemporary Romance Collection
Secret Daddies Series
His Secret Baby
CEO’s Secret Baby
Boss's Secret Baby for Christmas
Daddy’s Secret Baby
My Ex’s Secret Baby
Bad Boy’s Secret Baby
Complete box set below:
Secret Daddies: A Contemporary Romance Box Set
Alpha Male Collection:
Forbidden Daddy
Redemption
Protecting Her
Saving Sky
Protecting Sasha
Complete box set here: Men in Charge
Reverse Harem/Ménage Collection:
Double Dirty
The Cabin
Double Trouble
Training the Rookie
Cuffed to my Roomies
Complete box set here: One Lucky Girl
Fake Marriage Collection:
Pretend You’re Mine
Pretend I’m Yours
Let’s Pretend
Faking It
&
nbsp; Complete box set here: Playing Pretend
Other stories you may enjoy:
Back To You
Brother’s Best Friend
Forbidden Protector
Sweet Tooth
Connect with Natasha L. Black
Natasha L. Black is an Amazon Top 100 bestselling author. Dreaming and fantasizing ever since she was a young teenager, her love of writing flourished from a very early age. After working for 15 years as a veterinarian, she now follows her passion in writing for a living. She currently resides in a lovely country home in a rural area of Dallas, writing steamy novels to fulfill her readers' desires.
Want to contact me? Please e-mail me at: [email protected]
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Millionaire Hero (Freeman Brothers Book 4) Page 22