she put dates in air quotes “—then Clay will vet the guys.”
“Like he does for you?”
Mila didn’t make eye contact with him. Didn’t confirm what he’d just said, either, but she suspected this had come up in his conversation with Sophie.
“It works,” she answered, trying to sound light and carefree. “I’m in one piece.”
Physically, anyway. Whenever she was around Roman, she felt a little damaged. As if all the pieces were there but not in the right places.
Maybe that’s why there was tingling in her panties.
“You’re too good a person to not have someone in your life,” he added a moment later.
“Pot calling the kettle black.” She hoped that would cause him to chuckle again just so she could hear that pheromone-y sound.
But no. Roman shook his head. “I’m not a good person.”
Mila nearly jumped to argue with that. There were better than good things about him. He’d raised his son on his own. He’d built a business. And he hadn’t been in trouble with the law in years.
All right, that last part wasn’t so much good as it was that Roman had learned to follow the straight and narrow. Or maybe he’d just learned not to get caught.
“I don’t want anyone in my life,” he continued. “I only have room for Tate right now.”
Of course, she’d known that, but it was a little soul-crushing to hear him say it aloud. And this time, the words really sank in. Not just his, but Belle’s, too. And Sophie’s.
Because Mila did indeed want someone in her life.
She always had. She’d just wanted the wrong person, and it was obvious that wasn’t going to change. In fact, it could get worse. After what’d happened, Roman probably was going to spend even more time and energy just being a dad.
Mila glanced down at her purse. It was still open, and she could see the note with the dating sites that Belle had given her. She’d planned to toss it first chance she got, but that wouldn’t happen now.
Maybe it was time to move past the fantasy level and find someone who could fill all these empty places in her life.
Maybe it was time for clothing removal, after all.
ROMAN HADN’T BEEN sure there was anything worse than his mother’s annoying verbal jabs. But there was. And it was his son’s silence.
Now that Belle had been sent home the day before, Tate and he had the room to themselves. Something that Roman had wanted. That’s because he’d envisioned it giving them a chance to have some long, meaningful conversations.
It hadn’t.
Tate was playing with the yo-yo Vita had sent him while he watched some show about soy farmers. Not that there was a good channel selection on the hospital TV, but it was a hit to the ego that his son preferred organic soy farming to him. Before that, Tate had preferred a documentary on dwindling fly-fishing spots. Before that, he’d played a game on his phone until the battery had died. When no one had been able to find him a charger, the marathon of compelling TV had started.
Roman wasn’t sure how much longer this would go on. They were waiting on Dr. Sanchez to give them a yay or nay verdict. Nay would mean they’d have to stay in the hospital one more day.
A yay would mean they could go home.
Tate was fine physically and probably could have already left, but Roman was thankful the doctor had kept the boy with him. This way, they could leave for home together instead of Tate having to stay with the housekeeper, Garrett or Sophie.
“As soon as we get home, I’ll start looking for a new school for you,” Roman threw out there. Like everything else he’d said to his son, he rethought that. Maybe Tate wasn’t mentally ready for school yet, but he couldn’t imagine that it would be a good idea for him to just sit around in between therapy appointments.
And there would be therapy.
Dr. Woodliff had already made it clear that he wanted to see Tate indefinitely.
“I can drive you back here for your sessions,” Roman added, rethinking that, too. It was possible that just the thought of therapy was depressing for Tate.
It sure as heck was depressing for him.
So was the fact that he was getting behind at work. Of course, that depression was to a much lesser degree than what he was feeling for Tate. Roman had delegated some of the work to his assistant, and his business partner, Lucky McCord, had taken on some, as well. But sooner or later, Roman needed to tackle at least some of the paperwork. The trips he’d have to hand off, too, since he didn’t want to be away from Tate until things were back to normal.
That was another depressing thought.
Normal hadn’t been exactly stellar what with Tate’s surly moods. Roman hoped the new normal was an improvement, but he would settle for a life where his son didn’t feel the need to take pills to dull his pain.
“Will my mom be at my appointments with the doctor?” Tate asked.
It wasn’t an out-of-the-blue question. Dr. Woodliff had said that Valerie should come for some of the therapy sessions. Roman had nixed that at first, but then the doctor had reminded him that Valerie was at the root of this.
Root.
Yeah, she was. But that didn’t mean she would help matters if she came. She could only stir up Tate and make things worse. She’d stir up Roman, too. Not in a good way, either. There was no trace of the love he’d once felt for her, but there sure as heck was a lot of resentment.
Still, Roman had tried to call Valerie, using the last phone number he had for her. It was no longer in service so he’d asked Clay to try to track her down. Roman had even had his housekeeper take Clay the envelope that had arrived for Tate the day of the suicide attempt. There hadn’t been a return address on it, nor any hint of Valerie’s whereabouts inside. It had been just another recycled card, this one for his birthday. But there had been a postmark, and it was possible Clay could track her down using it. That was one of the few advantages to having a cop in the family. That, and the fact that his sister was crazy in love with the guy.
There was a knock at the door, and Roman sat up, figuring it was Dr. Sanchez. But it was Garrett. His big brother glanced at him, at Tate, the yo-yo and then at the TV.
“Well, hell. No wonder you’re down in the dumps,” Garrett said, clearly not afraid to address the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room. “Here, this might help.” He dropped a phone charger on the bed and handed Tate a brown paper bag. “Burger and fries from the diner. I asked them to add some extra grease for you.”
Tate reached for both right away. “Thanks, Uncle Garrett.” He sounded so happy that Roman was surprised he didn’t add some “gee-whizzes” to that. Tate plugged in his phone and started in on
