Loving You: A Single Dad Romance (Words We Never Said Book 4), page 1
Loving You
WORDS WE NEVER SAID
BOOK 4
E.M. LINDSEY
Loving You
E.M. Lindsey
Copyright © 2024
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction.
Any resemblance to persons, places, jobs, or events is purely coincidental.
Cover by: Natasha Snow
Model: Eric Guilemete
Photographer: CJC Photography
Edited by: Sandra with One Love Editing
Content Information: Mentions of past child neglect, emotional manipulation (not between MCs), ableism and ableist language, emotional verbal abuse (not by MCs).
Contents
Acknowledgements
EM Lindsey Links
Loving You
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Chasing You
Also by E.M. Lindsey
About the Author
AI Statement
Acknowledgements
I want to thank my sensitivity readers, beta readers, editor, and ARC team for how kind and helpful they have always been. A big shout out and so much love to Shavi who has always been there for me, especially when I’m doubting myself. Thank you for loving these characters as much as I do, and thank you for always giving me reason to believe in myself as a writer.
And a special thank you to Bailey for helping me with Lucas’s character, the representation of blindness, and helping me delve into the pros and cons of education for blind and low vision students. This is a difficult topic and is not meant to represent any right or wrong opinion when it comes to parenting and education in a mainstream setting.
EM Lindsey Links
EM Lindsey's Website
EM’s Ko-Fi
Free Short Stories
EM Lindsey's Amazon Account
EM Lindsey on Instagram
EM Lindsey on Bookbub
Loving You
“How petty would I be if I brought a boyfriend home to meet my dad who was almost the same age as him?”
Bronx doesn’t mind being used as a pawn in the hot lawyer’s plan to piss off his father. After all, he probably would have done the same thing if his dad introduced him to a new step-mom who was barely six months older than him.
And it helps that Monty is not only ridiculously good looking, but he’s smart, kind, and has an accent that makes Bronx weak in the knees. He’s also an amazing distraction from the fact that Bronx’s husband up and left him and his son without warning, turning their lives upside down.
But what starts as game quickly becomes something else, because as much as Bronx was sure he had no more heart to give, Monty turns out to be everything he had once looked for in a partner.
It’s too bad Monty isn’t interested...
Right?
Yeah.
He’s definitely not interested.
Loving You is the fourth book in the single dad’s series, Words We Never Said. It features a fake relationship to reach epic levels of petty, a young lawyer, an older, tired veterinarian who thinks animals are almost always better than people, a meddling teenager trying to play matchmaker, and two men who can’t see what the universe is offering them on a silver platter. It’s a high heat, high swoon, age-gap romance to make your heart flutter and toes curl.
Chapter One
BRONX
“Remind me again why murder is a bad idea.”
Dallas laughed on the other end of the phone. “Because you’d go to jail for the rest of your life. Jules’s family is way too rich and privileged for you to get away with any kind of plea that wouldn’t leave you behind bars until you die. I’m pretty sure Lucas won’t forgive you for that.”
Bronx covered his face and groaned, deliberately not staring at his front door. Well, his former front door, though the house hadn’t closed yet, so it was still technically his.
And Jules’s, which was why he was behind the wheel of his rental, having a panic attack instead of going inside.
“Is he there?” Dallas asked.
Bronx looked at the BMW in the driveway and sighed. “He bought a new convertible. It’s cute.” And it was. It was a sporty little two-seater that had the top down in spite of the fact that it looked like rain on the horizon. It was very expensive, the kind of car that existed to show off money. The trim was black, the dash a sort of woodgrain, and the seats were white leather—something Bronx hadn’t touched in years, thanks to having a kid.
Jules always resented his nice things getting ruined. He’d buy them, then have little hissy fits when Lucas got smears of jam or dirt on them. At one point, Jules bought Lucas designer clothes, then had a complete meltdown when his baby Ralph Lauren polo got dirty. It was one of the biggest fights they’d had that year. Bronx couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Jules expected him to somehow keep their son from getting dirty.
