that would be worse.
We’d chosen to use the furniture already in the house, so only Henry’s crib, our personals, and a few antiques of my mother’s had been moved in.
My mother bustled around the kitchen, Henry on her hip. “It’s stocked,” she said. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” I said.
“I’ll whip us up some dinner.” She set Henry in his high chair. “You hungry, doll?”
Henry gurgled happily.
“What do you feel like? They left us plenty of beef.”
“I’m not that hungry, Mom. Just make whatever sounds good.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
My mother had no idea what a loaded question that was. “I’m good. Just not hungry.”
I hated lying to my mother.
Hell, I hated lying, period.
How could I possibly be my father’s son? That man had perfected lying to an art.
The worst lie I’d ever told? That horrid note I’d left for Marjorie last night. I’d felt sick writing it, and I still felt sick. Between that and what I was recalling from my childhood, I might never feel physically good again.
Marjorie.
She’d said those three words I longed to hear.
I love you.
She’d said them in the middle of a climax, but so what? I had no doubt she’d meant them.
How I’d longed to return her sentiment, for I did love her.
I loved her so damned much.
And here I was, living on her ranch, and I had to stay as far away from her as I could.
I stepped outside the kitchen onto the patio. The hot tub whirred in the distance—the hot tub where I’d found Marjorie last night.
I grabbed my hair and pulled. How the hell was I supposed to live in this house?
You have to, Bryce. You just have to. You have to do this for your son and your mother. They need you.
If only I’d never initiated that first kiss.
But there’d been no stopping the kiss. There’d been no stopping the energy that sizzled between us.
Which was why—
Fuck.
Marjorie.
She was walking toward the guesthouse.
I went inside quickly, still watching her from the window of the French doors. When she was about a hundred yards away, she turned abruptly and headed back toward the main house.
Maybe she’d just been out on a stroll.
Or maybe she’d been coming to me and then changed her mind.
I thought again of the cruel words I’d written to her after our last night together. I didn’t mean any of them, but I was determined to keep her away from me.
I was poison.
I couldn’t infect her.
I was nothing but emptiness, and though she filled me beyond my wildest dreams, I was still nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Talon had invited the three of us to dinner this evening to celebrate our move into the guesthouse, but I’d turned him down. I had to keep this business. Solely business. Eating dinner with Marjorie Steel would be too difficult. Too heart-wrenching.
She loved me. And God, if she truly loved me, my words had cut into her as much as writing them had cut into me.
I was a fucking piece of shit.
I thought about getting a drink, but alcohol wouldn’t help me. Nothing would. Nothing ever would.
When you were nothing, the only constant in your life was…nothing.
Chapter Six
Marjorie
I hadn’t meant to walk to the guesthouse. I’d been outside with Donny and the pups, and my feet just started moving. Bryce had seen me and gone quickly inside, so I’d turned around.
He didn’t want to see me.
He’d meant the words he’d so callously written.
But it didn’t make sense. Our lovemaking could not have been one-sided. It just couldn’t have been.
Give him space.
Mel’s words echoed inside my head.
Walking to his home wasn’t giving him space.
I went back inside to begin dinner. Donny would be clamoring for his supper before long. Dale was in his room, as usual, but had recovered somewhat from his scare on the playground at school a few days earlier.
I’d just put some chicken breasts under the broiler when Talon walked into the kitchen.
“Hey, Sis.”
“Hey, yourself. Good day?”
“Decent. Hard to concentrate, though, with all this other stuff happening. How’re Jade and the boys?”
“Jade’s in the bedroom. She said she’ll be in for dinner. Donny’s outside, and Dale’s in his room.”
Talon shook his head. “I worry about that boy.”
“I do too. Maybe it’ll get better after the adoption.”
“It’s been postponed until next week,” Talon said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I got a call today. The judge had an emergency.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “And I’m not sure it will help. The kid needs time more than anything.”
I simply nodded. If anyone knew what Dale needed, Talon did. He’d