Resisting Cassidy (A Forbidden Romance)

Tate

I'd met with Jason a couple of times to discuss Maddy's custody and what I wanted, and what Cindy demanded. To no one's surprise, Cindy wanted more money. In return, she'd gladly hand me my daughter back, like she was some borrowed item. Jason managed to convince Cindy to hire a nanny for Maddy, someone who'd in fact take care of our daughter while she was in Miami. Added to my expenses, of course. I didn't care of the cost, needing to know Maddy was safe and cared for. She'd hired a middle-aged Mexican woman we had both vetted. Someone who was kind enough to let me speak with Maddy while they were out.

"She's teaching me Spanish!" Maddy had proudly announced during one of our FaceTime calls. "And she made new clothes for Vanessa!" she added, showing off her doll's new duds.

I 'd been pleased with this progress, but each and every single time, before we signed off, Maddy would ask about Cassidy, telling me she'd missed her.

"I miss her, too," I'd replied, careful not to sound too overwhelmingly sad. The last thing I wanted was to worry my own daughter.

Cassie made the right decision, I told myself again as I entered the dark living room. One day, I'd believe myself.

Leaving for New York was what we'd agreed on. It was for her own future. I promised her everything would be fine between us.

Fine.

What a horribly lacking word.

But as the weeks went by and the times we'd chatted had dwindled down to almost nonexistent, between both our busy schedules, I began to wonder what in the world had I been thinking.

Why did I let her go?

Her family seemed to be delighted with the results. I managed to avoid most of them. Her brother Hunter and his family returned to New York City and Cassie now lived with them. Not knowing exactly where Hunter sat in the pro-Tate or against Tate camp, it had put a strain on my relationship with Cassidy.

In the dim house, I poured myself three fingers of Makers Mark, left my bag on the floor, reports forgotten, and dragged my ass to my bedroom, with the half-full bottle in my hand. Passing by Maddy's empty room stabbed at my heart. This was where she belonged. Her stick figure drawings and Jackson Pollock-like paintings dressed the walls. The large canvas paintings she'd created with Cassidy and me one summer afternoon adorned my bedroom wall, where I could stare at it while I pretended to sleep.

Two more steps and I faced Cassie's bedroom door. How many times had I gone in there, almost expecting her to be asleep in her bed, in her little shorts that teased me to no end and drove all the blood to my groin? Waiting for me to come home from work? Waiting for me to carry her to my bed? Our bed.

I didn't open her door  and went straight to my bedroom, thinking I should have fought harder for her, for us, and arguing with myself out loud, "This was what she wanted."

"If I don't go, my family will never believe I've grown up," she'd told me the night she packed her things. I'd watched her in silence, unable to say a thing.

At least she had waited until I returned from Miami. She didn't just disappear without saying good bye, without that last kiss, the last time I tasted her, held her.

Stay danced on the tip of my tongue.

The moment she took her clothes out of the dresser was the moment I knew I lost.

"We'll be fine, you said so yourself," she said more at the clothes she was folding and packing than to me.

I wasn't fine. I hadn't been fine since that night. Tilting the lip of the glass against my mouth, I emptied it and let the liquid burn down to my gut. Wincing, I poured more. I toed my shoes off, not bothering to undress out of the day's work clothes and lay on top of the unmade bed.