Page 4 of Written with You (The Regret Duet 2)
Luckily, my girl was the MacGyver of birthday presents. She’d made an entire bag full of gifts for Hadley in twenty minutes with nothing more than the two markers she owned that hadn’t dried out, six broken crayons, two rocks, a paperclip, and four cotton swabs she’d snuck out of my bathroom.
Now, what was in that bag? I had no idea. But I knew with an absolute certainty that Hadley would love each and every one of them. For as much as she oohed and ahhed during “art classes,” they would be her most cherished possessions for no other reason than Rosalee had made them. I got it. It was the same reason I held multimillion-dollar business deals in my office surrounded by crayon drawings rather than pretentious paintings to impress clients.
When you’re a parent, anything your child touches is priceless. It becomes a memory, an age trapped in time. And while I was still struggling with the fact that Hadley was her mother and what that meant for my future, there was no denying that she loved Rosalee something fierce.
“Happy birthday, dear Ha—” I abruptly stopped singing when I caught sight of her standing on the deck.
Standing.
Not sitting and relaxing the way I’d told her to when I’d sent her out back so we could finish preparing the cake. She was tense, her face pale, and her smile so fake it instantly set me on edge. I cut my gaze to my brother as Rosalee and Jenn finished off the final verse of the song. He was grinning, a beer in his hand, nothing out of the ordinary except for the fact that he was alone outside with her.
Still feeling like a dick for not warning her how much he looked like Malcom, I’d asked him to give her space. When I looked at Trent, I didn’t see our father anymore. I saw the nineteen-year-old kid who had done his best to protect me when the flames of our father’s hell had surrounded us after the shooting.
That’s not who she saw when she looked at him though. To her, he had the same dark hair, and looming height of the monster who had killed her parents. I was honestly impressed that she’d agreed to stay at all. Had the roles been reversed, I’d have been peeling out of the driveway. Some memories, no matter how slight, were best left in the past.
For years, Trent, Ian, and therapists alike had warned me about triggers that could possibly set me off. I did everything I could to figure out what they were and then avoid them at all costs. But Hadley had stayed. Her desire to spend time with Rosalee—and possibly me—trumped her fears. And that fucked with the organ in my chest—as opposed to the one in my pants—that shouldn’t have had any feelings other than guilt for Hadley Banks.
But it did. In ways I’d been trying to deny. A connection I’d been trying to sever. And, worst of all, an ingrained need to protect her that I couldn’t shake. Therefore, the fact that Trent was well aware that he’d freaked her out and he still managed to find himself alone and clearly freaking her out again pissed me the fuck off.
He didn’t like her. He’d thought she was up to no good and biding her time before making a move that would reveal her true colors. All of which he’d assumed were tinted the color of money. He’d stated that numerous times on the phone and then again when he’d shown up that morning and Rosalee told him and Jenn all about the party she was planning. Hadley didn’t need my cash any more than I needed his bullshit. As long as he followed through on his promise to treat her with respect in my house, he didn’t have to like her.
Rosalee wasn’t his daughter. He didn’t get to make the hard calls about who was or wasn’t involved in her life.
That was my job.
One I took very seriously.
That is if you excluded my desperate need to bury my cock inside her mother.
Fucking hell.
“Blow out the candles!” Rosalee exclaimed, clapping her hands.
Hadley’s eyes met mine. Her tangible panic sledgehammered me in the gut.
“Come here, babe,” I murmured in a low tone while flicking a glower at my brother.
He replied with a puzzled expression that was about as genuine as Hadley’s smile.
She didn’t delay in hurrying to my side, her hand fisting the back of my shirt, out of view from Rosalee as she blew out the candles.
“Yay!” Rosalee cheered, hefting the pink bag toward her mother. “Open it.”
Hadley took the bag, then peered up at me, something unreadable on her face but panic glistening in her eyes.
“Dry-heave?” I whispered.
She bit her lips between her teeth and nodded.
“Right. Okay. Let’s do presents after cake.” Pivoting to the long wooden table, I set the cake down. Then I returned to do the same with Rosalee’s gift. “You know what? I forgot plates.”
