was that going to happen? He was still living in the mansion—he didn’t even have his own place. And getting a restaurant off the ground wasn’t a nine-to-five job, that was for damned sure. Not now, not ever. How could he make sure he was a part of Percy’s life?
The sauce was halfway done when Leona came into the kitchen. She was wearing leggings and a T-shirt but there was still something about her. There’d always been something about her.
“Ah,” she said when she saw the bubbling apples. She gave him a small smile. “I should have known.”
“Applesauce. For Percy,” he explained. “Just apples and a little lemon. I didn’t know if cinnamon would be too much for him.”
“It smells wonderful. He loves apples.”
They stood there silently for a minute.
“It’s not a big batch. Do you have a container for it?”
Leona dug out a plastic bowl and Byron moved all the dirty dishes to the sink. Yes, he needed answers. But honestly? He had no idea where to start. So he didn’t. He did the dishes instead.
The uncomfortable silence lingered for a few more minutes as he washed the knife and the cutting board. Leona dried. Finally, she broke the silence.
“We should come up with a plan, I guess.”
“A plan?”
“Yes. If you’re really going to stay—”
“I am,” he interrupted, stung by the insinuation that he’d bolt.
“Then we need a plan.” She swallowed, her gaze focused on the sink. “A custody plan. I know I can’t keep Percy from you, but I’m not going to just give up custody.”
“You already kept him from me.” She winced but he refused to feel bad for her. “And I didn’t say you had to give up custody. But why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “Why did you keep this from me?”
“I thought...” She dropped the dish towel on the counter and turned away from him. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me. Your phone was disconnected and you were in Europe—pretty damned far away from here.”
That was true. But it was the way she said it that confused him. He looked at the back of her head as if he could peer inside and find the answers he was looking for. “You could have sent an email.”
“I could have,” she agreed. Her shoulders heaved with a massive sigh. “I should have. But I was afraid.”
“Afraid? Of what?”
She turned to him, her wide eyes even wider. “Of you, Byron. Of all the Beaumonts.”
He gaped at her. Before he could remind her that he was not the one who’d lied, she went on, “And we left home with only as much as we could carry, and I had to get a job. Being pregnant wasn’t as fun as it seems on television and May had classes and...and you weren’t here. And I guess I convinced myself that you weren’t coming back and it was just me and May and Percy on our own. It was better that way. We didn’t need anyone else.”
He dried off his hands and placed them on her shoulders. “I could have helped. Even if...even if I didn’t come back, I still could have helped. Child support or whatever. You shouldn’t have had to do this on your own.”
She dropped her head and he heard her sniff. “Well, you’re here now. I can’t change what happened in the past but if you’re going to stay—”
“I am,” he told her again.
“Then, yes. Child support and custody visits. But I can’t lose him, Byron.” Her voice broke over this last bit. “Please don’t try to punish me by taking him.”
The anguish in her voice—her assumption that he’d exact some sort of twisted revenge... He spun her around and lifted her chin until she had no choice but to look him in the eye. Child support and custody visits were all very clinical-sounding things, like the few hours a year that he was shipped off with Frances and Matthew to visit their mother, who’d then spend most of the visit trying not to cry.
That’s not what he wanted. He was not his father, for God’s sake. He was better than that.
Except, was he? He’d gotten a woman pregnant and then left her in the lurch, completely alone with no other resources. Yeah, he’d thought her father would still be paying the bills and yeah, she’d rejected him, but when the facts of the situation were laid plain, he’d left her alone just when she’d needed him most.
She was right. That was exactly what Hardwick Beaumont would have done.
“I’m not going to take him away from you,” Byron told her, feeling the certainty of the words. “Because you’re both going to come live with me.”
* * *
Leona’s mouth fell open in shock. “What?”
Byron’s grip tightened on her shoulders. “I don’t have a place yet. You can either move into the mansion with me or help me pick something out—whatever you think is better. But you need to move in with me as soon as possible.”
Maybe this wasn’t happening. Maybe none of it was happening—not Byron returning, not him kissing her, not him reading a bedtime story to Percy. She could be hallucinating the whole kit and caboodle.
Sadly, the way he was holding her, the look in his eyes? She knew she wasn’t hallucinating a damned thing. And that was a problem.
“You want me to pack up and come with you?”
The tendons in his neck tightened. “I want my son with me. And if that means you have to be with me, then so be it.”
Ah. So he didn’t want her, not really. He would put up with her if that got him what he wanted, though. His words cut like a dull butter knife—painful and ragged.
She’d promised May she would not let Byron hurt her again.
She hated lying to her sister.
Still, Leona was making remarkable progress. She didn’t agree to Byron’s demands just to keep the peace, and she didn’t dissolve into useless tears and, most important, she didn’t do both of them at the same time. Those days were done. She might not be able to be strong enough to protect her own heart, but she had to protect Percy.
So she cleared her throat. “What if it’s not a good idea for us to live together?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
She couldn’t look at that hardness, couldn’t bear to feel the pain again. So she closed her eyes. She couldn’t help it. “Look, I know we had something once but it fell apart.”
“But—” he started to interrupt.
She cut him off. “And it doesn’t even matter who did what. If we live together...we’ll have to face those choices every single day.”
Every day she’d have to wake up knowing that Byron was mere feet away, not oceans and continents. Every single day she’d have to look him in the eye to discuss what Percy had done and every single damned day, he’d probably cook her a meal and she’d love it.
And every day—every minute—she’d wonder when it was all going to end.
Byron pulled her in closer and she felt his hot breath on her ear. “You listen to me, Leona Harper.” Panic blossomed in her stomach at his cold tone. “Maybe it doesn’t matter who did what, maybe it does. That doesn’t change the fact that I have a son and I am not going to stand aside a moment longer because you think it might be awkward around the breakfast table. You will move in with me and, until further notice, we will raise our son together.”
An unspoken or else hung in the small space between his lips and her ear.
She would not cry, by God.