68. Mira

68

MIRA

"How much longer?"

I blink at Peter Morris standing in the doorway for a few seconds. "Excuse me?"

"Before Zane is home." He slows it way down for me in case I suddenly lost my knowledge of the English language. "How much longer will he be gone?"

Shit, I wish I knew, I almost say. Maybe forever .

Zane never came to bed last night. He was gone when I woke up this morning.

He told me he won't wait around for me much more, but maybe what he meant was, I'm done waiting already. You've lost your chance.

I've been distracted and scattered all morning, trying to figure out how to fix things with Zane without having to tell him about the worst night of my life.

He thinks me opening up to him will save our relationship, but I know the truth: as soon as I lay out the sins of my past, Zane is going to show me the door.

And I wouldn't even blame him.

Peter Morris clears his throat. "Miss McNeil?"

This is the last thing I need right now. To be fair, I think Peter Morris might be the last thing anyone needs in their life.

I glance at the digital clock above the stove. "Zane is usually at practice for another hour, at least. You can come back then if you want to?—"

"We don't have time to come back," he snaps.

Jodie Barnes gives her partner a look that tells me Peter is exactly as terrible to work with as I'd assume.

"We're mostly here to talk to Aiden, anyway," she croons. "We want to check in with him and see how he's progressing."

I lunge for the folder we've been keeping on the bookshelf by the door for this exact moment. "I have reports from his teacher at school and his therapist. They've all noticed a huge improvement in his speech. He has good friends and is a lot more social than when he?—"

"We'll see all of this for ourselves," Peter drawls. "Is he here?"

I grind my molars together so I don't grind my knuckles into Peter's nose instead. "Yes, he's here. He's in his room."

"Shouldn't he be in school?" Peter's fingers drum over the notebook in his pocket like he can't wait to whip it out and write down NEGLIGENT in big, block letters.

"He's home sick. He's had a cough and we didn't want him passing it around."

Peter arches a brow, but I glare right back. He can set as many traps as he wants to, but I'm not going to fall into any of them. I may not be able to give Zane everything he wants—but I can do this.

I can help him keep his son.

I direct the two CPS workers to the sofa in the living room and go get Aiden. He was napping, but when I open the door, he turns towards me.

"Is Daddy home?" His voice is a hoarse little rasp.

I brush my hand over his forehead. He's warm, but the medicine must be helping, because he was burning up a couple hours ago.

"Not yet, but two people are here to see you. You might remember Jodie?"

He shrugs weakly. His face is pale. I want to tell Jodie and Peter to shove off and let him rest, but it's not my place.

"They just want to ask you a few questions," I tell him. "Just be honest and then I'll kick them out so you can keep focusing on getting better. Okay?"

He slides out of bed in his Spiderman pajamas and then stops. "Can I have another popsicle?"

I brush his blonde hair away from his sweaty forehead. "Today, you can have as many popsicles as you want."

Peter Morris must disapprove of Pedialyte popsicles, because he writes something down in his notebook as soon as I hand a blue one to Aiden.

He's tucked up on the couch as far from the two agents as possible. He has a fleece blanket around his shoulders. He looks even more ashen in the daylight coming from the windows.

I called the twenty-four-hour nurse line at the children's hospital early this morning and she told me to give him lots of fluids and rest. I'm not sure where "interrogations that could get him taken away from the only parent he has left" fit into the regimen, but here we are.

"We'll just ask you a few questions and then be on our way," Jodie says warmly. Her nose wrinkles in a smile. "You need lots of rest so you can feel all better."

Aiden stares at her blankly, sucking on his popsicle.

What if he doesn't respond? What if he refuses to say anything?

When he's around people he knows—like me or Zane, Daniel and Taylor, even Owen—he only stops talking to breathe. Even then, he sometimes gets the hiccups because his lungs can't keep up.

But he doesn't know Jodie or Peter.

And he's sick.

And Zane isn't here.

I'm about to text Zane and beg him to come home rightfreakingnow when Jodie asks Aiden a question I can't hear… and Aiden takes off.

"Jalen and Gallagher are both my friends. When they play Legos together, they fight. But they don't fight with me. Only at lunch when Gallagher sits by me and Jalen wants to sit by me, too. Everyone wants to sit by me at lunch," he muses, face wrinkled in thought. "I take turns sitting by them, but maybe I could sit in the middle. Then they could both sit by me."

He talks about his teacher and the funny puppets his therapist uses during their sessions. He tells Jodie and Peter, unprompted, about going to the park with me and Zane last weekend.

"Mira makes me hold hands when we cross streets. Cars can flatten us like pancakes, but not if we hold hands." He slurps on his popsicle. "But Mira holds hands with my daddy when no one is crossing the street. Just when we're inside and there are no cars."