Their son, who, at the time, still wasn’t walking.
“Just carry him, then,” Jules had demanded.
Bronx hadn’t dignified that with a response. Instead, he’d packed away all of the expensive clothes into a vacuum-seal bag and shoved them into the closet. Jules didn’t talk to him for a week, and Bronx took the reprieve. God, he should have known then.
But that incident was one in a damn laundry list of moments he should have known that Jules was not the man to marry, let alone raise a child with. Bronx had stopped trying to keep up with his grievances. What did it matter anyway? They were officially divorced. All he had left to do was the final walkthrough of the house. Then, the buyers would pay the money, the papers would be signed, and it would be over.
Completely and totally over.
“Do you think I made a mistake?”
Dallas was deathly quiet for a long beat. “About what? Because if you’re thinking about reconciling with that absolute fuck-weasel—”
“No. No. Fuck no,” Bronx said in a rush. He’d been hurt and confused for about three days after he’d come home to Jules gone and a note left behind. And after that, he’d just been angry. And tired. And shattered that he’d wasted so many years of his life on a piece of shit like him.
He didn’t blame himself for all the ways that Jules was terrible, but he did blame himself for staying when he knew the man had no intention of being anything other than a selfish ass. And he blamed himself for raising his son in such a toxic home.
Lucas was blind, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see what was going on around him. He was more astute than either of them had given him credit for. It had taken him far too long to realize Lucas knew exactly what was happening behind their closed bedroom door or how often Bronx slept in the office.
Or how often Jules never came home.
“So what could possibly be a mistake?” Dallas pressed.
“Leaving Luke at home,” Bronx admitted. “The fact that Jules had the fucking balls to text me and ask me not to bring Luke is one thing. I expected that. But shouldn’t I force him to look our son in the face and answer all the questions he’s running from?”
“Do you think that would be fair to Luke?” Dallas shot back. “You asked him, right? If he wanted to go?”
Bronx sighed. “Yeah. He laughed and said he’d rather walk around barefoot on dead summer grass.”
Dallas sucked air between his teeth, likely remembering feet full of stickers that were a mark of their childhood. “Then, no. You didn’t make a mistake leaving him home. You don’t need to emotionally torment your child to stick it to your ex.”
“That’s not what I fucking meant,” Bronx said, furious for a moment, but then he deflated because, despite his intent, that’s exactly what he would have done if he’d dragged Lucas along to spite his ex. “Sorry. Christ, I’m just…really tired. This is harder than I thought it was going to be.”
“I know. But it’s almost over. Everything you left behind you didn’t want, right?”
“There’s a couple photo bins in the basement I still want, but otherwise, yeah,” Bronx said. He could live without those too, though, if push came to shove and Jules was so unbearable he needed to flee.
He had all of Lucas’s childhood photos on his computer, but he really didn’t want to give up those bins if he didn’t need to. He liked having those early hard copies he’d taken when Luke was first brought home. He had a pile of photos from when Lucas was in the NICU, born early and covered in wires and tubes. He was so small—so delicate. Bronx hadn’t realized just how strong his son would grow up to be. There were also a few of the surrogate mom, who had since passed, and those were precious.
But Bronx knew damn well he’d live without all of it if it meant closing this chapter in his life. The ink from his divorce was still drying on the decree, and all that was left was this last moment with the house. Then Jules would be out of his life for good, and he could start rebuilding.
Movement caught his eye, and for a brief second, he saw his ex’s face in the window. It would be the first time seeing him since the night before Bronx had taken Lucas out of town for his goalball match. It was odd to think of that afternoon, walking into the house thinking nothing had changed and, within minutes, realizing his entire world had turned upside down. He’d been with Jules for so long he hadn’t considered a life without him. He had no idea how to start over.
