Written with You (The Regret Duet #2) - Aly Martinez Page 0,34

the minute I brought up her twin sister. But all that aside, I like the idea of you having a woman. You can put your dick wherever you want, but maybe next time, let me give the stamp of approval before you bring her home to meet the kid? Yeah?”

“It’s hard to get a stamp of approval when it takes over a week to get in touch with you.”

He groaned. “Give it a rest, little brother. I already told you I didn’t have any cell phone service while I was camping.”

“You were camping for four days.”

“Oh, right.” He chuckled. “I forgot you talked to Jenn. Yeah. Okay, fine. All the other days, I was trying to avoid this bitchfest.”

Yep. That was Trent. My life was in shambles and he was trying to avoid a bitchfest. He cared just enough to corner a frightened woman who he thought might be scamming me, but not enough to have a conversation with me about it.

“Right,” I drawled before shooting a placating smile at Rosalee as she aimed the sprinkler in my direction. Luckily, it was far enough away not to reach the deck, where I was sitting fully clothed and not particularly interested in joining in her water day. “Anyway, she signed the paperwork. It’s done.”

“I cannot believe you’re going to let her walk away scot-free. This has fraud and prison time written all over it.”

“Yes. Just what I want to tell Rosalee one day. My dad killed your grandparents, which ruined your mother’s life, led to your conception, then her death, and then I had your aunt put in jail for pretending to be someone she isn’t because she loves you. No, thank you. My conscience is currently full. Willow can take a number and wait for her spot to come available.”

“You didn’t do any of that shit though. People make choices, Caven. Willow made hers.”

“Kinda like the choice we made not to tell the cops about those pictures after the shooting?”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he hissed. “We did what we had to do after he left us to clean up his mess. You think for one second we’d have the lives we do now if they knew what a sick fuck he was?”

“He killed forty-eight people. I think the general consensus is he was a sick fuck.”

Frustration seeped from his voice. “I’m not talking about this shit with you again. He’s dead. He got a fucking bullet in the chest. The whole fucking world can sleep better knowing he’s gone. The rest of it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It might for the families.”

“You know what? Fuck you. I’m done having this conversation. Your life is falling apart and you’re trying to take it out on me for decisions we made eighteen years ago. Go take your bullshit out on Ian. I gotta get back to work.”

I clenched my teeth. I wasn’t being fair. But with all the shit about the mall and Malcom coming back up recently, I was once again struggling with the decision we’d made not to tell the police about the pictures I’d found that morning after the shooting.

But Trent was right. That maniac was dead.

He ended the call without so much as a goodbye.

As I set my phone down, I attempted a sigh of relief, but there was no solace to be found in any of this.

Hadley…Willow…whoever… That woman had no rights to my daughter. But for all intents and purposes, I’d taken away her last blood relative.

I should have been celebrating, not feeling like an asshole. But then again, guilt was my forte.

I’d taken off over a week from work to stay at home with Rosalee, and each and every day, she’d asked about Hadley. I’d put her off by telling her that Hadley was sick. Christ, I didn’t know how I was ever going to explain this to her. Alejandra had been badgering me to tell her the truth, but I didn’t have the right words. I wasn’t even sure the right words existed.

Our story was too complex. Too traumatic. Too depressing. Too much for me to handle, much less my four-year-old daughter.

But it was the betrayal that I couldn’t seem to get over. Given enough time to mull it over, I felt like a part of me understood why Willow had done it. I’d lie, cheat, and steal my way back to Rosalee if someone tried to keep her from me. But I couldn’t get over the fact that she’d done it to me. A person