Chapter Forty-Three
“B uckle up, sweet boy.” W ith a shaking hand, I pulled my own seat belt across my well-used body and clicked it.
Nash buckled himself in. Why do I get to sit in the front? You said that wasn’t safe. Uncle Ty says it’s fine. He lets me sit in front. You never let me sit in front.
I pulled up to the gate for the development and waited for it to open. For today only, you can sit there.
The gate opened, and I drove through. Pulling onto the causeway to get off the island, fighting tears, I rooted in my purse. My hand landed on my cell, and I yanked it out and turned it off. Preston had never called me. But he had my number. I’d gotten exactly one text from him three years ago. Five words. This is my number. Preston
I’d programmed it. But I’d never called him.
Driving off the island, I glanced at my son. He was in nothing except swim trunks, trunks Preston had bought and had ready in the ridiculously big bedroom he’d outfitted with a game console and giant TV.
I wanted to cry.
I’d thrown everything away.
But a ridiculously expensive house on the water wasn’t enough of a reason to move in with him, let alone overlook his lying about Summer. Not to mention, he’d not once told me how he felt about me. I didn’t care how much money he’d spent. I didn’t have a price, goddamn it.
Nash tapped my arm when I stopped at the next traffic light.
I glanced at my brown-eyed boy with his unruly curls. I raised an eyebrow.
When are we going back to Preston’s?
Oh God. Not today. I was a horrible fucking mother. How about a movie and some ice cream, maybe a hamburger for dinner? Because there was no way we were going back home right now. I couldn’t take it if he showed up.
Nash patted his stomach. I have no shirt. No shirt, no shoes, no service. Signs say that all the time.
I smiled despite myself. We’ll go to Target, and you can pick out any T-shirt you want.
And a toy? he asked hopefully.
I gave him a stern look, but I’d buy a toy if it distracted him from asking me about going back to Preston’s. Maybe.
Wide and unabashed, my sweet son smiled. Okay. How about a toy and no popcorn or soda at the movie, but a hamburger and french fries. Eyes wide and serious, he nodded at his negotiation tactics.
Because that’s how my son had grown up.
He knew there wasn’t always money for everything we wanted. Sometimes there wasn’t even money for the things we needed, like a new roof on the house.
Preston’s house didn’t need a new fucking roof.
The light turned green.
I glanced at my son. “Toy, movie, popcorn, soda, burger and fries, we’re getting all of it today.”