They don't even have to ask him another question. Within five minutes, Aiden has told them absolutely everything they could ever want to know about his day-to-day life. The one thing that is absurdly clear is that Aiden is well cared for and very loved.

Even sour-faced Peter Morris has to admit that .

"Do you have everything you need?" I ask as I return to the living room after helping Aiden back to bed.

Jodie Barnes slings her purse over her shoulder and stands up. "I have what I need."

"It would have been nice if Mr. Whitaker had been here," Peter grits out.

I slap a smile on my face that I hope says something along the lines of, Fuck you very much. "He works hard and usually isn't here in the middle of the afternoon. Maybe call and schedule with him next time."

Peter's lip curls, but Jodie just smiles. "There won't be too many more of these. Zane is almost through his custodial trial period."

"There are still two more required meetings." Peter might as well be holding a knife to my throat. He's treating this process like a hostage situation.

Jodie leans in, voice low. "They're mostly a formality. Especially when a placement is going as well as Aiden's is here with the two of you. He's thriving."

I'm so relieved I could cry. But stable, dependable guardians don't uncontrollably weep as they show people to the door. At least, I don't think they do. Then again, what do I really know about stable, dependable guardians?

Instead, I open the door and usher them both out with a friendly smile. "Until next time, then."

When Zane comes home an hour later, the weirdness from last night has burned away in sheer excitement. I try to wait in the kitchen, but I'm bouncing from foot to foot and I accidentally find my way to the entryway.

Zane opens the door and stops, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" I say it a bit too loudly and have to force myself back down to normal volume. "Everything is going perfectly… according to CPS."

Zane drops his duffel on the floor with a thud. "Morris was here?"

"With Jodie. I'm starting to wonder if every other time he's come around has been an official visit or not. Because they kept things very professional today. They talked to Aiden for a few minutes and then?—"

Zane takes a half-step closer. "They talked to Aiden?"

"Y-yeah. Just for a few minutes. It's part of the process. Last time, Peter talked to me. This time, they wanted to speak with Aiden and?—"

"You let them speak to my four-year-old without me present?" he growls. "What were you thinking?"

I have no idea what I was thinking.

In the last hour, I managed to convince myself that maybe this would solve everything. Things are a mess with me and Zane, but he's going to be able to keep Aiden. Just a few more visits and no one will be able to take Zane's son away from him.

Somehow, I thought I could deliver the good news and… what? Zane would scoop me up and spin me around in a hug? Maybe we'd order a celebratory dinner? Fall into bed together and have celebratory, multi-orgasmic sex? Potentially get celebratorily married and live celebratorily ever after?

I'm an idiot for ever hoping for any of that.

This doesn't change a damn thing between us.

I swallow down tears for the dozenth time today. "It was a surprise visit. That's part of the deal. I didn't think I needed to tell you because?—"

"Because you don't tell me anything else."

"Hey! That's not—" I take a deep breath. "I would never keep anything from you when it comes to Aiden. He's your son, Zane. I want what's best for him—what's best for both of you."

"Then maybe you should leave."

The words hit like bullets in my chest. I can't breathe from the force of them.

Zane drags a hand through his hair. His throat bobs, and I think, He didn't mean that . I think, He's going to grab my hand and apologize .

I think, Please.

Instead, he pivots and kicks his duffel bag as hard as he can. I jolt back as the bag flies across the room and slams into the back of the kitchen island. I stare at it, that black, lifeless lump, too scared to move.

"Whatever is happening here isn't good for Aiden," Zane growls, flinging a hand towards the bag as proof. "I can't—I won't—Fuck, I've done a life of secrets before, Mira. I've done it and I hated it and I won't do it again."

Zane is right. I can't even argue with him.

This isn't good for Aiden. I'm not good for Aiden.

All it would take is one phone call to Peter Morris and Aiden would be out of this house faster than Zane could kick another duffel bag across the room.

If I was a better person, I'd pack my stuff and leave without another word.

But I'm not a better person.

I'm in love with Zane Whitaker.

Which is why, when he sighs and drops his head, I don't back away; I step closer.

"Don't leave." He sounds exhausted. "Aiden loves you and I don't want you to disappear on him, but…"

His voice trails off, and I don't want him to finish that sentence. It won't end well for me.

"Aiden has been in his room all day. I gave him ibuprofen an hour ago, so he'll need another dose at eleven tonight." The tears I've been holding in all day are rolling down my cheeks. I ignore them. Maybe if I do, Zane won't notice.

But of course he does.

He watches me back down the hallway with an unreadable expression on his face.

When I close the door to my bedroom, I don't even delude myself into thinking Zane will come after me.

This thing between us is breaking apart in my hands. All I can do is make it worse.