Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Sunlight creeps through the window, rousing me from sleep. Reaching for Lucy, I frown when my hand hits the cold sheets of the empty spot beside me. Irritation dances through my organs, adding to the rotten lump that hasn’t left my stomach since I watched her leave with Rhys last night.
Guilt spears my chest, lancing clear through my heart to leave a hole only Lucy can fill. I’m at an utter loss of what I should do: march down the hall and tell my son straight to his face that I’m in love with his ex-girlfriend, or remain quiet and potentially lose Lucy.
It should be a no-brainer.
However, my parental side keeps kicking in, instinctually reminding me I have an obligation to my son.
Then, you should have never started things with Lucy in the first place.
I get out of bed, pulling on a basic black shirt before quietly making my way down the hall. Pressing my ear to the guest room door, I listen for Lucy’s breathing but only hear silence. I debate crawling into bed with her but decide against it, knowing she’s unlikely to welcome me with open arms.
It hurts—this ache in my chest I put there myself. It should clearly indicate where my heart lies, but no matter how many times I try to talk myself into coming clean, something holds me back every single time.
Lucy deserves better.
Fuck, so does Rhys.
And me? I deserve to rot in hell for what I’ve done to both of them.
Scrubbing my hands down my face, I head to the kitchen to make coffee. The throbbing behind my ribs plummets into my stomach as I round the corner to see a singular piece of paper on the kitchen island.
With shaky hands, I pick it up, and the regret that’s weighing me down becomes even heavier with each line I read.
Lawson,
I took your car and went home. You can get a ride back with Rhys. Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry.
Lucy
“Fuck,” I whisper. Swiftly, I return to my bedroom and grab my phone from the dresser.
She answers after only two rings. “Lawson?”
“Baby.” I let out a relieved sigh. “Why’d you leave? ”
Too many moments pass, with only her breathing on the other end of the line to signal she’s still there.
Finally, with so much grief and sadness in her tone, she admits, “I couldn’t stay there, Lawson. I… I think you have a lot to figure out, and… I think we need some space for you to do that.” She sniffs, and I can hear how hard she’s trying not to cry.
“Lucy…” The need to have her in my arms is overwhelming. Fear begins to creep in, settling in the marrow of my bones.
“I’m going to take a week of vacation,” she informs me, voice cracking. “I’m sorry, I know it’s last minute, but I… I can’t do this. I can’t see you right now.”
“What would you have me do, baby?” It’s a struggle to keep my own voice steady. I’m a grown-ass man, but here I am, standing in the middle of my room, trying desperately not to cry because I have to make a decision between my son and the love of my life.
“It doesn’t matter what I want, Lawson.” This time, her voice comes out broken, like our hearts.
“It matters what you can live with. If you can’t tell Rhys, then there is your answer.
” A muffled sob escapes her throat, and it shatters me.
“And I won’t be mad.” She attempts to collect herself, clearing her throat as she speaks through the tears.
“I promise I will respect your decision if you choose him. He’s your son, Lawson.
I get it. And I don’t want you to divorce Charlotte because of me.
If you wanted to, you would have done it already.
” Lucy’s words grow squeaky and inaudible.
“Baby, it isn’t like that.” I silently curse my wife’s name. “Please, rainbow, stop crying. I love you, and I promise this will work out. Don’t take the week?— ”
“I need to, Lawson. I need some space, and you need some time to figure out what you’re going to do?—"
“I don’t need space!” I interrupt as I begin pacing the room. “Fuck, that is the last thing I want from you right now.”
“I’m going to hang up.”
“Baby, why does it feel like you’re breaking up with me?” When she doesn’t answer, panic grips my lungs. “Lucy, don’t?—”
“I love you. Just take the time to figure out what you want, Lawson.”
“I want you . I love you , Lucy.” I try my hardest to express my feelings through the phone, knowing that deep down, she knows how much I care for her.
But I still feel like I need to make the declaration anyway, as many times as it takes for her to hear me.
“It’s just a storm, baby. That’s all this is—a storm.
Remember what you said to me? That night in my car? What comes after a storm?”
“Rainbows.” Lucy makes a sound of frustration and exhales deeply. “Give it a few days, Lawson. We’ll talk soon.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to reply before she hangs up.
It only takes a few moments before rage filters through me again, replacing the anguish I feel. I dial Charlotte’s number, stomping out to the kitchen because I desperately need coffee to fight the migraine settling in my temples.
As soon as she picks up, I don’t even give her a chance to say hello. “What the fuck, Charlotte?”
Her haughty laugh echoes in my ear. “Well, good morning to you, too, dear. ”
“Cut the bullshit. Wanna tell me why Rhys thinks we’re getting back together?” Beans fly everywhere as I rip the lid off the container and dump them in the espresso machine.
On her end, there’s a sound of a cork popping from a bottle, and I glance at the clock on the stove. Jesus Christ, it’s not even ten her time. Is this what she does when River is there?
“Ahh, yes. Rhys called me last night and said you were at the lake house. And with Lucy. That was an interesting tidbit of information,” she lilts sardonically.
“Why does our son think we’re getting back together?” I repeat between clenched teeth.
