Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 92

"Wrong. He knows I exist," he counters. "The little man thinks I'm a fire-breathing monster in a suit."

"He did." I snort. "Now he thinks you bring supervillains to justice." "Much better."

I sigh contentedly.

Just like before, the sky looks diamond studded, brighter and calmer over the desert. I can appreciate the majesty and the splash of the Milky Way reaching down like it wants us to know the universe approves of my confession.

"We won't tell anyone. Not at first. We'll figure it out," he says. "We can settle into normal life."

"But together?"

"As together as I can physically arrange."

I have other thoughts—other considerations—specifically about how we're going to handle spending time together as a couple without constantly sending Arlo to the babysitter, and what his family will say if we reveal we're dating.

"What about you?" he asks, toying with my hair. "Will we have to break the news to your folks?"

"Um, which part—that Arlo's father is fantastically rich or that we've reconnected? It's not a big concern. I still don't talk to my parents much." I wince. Reconnected sounds like we had more than a fling to begin with. But Patton doesn't seem to notice.

"Both?"

"You're not even going to protest my use of fantastically rich?" "Call me egotistical, but that's not too far from the truth." "That does sound egotistical."

He drops a kiss on the end of my nose. "Sounds like I need someone with their feet on the ground to call me out when I'm being an ass."

"An egotistical ass."

"See? Archer will love you."

I laugh and burrow into his arms. He wraps his robe around me, too, and I wish I could linger here all night.

"But in all seriousness, my family kinda imploded. We've never had a holiday or visit since they walked out of my life. Mom dances around trying to make amends, and so do I," I say, and although he doesn't move, I can feel the mood change. "That's the choice they made when they left."

"Probably better I don't know their names," he says sharply. "Otherwise, I might be tempted to pay them a little visit and talk some sense into them."

I wince.

"Er, yeah, let's not. Maybe stick to romantic gestures like flowers?" I wiggle around so I'm facing the hard look in his eyes. "I mean it, Patton. I'm okay without getting them involved. We'll cross that bridge if and when we ever need to."

"You're okay now," he agrees. "And not because of them." "Flowers, Patton. Don't forget."

He releases the tension in his shoulders with a sigh. "Fine. But you've got to admit it's tempting."

"Almost as tempting as never seeing them again." He gives me a reluctant smile and kisses me again.

And maybe I won't scare him off in the next five minutes by squealing with joy and kissing his face off.

PATTON

Kansas City feels new and bewildering a week after our return.

My old routine, forever shattered.

Sure, Salem still lives at home with Arlo, who remains oblivious to the entire thing. I take them out on weekends and drop by often, even when she's not expecting me.

It's almost hard to process.

This need to see my woman, my son—fuck, my son—just to know they're alive and well and thriving.

What's harder is keeping a lid on my urge to march them out of that beat-up shoebox apartment and into my home that's ten times larger.

Too fast, I know.

This shit takes time.

The trouble is, time has fucked me over enough, thieving away years when I should've been in their lives.