Reckless (Mason Family #3) - Adriana Locke Page 0,52
my mind drift.
If it was just Jaxi and me, I know this thing between us would’ve already exploded wide open. Jaxi’s putting up a front because it’s the responsible thing to do with Rosie in the picture. I’m staying back because it’s the right thing to do too. But my brothers aren’t wrong. I truly like my house feeling like more than a place that I crash. Sitting down at a table in the evening and having a conversation. Having another person as a teammate. Having someone look at me like I’m not just handsome but also respectable.
Having Jaxi think I’m worthy of being in her and Rosie’s life.
But aren’t we keeping our distance romantically because of that little girl who deserves the chance to live in the environment I think—I know—that Jaxi and I could create together? Isn’t that counterproductive?
What’s the worst thing that could happen? It not work out?
I take a drink.
I’d still be there for her. She’s a great person. And I adore that little girl.
The longer I think about it, the more I’m convinced that I’m right. Who am I to deny fate?
Who am I to … not be me?
Fuck it.
I grab my phone and make some calls.
Sixteen
Jaxi
“That’s beautiful, Rosie,” I say as I hold up her latest and greatest fingerpaint masterpiece.
She squishes up her nose. The joy in her face makes my day.
“Do you know what it is?” she asks.
“Why don’t you tell me,” I suggest.
“Okay. That’s our house,” she says, pointing at a yellow blob streaked with brown in the middle of the paper. “And that’s me, and that’s Mommy, and that’s you, and that’s Wade.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Wade? Okay. Awesome.”
She shakes with excitement. “And that’s the guy who looks like Boone. And that’s my puppy. And that’s Boone!”
Her grin takes up her entire face.
Sunlight streams in the windows, filling the kitchen with a cheeriness and a warmth that settle into my soul. Mindless chatter plays on the television in the corner, and it’s the kind of ambience I always hoped to have in a home.
“Boone’s kind of tall, don’t you think?” I ask, looking at the purple line she pointed at that extends from the top of the page to the bottom.
“Yup. Because he’s tall and strong. Like this.” She flexes muscles that she doesn’t have. “Grrr …”
“Oh, boy,” I say, stepping back. “Those are some big muscles.”
She drops her arms. “I know.”
“I know it’s a good thing this is washable because you’re a mess,” I tell her, poking at a glob of green paint in her bangs.
“I’m a mess, I’m a mess, I’m a mess,” she sings, bouncing around her chair. “Can I do another one?”
I grab another piece of printer paper and set it in front of her. And, because I’m a quick learner, I attach two pieces of tape to it and secure the paper to the table.
“Knock yourself out, kiddo,” I say.
I head to the sink and rinse my hands. She sings what I suspect is a cartoon theme song as I pluck a couple of sections of paper towels off the roll. My phone rings on the counter, and I see Libby’s name on the screen.
I press the green button. “Hello?”
“Hey, you.”
Her voice is thick with exhaustion and sounds like she’s been crying. I’m sure she has. I was just hoping that she was in a different, maybe easier, phase of grief by now.
“How are you doing?” I ask her.
She laughs, but there’s no amusement in the sound. “I’m alive. Does that count for anything?”
“Sure does. Some days that’s a victory in and of itself,” I say, watching Rosie nearly tip over a jar of pink paint.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called you. Between calls with my attorney, messages from Ted asking that we handle this civilly,” she says, mocking his tone, “crying fits, and the standing date I have with cinnamon rolls from the bakery on the corner from eight to ten every morning—I’ve been a little busy.”
“Well, I have intentionally not called you because I wanted to give you some space. I figured your hands were full, and you would call me if you needed me. I hope you enjoyed my encouraging texts.”
She laughs. This time, it’s a little livelier. “I considered mailing a box of spiders to her house after your suggestion the other night, but my attorney wasn’t a fan.”
“I didn’t know you were running my ideas of revenge through your attorney. That takes the fun out of it.”