“Looks like his dad,” I say.
“Like I said.” She smiles through her words and gives me a coy smile. It only lasts for a moment before it disappears.
I pull her back into my chest and focus my attention on the rest of the framed photos. The more recent photos show a little girl with dark hair just like Zander. Though Amber’s changed her hair color numerous times over the years, I’ve deduced that she has naturally dark hair, not too far off from Wyatt’s coloring. It’s weird being in Amber’s house, looking at her family photos, all the while knowing her sister as well as I do and yet not knowing Amber at all.
“You like kids,” I say. I always got the vibe from Elle that she wasn’t into kids. I never thought she hated them, but she never struck me as particularly maternal.
“I like some kids,” she corrects. “Zander was the first kid I didn’t dislike. I think it’s because he came out of the womb being a little asshole. He’s a good kid. Well, he’s never knocked over a liquor store—at least I don’t think he has. He’s got an opinion on everything, can justify it, and wants to take on responsibility like he’s fully grown. I respect him—always have.”
“You want kids?” I haven’t thought about it much before, but shit’s gotten domestic with Elle and quick, so I figure it’s important to ask. Especially since I rode her bare and have no clue what kind of birth control she uses, if any.
“Eh,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders. “Never thought it was my thing. I’d love any kid I had, but I never really saw myself as a mother.”
She’d be good at it. Watching her with Izzy yesterday made me curious to know if she realizes how much kids like her. Even a teenage boy with major attitude is smitten with my woman.
“Need a refill?” Amber asks from across the kitchen. I eye my empty mug and nod my head. I haven’t said much to her, and it’s not because it’s really fucking early in the morning. I have questions and she has answers, but I’m in her house, drinking her coffee, and she’s in a fragile place, so I’m doing my best to not be a dick.
Amber’s dark, reddish-brown hair is up in a messy bun. Other than her hair, she’s put care into her appearance. It’s not even seven yet, but she’s got a face full of makeup, tight jeans, high-heeled boots, and a short-sleeve shirt. She refills my coffee and brings me the milk and sugar. I give her a head nod as a thank you and add a splash of milk and a heap of sugar to my mug.
“I appreciate your being here. Elle’s my girl and you being here tells me she’s your girl now, too. That means we’re in each other’s lives, and I know you got shit to say, so I’d rather you just say it so we can move on,” she says. Her words take me by surprise, causing me to choke on my coffee. When I regain my composure, I find her fighting a smile.
“Not my place,” I say. “I’m just here to watch my woman’s six.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” she says with a huge smile. “Just because I’m Wyatt’s old lady doesn’t mean you can’t be honest. Actually, I’d respect you more if you told me what kind of bitch you think I am.”
“You want honesty?” I say.
She comes to sit across the table from me, leans back in her chair, and takes a sip of her coffee. “I demand it,” she says evenly.
“Okay, then. I’m trying to work out how fucked I’m going to be when my brothers find out about this shit. We don’t know each other, but I know your sister really fucking well, and I trust her judgment. Called her after Elle passed out last night to get a feel for how to handle you.”
“Then you must hate me if you’ve talked to Michele.” She says it with a smile on her face, like she’s pleased with the idea.
“Said you’re tough as nails and mean as hell, and if I think I’m going to be able to handle you, then I’m stupider than she thought.”
“She’s right,” she says with a real smile on her face. For the first time since we started talking, she doesn’t look combative. Neither of them have to say it, but I can tell they miss one another.
“This situation is fucked, but it isn’t on you. Wyatt and I made our choices, and we have to live with the consequences.” She pauses, looking nervous, and blows out a breath. I give her a few minutes of quiet and wait. She’s thinking on something and then says, “Elle tells me he’s different now—that I should give him a chance.”