Page 42 of His to Love
Before I could stop myself, I whispered, “I missed you, too.”
And I knew without a doubt, that I meant absolutely all of it.
Chapter 10
My belly was stuffed full of delicious quesadilla and I was only slightly tipsy from the margarita. I pushed my plate away, blowing breath out through my cheeks, hoping it would allow more room in my stomach.
I should have worn yoga pants.
Tyson and I had eaten and laughed. We talked about nothing and everything and my cheeks ached from all the smiling I did over the last hour. The years apart hadn’t seemed to change anything in regard to how I felt about him. With Tyson sitting across from me, both of us slightly turned so we faced each other in the booth, I still felt the same familiar thrill course through my body whenever his fingers grazed my skin—accidental or otherwise.
“You haven’t talked much about your job,” I said and took a sip of my ice water. That margarita was delicious, but I forced myself to stop after one.
“There isn’t much to say.”
“What type of law do you practice?”
He hesitated. I barely caught it, but when he chewed the inside of his cheek before answering, I felt my back straighten as I pulled back from him.
“My grandfather does mostly general practice. A little bit of everything, really. Mostly estate planning.”
Given the clientele in Latham Hills, it made sense. Most of them would need estate-planning lawyers. But that wasn’t what had him suddenly peeling at the corner of the label on the bottle of beer. “What aren’t you telling me, Tyson?”
I tried not to be distracted when he brought his bottle to his lips and swallowed. It was the second time he hesitated to answer my questions, and I felt my hackles rise.
“I specialized in criminal law,” he finally said, his voice low.
“And?” Based on his anger at my father and what Tyson believed my father did to Tyson’s dad, criminal law seemed like something he’d naturally fall into. He always was a protector. And a fighter.
“That’s not a problem? That my job is to prosecute criminals?”
I sucked in a breath and leaned farther back until I was leaning against the wood wall behind me. “Wow.” I sighed and my eyes grew large. “I’m not my father, Tyson.”
Silence permeated the small space between us. The earlier ease of the conversation evaporated and I shook my head, blowing out a slow breath.
“What are we doing?” I asked, my voice suddenly dry and barely above a whisper. I reached for my water only to realize my hands were trembling. I swallowed thickly, emotion clogging my throat at the thought.
Tyson leaned forward and set his hand over mine on the table. Squeezing, he said, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you on that plane. I want to give this—give us—a shot now that we found each other again. But…you know who your dad is, Blue.”
As if I needed the reminder. I’d lived it every day of my life. Hated it for as long as I could understand. But his reminder stung deep. Like he was giving me a choice between him and my family. I didn’t like the feeling of an ultimatum. But I really liked hearing him telling me he wanted us to be together.
Just not like that.
“And?” The back of my eyes began to sting. “Will you ever see me separate from him?”
His chin dipped and his voice deepened. “Being with me means understanding that I’m not and will never be on his side.”
I shifted in my seat, wishing I could slide right off the bench and out the front door. This night had taken an unexpected, unwelcome turn.
Licking my lips, I could barely whisper, “I guess I was hoping you’d be on my side.” I pulled my lips to the side and inhaled, fighting the tears that were still burning my eyes. I couldn’t even tell you why. It seemed something wonderful was happening, but it also happened to be mixed with something horrible.
“I am.” His hand slid along my cheek until it curved around the back of my neck. He turned me toward him and with seriousness in his eyes, he repeated, “I am. I’ve always been on your side, Blue. Always.”
“I understand,” I murmured, leaning toward the loose grip he had on me. I pressed my lips to his palm, keeping my eyes on him. “But I still don’t see why my father is an issue right now, Tyson. Not with your work.”
His hand on my cheek flinched, and he looked away. “It’s not, now,” Tyson muttered. “It’s just that we grew up in families on opposite sides of the law. I don’t want to be separated again because of it.”
My heart ached. I didn’t agree with my father or his business. I would never fully understand the crime world he ruled. But I was taught loyalty. Family first, above all else. I also hated what my family stood for and had learned long ago that finding my own way, being my own person, was the only way I was ever going to be truly happy. For me, I wanted that to include Tyson.
