Page 101 of Love Expert

The roads didn’t get her—thank God—but if the ad in the paper is anything to go by, and the people currently trampling her yard, then I’m forced to admit I might’ve lost her anyway.

No one hostseverything must goyard sales if they’re planning to stick around for much longer.

Something heavy crashes inside my house. Then a door slams.

Others might assume they were being robbed. I simply know my son is grieving.

“I wish I lived with Maggie!” He slams another door so hard, the windows rattle. And all the while, I stay exactly where I am, because if my kid tries to make a run for it, I have to be here to stop him. “I hate living here with you! I hate living in this dumb house with this dumb stuff and with you.” He throws something. “Because you’re dumb!”

The chatter next door shields Maggie from listening to my son’s agony. His tantrum. His pain.

“You’re just letting her leave!” he screams. “You’re letting her, cos you’re dumb! So now I hate you.”

Yep.I glance down at the small picture frame I caught just ten minutes ago, when my son decided to peg it at my head in his rage. Locking eyes with a beautiful,alive, Aria, I exhale a shuddering breath and hope my nose will stop stinging soon.

I hate me too, buddy.

“Just tell her no!” He shoves through the front door and hits me with a glare. Red-faced, puffy-eyed, rage-driven, and ready to fight. He balls his fists, and his shoulders swell with adrenaline. Stalking forward, mindful enough to sneer instead of shout, he stops a single foot away and grits his teeth. “Tell. Her. No.”

“I can’t tell her no.” I draw a shuddering breath and risk a glance across to Maggie’s yard to make sure she’s not focusing on us. “I can’t tell her what to do.” Sighing, I bring my eyes back to his. “It wouldn’t be right, and you know that. Which is why you’re right here, snapping at me, instead of over there, bossing her around.”

“I don’t want her to leave!” His sweet little eyes spill over. “I didn’t get long enough with her yet.”

“I know,” I rasp, my voice shaking. “Me neither. But when you lovesomeone, there will never be enough time, buddy. Even if she stayed for fifty years, it wouldn’t feel like enough.”

“I hate you,” he seethes, his breath coming in fast, short pants. “I hate you because she told me she loved me and that she wouldneverleave. But you’re always mean to her! You’re always rude and grumpy and not nice, and nobody would stay when somebody is always rude and grumpy and mean.”

“I know.” I hold my breath, suppressing the ache in the depths of my chest. “I know, buddy.”

“Don’t call me buddy! Don’t call meanything, because I’m not staying with someone who is always rude and grumpy and mean, either! I’m gonna go wherever Maggie goes.”

“No.” I swallow the thick lump of heartache from the base of my throat. “You’re not. You’re staying right here with me.”

“I don’t want to!”

My throat is dry. My tongue. My lips. My entire fucking soul. Glancing over my shoulder, I get caught up in Maggie’s golden-eyed stare. She’s surrounded by old biddies vying for her attention, cash in one hand, and a small bag of… things outstretched in the other. But her eyes are for us.

Does she know how much this hurts? Does she know how much I wish she could stay?

I keep my voice low and bring my eyes back to Jeremy’s. “I understand that you’re mad at me. And I understand that you love Maggie. But she’s not?—”

“You don’t understandanything!” he roars. “Because if you did, you’d tell her not to go.”

“Jeremy—”

“I hear you, ya know?! When you think I’m not listening. When you argue with Uncle Ollie about Mom, or with Ramone, and say she died and we didn’t get a choice.” He surges forward and kicks the leg of my chair. “You get a choicenow, and you suck at it. Maybe that’s why she died. Cos you suck!”

“Jeremy—”

“I wish it was you who died and not her.”

My heart fucking stops. It stutters. It shatters and aches, and then it simply keeps beating, cruelly and consistently, because I’m not so lucky that death would be so swift and easy.

Tears burn my eyes, blurring my vision and searing the image of my son’s devastation onto the backs of my eyelids. His trembling jaw and the wet spots on his shirt.

My breath comes out on a shuddering exhale, because where I would have once expected anger in retaliation of his hurtful words, all I feel is grief. And agreement.

“Sometimes, I wish it were me who died, too.” I clear my throat and swipe my cheeks dry. “Other times, I’m really,reallythankful that I’m the guy who gets to be your dad. Because you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met, and it’s an honor to be your family.”