But Ignacio doesn’t look my way when he leaves the house. His face is filled with pain as he stares ahead, walking right past me without saying a word.
When the front door opens again and Alex walks out with a sad look, I know it’s already beginning. What I wanted to protect my son from is already happening.
“He’s going back to St. Louis,” Alex whispers, his arms circling my waist as we watch him drive off.
I press my lips to the top of his head and squeeze him a little tighter.
Chapter 33
Ignacio
“I think that’s what it’s going to take.”
Quinten looks over the top of his cup of coffee, steam billowing from the top. He takes a long sip, making my own mouth burn before answering. Calm and controlled. This man always thinks before he speaks, always mulls over many scenarios before voicing an opinion. That’s why he’s the best fixer, the man who comes in and cleans up messes after idiots fuck up. He doesn’t think in straight lines, his mind formulating options as well as their outcomes.
“I think you’re wrong.”
I glare at him. He may not have much experience with women and long-term commitments because and I quote—there’s too much risk with love. The probable outcome of staying together is very slim, and those that do end up hating each other—but the man is my best bet for advice right now.
“Okay,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “How do I make it right?”
“Going to her and telling her what she’s going to do sounds like something Wren suggested.” He takes another drink of coffee, alarmingly bright blue eyes pinning me in place.
“He used more colorful language than I did.”
He shakes his head. “Figures, but women don’t go for that macho, demanding shit in real life. You do that and you end up in jail. Ever been inside a jail in Texas?”
I raise an eyebrow in curiosity because although I haven’t, he’s making it sound like he sure as hell has.
He waves me off. “A story for a different day. Back to you. Do not, and I can’t stress that enough. Do not tell a woman who has been raising a son on her own, making every decision for her family, that she’s going to uproot her entire life and move to St. Louis because you think that’s what’s best for her.”
“But it is,” I argue.
“And that may be true, but she’s not going to go for it.”
“Because you know so much about women,” I grumble. “When was the last time you—”
“I know people, Torres, and you asked me over here for advice. I could easily be at the range right now.”
Taking a deep breath, I calm myself down. It’s human nature to ask for advice when really you just want confirmation that your idea on how to solve a problem is the best idea.
“Suggestions, then?”
“Talk to her.”
“I told her I loved her,” I confess. “She didn’t want to hear it.”
“Did you tell her during an argument? Did you yell it to get a point across or did you do it while cupping her face and looking lovingly into her eyes?”
I glare at him.
“Exactly. I said talk to her, not yell at her. Women don’t listen when we yell. They aren’t thinking about what you’re saying, they’re formulating their response.”
“Have you not been list—” I clamp my mouth closed. “I’ve tried to talk to her. She doesn’t listen.”
“Make her listen.”
“Which is why I suggested—”
“Never take Wren’s advice. I don’t know how he scored Whitney’s sexy ass, but it was a damn fluke. He’s lucky he didn’t end up with kidnapping charges himself. Did you know he put a bag over her head and carried her out of a damn hotel room? Do you know how many points in his plan could’ve landed him in trouble?”
“From my understanding she loved it.” I shrug.
“She’s definitely one of a kind.”
“Enough about him. I need help fixing my own problems.”
“She’s terrified you’re going to hurt her.”
“Comes up in every single conversation.”
“You hurt her in the past.”
“I was fucking horrible, man, but I did it to protect her.”
“Nonetheless, you hurt her. It’s just going to take time.”
“I’ll spend a lifetime, man. Every second of every day, but she makes it damn hard. She’s fucking adorable, like a little chihuahua, snarling and baring her teeth.”
“You could start by not thinking of her like a dog,” he mutters before draining his still piping-hot coffee. “I need to jet.”
“We didn’t solve shit. You’re supposed to solve shit.”
“These aren’t the types of messes I normally clean up,” he says, placing his empty cup in my kitchen sink. “Matters of the heart, man. There’s so much in play, it’s hard to determine an outcome, and even the outcome you get now may change in a month, a year, a decade. It’s a fucking gamble, and not one I’ll ever take.”
He gives me a quick salute and a you poor fucker smile before leaving.
He didn’t help a damn bit.
It’s an hour later and I’m buried in the very back of my closet clearing shit out when there’s a knock on my door. I take my time answering, certain that it’s one of the guys from work. I get no other visitors, and I’m sure Quinten went back to the office and gossiped about the shit going on in my life. Knowing Wren, he’s bugged my damn house and knew before Quinten even rode up on the elevator.
But when I pull my door open, it’s not a guy from work.
I should be ecstatic that Tinley and Alex are standing there, but my son is covered in bruises, his right eye swollen so badly I can’t see the white part of his eye.
“What the hell happened?” I snap, anger my first response to knowing someone hurt my child.
She hasn’t answered my call in the last three days, and that’s why I’ve been rushing around packing up my damn condo. I needed to get back
