Bloody Heart (Brutal Birthright #4) - Sophie Lark Page 0,101
me. Because she wants me to know Henry after all these years, and for him to know me. And because . . . I think . . . I hope . . . because she wants to be with me. She wants us to be a family, like we always should have been.
I’m driving down the freeway at a hundred miles an hour, barely having to weave through traffic because it’s getting late and there’s not many cars on the road.
I’ve been driving toward the South Shore development without even realizing it. And now I know the reason why—not to see the high rises, or the empty construction equipment my workers have abandoned for the night.
I want to see her face.
I drive up to the billboard right as it flips from the ad for Cola to the one for perfume.
Simone’s face hits me like a slap.
She’s beautiful. Dreamy. And sad. Yes, she’s sad, I know it. Because all those years she longed for me, just like I did for her. We were two halves of a heart, torn apart, bleeding and aching to be stitched back together again.
She loves me. And I love her. I can’t stop loving her.
No matter what she’s done to me, no matter what she might do in the future, I can never stop. I would cut off my hands for this woman. Strip the flesh off my bones for her. I can’t live without her, and I don’t want to try.
Forgiving her isn’t optional. I have to do it. I can’t exist without it.
Because I can’t exist without her. I tried and I tried. It will never work. I’ll get down on my fucking knees and crawl across glass for her.
As soon as I realize this, the anger seeps out of me. My chest is burning, but not with fury.
It’s just love. I fucking love her. I always have and I always will.
I’m parked in front of the billboard. The dark night is silent all around me.
Until someone sits up in my backseat.
I shout and spin around, reaching automatically for the gun under the seat.
Then I see it’s a boy.
My boy.
It’s Henry.
He looks at me nervously, trying to flatten his curls with one hand. He bites his bottom lip, with the unmistakable appearance of a kid who knows he’s in trouble.
He’s wearing flannel pajamas, navy blue with red piping. I can’t stop staring at him.
I must have been fucking blind before. He’s got Simone’s smooth, bronze, luminescent skin. His curls are a little looser and a little lighter. His face is longer, not square like hers.
In fact, it’s just the shape that Seb’s was at that age. He’s got long lashes like Nero had, and Aida. But the actual color of his eyes . . . they’re dark, dark brown. Almost black.
Just like mine.
I’m frozen in place, looking at him. Silent. Totally unable to speak.
“I . . . I hid in the backseat,” he explains, unnecessarily. “Sorry,” he adds, wincing.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
Those are the first words I’ve spoken to my son.
His eyes dart away from me and back again. I can tell he’s as curious to look at me as I am him, but he’s scared.
“It’s alright,” I say again, trying to reassure him. I don’t really know how to talk to a kid. I had younger siblings, but that was different, and it was a long time ago.
“I wanted to meet you,” he says.
“Me too,” I assure him. Then, as gently as I can, I say, “Does your mom know where you are?”
He shakes his head, looking more guilty than ever.
“I snuck out,” he admits.
He’s honest. I’m glad to see that.
“We should call her,” I say.
I hit the number on my phone. It rings several times, then switches over to voicemail. No response from Simone.
She’s still upset over the way I reacted. She must not have noticed that Henry’s missing. She’s probably crying somewhere.
I’m about to text her, but Henry interrupts me.
“How come you never came to visit me?” he says.
I hesitate. I don’t know what Simone told him. I could have discussed this with her, if I’d stayed calm, instead of losing my temper.
“What did your mom say?” I ask Henry.
“She said you were far away.”
“That’s true. I was in the army for a while—did you she tell you that?”
Henry shakes his head.
“I went to Iraq. You know where that is?”
“Yes,” he says. “I like geography. I learned a song about the hundred and ninety-five countries.”