Holding his Hostage - Amy Gamet Page 0,21
how to stack the logs so the fire would get plenty of oxygen. David would have made the fire himself or been such a perfectionist about how it should be done that the activity would barely have been fun for Lucas. But Sloan had a way with the boy that clearly said he understood children, and the difference between him and the man she’d married was like salt pressed deep into a festering wound.
She turned away, needing space but unable to go back into the camper without another run-in with April. “I’m going for a walk.”
“Wait.” Sloan handed Lucas a lighter and showed him where to light the fire, earning the boy a pat on the back and a proud smile. “Great job, kid. Grab the marshmallows out of the back of the camper.”
Joanne barely resisted the urge to scream. Sloan jogged to her. “I’ll come with you.”
“I don’t want you to come with me. I want to be alone.”
“What happened? Did I miss something?”
She huffed. “April and I were fighting, then you’re out here with your father-of-the-year routine, and I’m about to lose my shit.”
“What? You’re mad at me? What did I do?”
“God, just leave me alone.”
“Lucas,” he called. “We’re going for a walk. Keep an eye on the fire.”
“What part of leave me alone did you not understand?”
He put his hand on her back and guided her away from their campsite. “If you’re pissed at me, I’d like to know why.”
“I told you why!”
“Because I’m being nice to your kids?”
“Yes. And the s’mores, and the fire-making lessons.”
“That makes no sense at all.”
“It makes perfect sense.” She swatted his hand off her back. “And stop touching me.”
It was her fight with April that had set her off, her insecurities as a parent that had really gotten her going. But how could she make him understand? She pushed the words past the knot that had appeared in her throat. “David would never do that.”
“Touch you?”
Heat crept into her cheeks. “No. The way you helped Lucas make a fire. He wouldn’t do that.” He said nothing, the steady rhythm of their footfalls the only sound. “He wasn’t good with the kids. He was easily frustrated, and when he got frustrated, he got mean.”
“To you, too?”
“Sometimes. Not like my dad did.”
“What happened in the camper just now?”
She blew out air. “Which part? The part where she overheard our conversation or the part where she installed Instagram on her new phone?”
He winced. “I thought that might happen.”
“It’s my own fault. I wasn’t watching her phone as much as I should. By the time I found the conversation, things had gone too far. They’re talking about meeting up. They call themselves boyfriend and girlfriend.”
A chill went through her and she instinctively moved closer to Sloan, her elbow brushing his as they walked. “Then I came outside, and you were running a Boy Scout meeting for my son, and I felt like a bad parent.”
“You’re not a bad parent.”
“I need you to do something for me.” She stopped walking and he faced her.
“Anything.”
“Don’t be nice to them, Sloan. It isn’t fair.” What she was asking might not be fair, either, but if she was going to make it through the next part of this journey, she needed to lay some ground rules. “They just lost their father, shitty though he may have been. I need you to back off.”
“How is it unfair to be kind to them?”
“It will just make it harder when you leave. Did you see the way Lucas was looking at you back there?”
“We were just making a fire.”
“No, you were creating a relationship with a vulnerable kid who’s so desperate for paternal affection I could cry.”
He lifted his hand and touched her cheek. “Jesus, Jo. Why the hell did you stay with this guy?”
She pulled back as if she’d been slapped. “I didn’t. We were separated just over a year.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?”
“What difference does it make?” She turned away, walking in the opposite direction.
“Don’t walk away from me. Talk to me, Buckley.”
She spun around. “What do you want me to say? That I spent my entire adult life with a man I didn’t love? That marrying him was the biggest mistake of my life? That he was more like my father than I could ever have imagined? Fine. I said it. Now stop rubbing my nose in it. Stop asking me questions I don’t want to answer. Stop asking me for details, and for God’s sake, don’t ask