I chew my lower lip to the point of breaking skin, the copper taste of my blood flooding my tastebuds. I can’t believe I’m considering this. It’s crazy. Insane. The exact opposite of everything I’ve ever done. I’m not the impulsive one. That’s Indie. Nor am I the whimsical one. That’s Willow. I’m the logical one. The one that holds our little group together with reason and calm. I always have a plan.
This is not part of the plan.
Then again, neither was Zach, and he’s the best thing that ever happened to me.
“Fine.” I sigh, praying I don’t regret this manic moment of bravery on behalf of my son. “On one condition.”
“Name it.”
“Zach and I get our own place to stay.” If I’m going to do this, we need a place that we can retreat to the moment this all becomes too much—for me or for Zach.
“Done.”
“Really?” I ask, my voice cracking. “That simple?”
“I meant what I said. I want to apologize.” The sincerity in his voice makes me think he’s serious. “And it seems we have more to talk about as well.”
Then he goes and ruins it with snark.
I roll my eyes and sigh with hardly any confidence left.
Because he’s not wrong.
“Okay,” I agree. “But for the record, this is strictly business. No more talk about your dick.”
Luca chuckles. “I swear not to mention my dick unless it’s you who asks about him.”
“I won’t,” I grind out.
“Good, because I don’t fuck thieves.”
My jaw drops as he ends the call.
The fucking audacity of this man.
But as his words sink in, I’m smacked by the weight of them.
Fifteen years ago, I might not have been the thief he accused me of being, but if Zach is his son, I’ve become the worst kind of thief.
Because, unlike jewelry, time can never be replaced.
CHAPTER THREE
LUCA
I’m not sure how long I stare at the fireplace after I hang up the phone with Leigh. My thoughts race and I’m torn between wanting to punch in the drywall of the rental house and calling her back to demand answers.
A son.
She has a son.
I might have a son.
Why didn’t she tell me?
What does he look like?
Is he mine?
