I’ll drown. I’ll lose myself in those eyes, all the love, the kindness, the patience that swims in them. I came here to talk to him, to figure out where to go from here, but when I look at him, the only words that come to mind are I love you .
I only make it another three steps down the winding driveway before my heart free-falls to my stomach, my feet halting. The bright garden Adam has been working at since I appeared at the end of his driveway comes into focus, lush petals splashing a rainbow of colors across his front porch, lulling me forward, closer to a feeling that screams of home.
“What are you doing?”
Adam’s eyes flip up, and he jumps to his feet, all six foot five of sweaty, barely-covered muscles. “Rosie.”
Bear leaps up from the dog bed on the porch, whining as he jogs toward me, pressing himself into my side.
Adam swipes at the sweat beading on his forehead, leaving a smudge of dirt above his eyebrow. “You’re here.”
I zero in on a droplet running a river down the center of his broad chest, through the flawlessly etched abs flexing as he yanks off his gloves.
“What are you doing?” I repeat, eyes flicking to the bushes that weren’t here before.
He wrings the gloves, gaze ricocheting between me and the bushes.
“Adam…” I skim the soft pink petals, fighting the sting of emotion behind my eyes. “These are peonies. You’re planting a peony garden in your front yard.”
He nods.
“Why?” I whisper, heart pounding in my ears.
The haze in his eyes clears, leaving them vulnerable. “Because I wanted you to feel like you were home if you decided to come back to me.”
There’s too much space between us. Too fucking much , the only logical decision is to eliminate it by throwing myself at his chest, wrapping every inch of me around him until there’s nothing left.
Adam chuckles softly, his hand running down my back.
“I forgot how good you feel,” I cry softly into his neck, and then he sighs, his body relaxing as he hugs me tighter.
“I missed you so much, Rosie.”
I slide down his body, wiping the traitorous tears from my cheeks. “I came to check on Bear, and then I was gonna segue into asking if we could talk about things. I wasn’t planning on jumping on you.”
He laughs again, and I’m not sure there’s a more beautiful sound.
“For future reference, jumping on me is always acceptable.” He gestures at my bag, discarded somewhere along the way on the driveway, and the dog jumping at my feet. “Do you want to check on Bear and then segue into asking me if we can talk here, or should we do it inside?” He cringes, checking his watch. “Shit, I forgot I have to meet someone in a half hour. It’s kind of important. My publicist said I have to be there.”
“Oh. That’s okay.” Disappointment slumps my shoulders, and Adam palms the back of his neck.
“I could push it? Yeah, I’ll just push it. Then we can have as much time as we need to talk.”
“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have shown up unannounced. I dropped Connor off at Brandon’s and instead of going home I wound up here instead.”
“I won’t be long. If you want, you could wait here with Bear, and I’ll come right home.”
“That works.” I scrub Bear’s ears, smiling down at the happy boy. “Let’s go inside and get you comfy on the couch so I can check you out, ’kay, handsome?”
Inside, Adam sets his gardening tools down in the hallway and heads upstairs to shower as I unpack my bag.
“Oh shoot,” I mutter, pulling Connor’s stuffed kitty out. Being with Adam this past summer helped me realize my son is a lot more flexible than I gave him credit for, but the one constant in his life is this kitty in his bed every single night, no matter where he sleeps. I’ve had to walk it over to Brandon’s house while Connor screamed on the other end of the phone far too many times.
Once Bear has been thoroughly checked and I’m confident in his healing, I snuggle beside him, his head in my lap as I call Brandon. It takes three tries before he answers.
“What?”
“I forgot to leave you Connor’s kitty.”
“Fuck, Rosie.” He blows out a deep breath, one I barely hear over all the noise in the background. “That was stupid of you.”
My chest pulls taut at the six-letter word he wields so easily. “I can bring it over later.”
“Yeah, you better,” he mumbles distractedly. “Aw, bullshit! He was on the bag! He’s safe!” Another sigh. “I’ll be home in a couple hours. Bring it over sometime after four.”
“Did you guys go out? That’s fun.” I bite my tongue to stop from asking him if he has our son at a bar while he watches a baseball game.
“Nah, Connor’s at home.”
“Oh. Who’s watching him? I could’ve kept him longer if you wanted to go out.”
He barks a laugh. “Sure, and then you’d bitch at me for not spending more time with him. He’s fine anyway. I set the alarm before I left.”
“You set the…what?”
“The alarm.”
I rub the headache forming in my temples while I process the meaning behind his words, the sound of Adam’s footsteps as he comes down the stairs thumping along with the beat of my agitated heart. “Who’s watching Connor?” I ask again.
“I set the alarm,” he repeats.
“Who the hell is watching Connor, Brandon?”
“Relax,” he says on a muffled whisper. “I put him in his playpen for his nap, and I set the alarm on my way out. I’m just at the bar downstairs.”
“You left our toddler at home alone while you went to get drunk and watch a fucking baseball game?” My last restraint snaps, and I leap to my feet as the words rush out of me, an angry, violent wave that pulses through me. “How can you be so damn careless with your son’s life?”
I don’t stick around to hear his bullshit excuse. Instead, I stuff my phone in my bag and march down the hallway, angry tears flooding my vision as I struggle to put my running shoes on.
“I’m sorry,” I say as Adam forces me to sit on the stairs, slips my shoes on for me. “I have to go. I don’t know how…does he not love him at all? He’s his father, for fuck’s sake.” My fists ball, fingernails biting into flesh, and I mumble a distracted thank you as he helps me back to my feet, opens the door for me, and follows me outside.
“Rosie,” he calls as I start my trek down his driveway.
“I’ll call you later, Adam.”
“Rosie .”
I stop, glancing over my shoulder. He stands at his truck, holding the passenger door open. There’s a tic in his sharp jawline, veins popping in his forearm as he clenches his keys in his fist, anger radiating off him.
“Get in the truck.”
“You have to meet someone. You said it was important. Your publicist—”
“Canceled. Get in the truck.”
“But—”
“Connor is a million times more important. There is nobody as important to me as you and that little boy, so for the love of God, Rosie, get in this truck before I throw you in it.”