As my husband makes passionate love to me that night, pouring all his adoration into every touch, thrust, and caress, I feel incredibly unworthy of his love and devotion.
“He’s a total prick,” Reeve rages the next evening when he still hasn’t heard a peep from his father.
“He is,” I readily agree, massaging his tight shoulders. “I can’t believe he hasn’t called to congratulate you.”
Reeve turns, wrapping his arms around me. “Why do I care, Viv? Why do I still let him get to me? It’s not like he’s ever shown me more than fleeting attention, so why do I still need his approval?” Reeve has spent time in therapy dissecting his relationship with his father, but he still struggles.
“He’s your father. Your only living parent. It’s natural to seek his approval even though he doesn’t deserve you for a son. He never has.” I run my fingers through his hair, feathering kisses on his cheeks. I hate to see him hurting, time and time again, over that ungrateful bastard who is little more than a sperm donor. “You are the most incredible father to our son. You are everything to Easton your father is not. You are a far better man than him, Reeve, and I hope someday you will be able to let it go because I hate seeing you tormented like this.”
Reeve kisses me, sliding his tongue into my mouth and holding me close as I run soothing hands up and down his back. I moan into his mouth as he gradually kindles a slow-burning fire inside my body, clinging to him as desire surges through my veins. I wish I could drag my gorgeous husband to bed and ride him to distraction, but it’s almost E’s bath and bedtime, so sexy times with Reeve will have to wait until later.
When we break apart, he rests his forehead against mine, sighing wearily. Pain is etched across his handsome face, and I will strangle Simon Lancaster for putting a dampener on what should be a special time for Reeve. He lifts his head, and steely determination glints in his eyes. “I’m going over there. I’m confronting him. And then I’m cutting him out of our lives. It’s not like he makes any effort with us or his grandson.”
It’s true. Simon Lancaster has little to no interest in Easton. I only invite him to birthdays and Christmases for Reeve’s sake. Easton doesn’t have much time for him, and he doesn’t care. He adores my parents, and they spoil him rotten, lavishing him with attention, love, and far too many gifts. As far as Easton is concerned, his grandpa is Jonathon Mills. Simon Lancaster is an afterthought, as he deserves to be.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” I know it will hurt Reeve, and this should be a happy time for him after his win last night.
“I’m done making excuses for him.”
“I’ll come with you.”
He shakes his head. “I appreciate the offer, but this is a conversation I need to have alone.” He pecks my lips. “Besides, you have to stay with Easton. One of us should be here to put him to bed.” Lust flares in his eyes. “When I get back, I’m so having my wicked way with you.”
I press a demanding kiss to his lips, letting him know I’m down with that plan. “I’m holding you to that, lover.”
Picking up my hand, he presses a kiss to the underside of my wrist. “You know I always deliver. Keeping you satisfied is always top of my wish list.”
“Love you.” I wrap my arms around him, channeling all my love into my hug. He will need it for this conversation with his father.
“Love you too.” He eases out of our embrace, softly ruffling my hair. “I’ll see you later, beautiful.”
“Okay, but call me if you need me to come over.” Our house isn’t far from our parents, all of whom still live in North Beverley Park.
I’m bathing Easton forty minutes later when Reeve calls. Swiping my sudsy son up out of the tub, I wrap him in a large fluffy towel, settling him on my lap on top of the closed toilet seat as I answer my husband.
“Viv,” he croaks, the second I answer, and my heart stops. “I need you.”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I ask, instantly panicked. Simon has never physically hurt his son. His abuse was more of the emotional, psychological kind, but I wouldn’t put anything past that coldhearted bastard.
“He’s dead,” he blurts.
“What?” I pull Easton into my chest, covering his tiny ears with the towel so he doesn’t pick up any of this conversation.
“I found him in his bed. The staff hadn’t gone near him all day because they had strict instructions never to disturb him in his bedroom.”