“I thought that’s what you wanted to talk to me about. Why you sounded so eager to see me,” Charlotte tries to sound seductive, but it’s like nails on a fucking chalkboard. “I told Rhys that we’d both be moving home soon.”
“I wanted to see you because I want a divorce,” I growl. Fuck waiting to talk to her in person. This part of my problem ends now .
Charlotte huffs a disbelieving laugh, her demeanor switching from hot to cold in an instant. “A divorce? Are you joking? You realize I’m entitled to half of your worth, right, Lawson? Not to mention alimony.”
“I’m well aware of that, Charlotte. And I no longer give a fuck. You can expect papers within the week.” I rip open the fridge for the milk as the strong scent of brewing coffee fills the kitchen.
She’s silent. Too silent. Then, voice laced with thick suspicion, she asks, “Why now, Lawson? What’s changed?”
I stare at the coffee dripping into the pot while I internally battle with myself .
This is your moment. Tell her you’ve met someone.
My tongue feels thick in my mouth, unable to form words.
Suddenly, Charlotte laughs. “It’s her , isn’t it?
Oh, Lawson. Tell me you aren’t sleeping with her.
She’s young enough to be your daughter. For God’s sake, I had a feeling when Rhys told me.
She always did strut around in front of you like a little hussy.
I never thought you’d lower yourself to fucking a child, though. ”
“Do not talk about her like that!” I roar, slamming my fist on the counter, my eruption as good as an admission. “It’s none of your fucking business who I’m sleeping with. Keep Lucy’s fucking name out of your mouth and sign the damn papers when they get there.”
I hang up without waiting to hear what else she has to say, throwing my phone against the wall. It shatters and crashes to the floor. “Fuck!”
A sharp huff has me spinning to see Rhys, wide-eyed, standing stock still on the other side of the kitchen island as if he’s just witnessed a horrific trainwreck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Rhys—”
“Tell me you’re not sleeping with Lucy.”
My heart beats so fast against my ribs I fear it answers my son for me.
Rhys looks devastated, not even angry, but completely heartbroken—because of me , his father . And I know his anger will come eventually, and when it does, it will be explosive.
“Dad…” He shakes his head, eyes turning glassy. My heart feels like someone stuck me with a needle and is pu mping pure adrenaline straight to the ventricle. “Tell me you’re not fucking my ex-girlfriend.”
“Rhys… it’s… it’s not like that.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair as my own eyes fill with tears. I needed time, but here we are. I can’t lie to him, not when he’s staring me straight in the face.
“Then what is it like?” His words are cold and calm, and that terrifies me more than his anger.
Just tell him. He’ll understand… eventually. He loved her once. He’ll get it. Right?
“I love her, Rhys.” My voice shakes, the words coming out barely above a whisper.
“She’s half your age!” His rage bubbles just beneath the surface, and the tears in his eyes burn up with fury as his hands clench into fists.
“I know.” I hold my hands up, trying to calm him down as I take a step toward him. “I know, Son. But?—”
“But nothing! You think I don’t know what you did when you were in New York?
” He points out the window as if pointing to the state itself.
“You think Mom doesn’t know? And if that weren’t bad enough, you came home and started fucking my ex-girlfriend?
” He tangles his hands in his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
My brows furrow, confusion going off like a bomb in my brain. “What do you mean, you know what I did in New York? Rhys, what has your mother been telling you?”
Irritation prickles my skin. Charlotte and her goddamn meddling.
She’s twisted Rhys’ opinion of me so much, I don’t know why I hoped he’d listen to anything I say.
She wouldn’t know shit about what I did in New York.
All of my indiscretions occurred at the club, which has air-tight security.
Anything Charlotte thinks she knows is pure bullshit she spun up in her wine-drunk brain.
My son looks like he’s about to go into hysterics. “Look, Rhys. I know you think I’m a terrible father?—”
“Lucy told me last night that she was seeing someone.” He gives me his back, mumbling to himself more than talking to me. “She looked me straight in the eye and told me how happy she was.”
I can’t help the spark of warmth that ignites in my chest, but it quickly diminishes as he whirls back around to face me. “Fuck you both.”
He sounds so fucking broken. I didn’t think my heart could shatter any further than it already had in the past twelve hours, but hearing him sound so utterly destroyed by my betrayal guts me.
I start to walk around the island, but he holds his hand up to stop me.
“I know you didn’t want me. I know how much of a burden I was to you and Mom, but I never thought you hated me,” he says through a fresh wave of tears.
Horrified, I reach for him, dread filling every crack and crevice in my chest. “Rhys, I don’t hate you.”
He pushes me off him, turning to walk back to his room. “Well, I fucking hate you!”
I try to stop him, but he whips around to face me instead. Pain blooms across the side of my face as his fist connects with my cheek.
Instinct tells me to pull him back, but I let him go, choosing to give him space. No amount of talking will help when he’s so distressed .
“Rhys, where are you going?” I ask as he reappears, bag in hand.
My son doesn’t answer me, slipping on his shoes and disappearing out the front door. His truck roars to life, and I curse. Not only do I not want him on the road when he’s upset, but if he leaves, I’m stranded.
I reach the door just as he peels out of the driveway, tires squealing as he speeds away.
Slapping the side of the doorframe, I hurry back into the house, only to remember my phone is now in pieces. “Fuck!”