He was pretty sure Jules hadn’t thought about him or Luke at all, and a small part of Bronx wanted to ask him how he did it. How did he just slough off a giant chunk of his life like it meant nothing? How did he go about his day like the past twenty-five years had meant nothing at all?
But Bronx had to remind himself that Jules had always lived with one foot in and one foot out of the marriage. He’d never bothered trying to be a dad, even though he’d taken that title the day Lucas was born. It was obviously easier for him because Jules had never let himself belong to either of them. He was able to step fully into his life of travel and parties like it was nothing.
Hell, he’d been having so much fun the week he left he had the nerve to sound annoyed when he finally picked up Lucas’s phone call. That had been a shitshow in itself. Lucas was angry more than sad. Bronx watched him shake as he listened to Jules on the other end. And it was those words that made Bronx want to set the man on fire. It was those words that told him once and for all that Jules was unworthy of calling himself a parent.
“How can you just leave? Why didn’t you bother saying goodbye?”
“Because there was no point. I’m not trying to be cruel, Luke. But the truth is, I was never really your dad. Our DNA isn’t stronger than, say, an uncle to a nephew. Your pop and you have a stronger connection. It’s better this way. Trust me.”
Luke had let the phone fall to the floor, and he locked himself in his room except to eat and use the bathroom for three days.
Bronx tried to call Jules back after that, but his ex refused to pick up. And the rest was history, through lawyers and mediation that Jules refused to be present for.
And now they were here.
“I should go. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can come back and wallow.”
“I’ll have a comfort feast waiting,” Dallas promised. “See you soon, yeah?”
Not soon enough, but yes, he would get back to his new makeshift family. And that was something. He hung up, then braced himself as he got out of the car and made his way to the door. Jules had left it cracked open, so Bronx pushed inside and listened to the echo around the empty rooms.
He’d sold most of his furniture after Dallas told him he and Lucas could move in with him, and Jules had signed the agreement that Bronx would keep all the money from all assets sold apart from the house. Jules’s lawyer presented the offer of twenty percent of the house sale, plus relinquishing custody so long as Bronx promised not to drag it out or ask for alimony.
Bronx would have laughed in his face if Jules bothered to show up to the mediation, but he took the deal. It wasn’t going to get better than that, and it wasn’t like Bronx was going to go after him for alimony in the first place. But it felt almost like trading his son for everything Jules had wanted, and he didn’t feel better about it until Lucas told him right to his face that the last person he ever wanted to be around again was Jules. So he agreed, even though it left a hollow pit in his stomach, because Lucas deserved better. They both did.
The emptiness he felt that day in court was reflected now as he made his way across the wood tile floors to the kitchen, where he could hear Jules puttering around.
On his way, he stared at the walls—mostly clean with a few scuff marks from Lucas’s shoes because he always dragged his left foot along the wall when he walked. There was also a height chart in the pantry doorway that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to paint over, but he knew the new owners would. Maybe they’d take a photo first. Maybe they’d think it was cute.
Or maybe they wouldn’t give a shit.
It was weird walking away from something that had been such a massive part of his life. But it was weirder knowing that his ex of twenty-five years felt nothing.
“You could have left some wine here,” Jules complained, his face in the mounted wine cooler. He turned and offered Bronx the sort of smirk that had once left him weak in the knees. Now, all he saw was a pathetic excuse for a man and an even worse father.
“You can get your own wine,” Bronx said flatly. “I don’t drink.”
“Yeah. You quit being fun years ago. But you could try to live it up for the few days of freedom you have.”
“This isn’t freedom for me,” Bronx answered without a hint of care. He was doing what his therapist said—he was grey rocking. Pulling all emotion out of his voice, refusing to rise to the bait. He wasn’t convinced Jules was a narcissist. He was probably just a spoiled little asshole who never bothered to grow up. But the technique worked because Jules had been poking at him for the last week, and Bronx could sense his irritation rising the longer he went without a reaction.
Rolling his eyes, Jules gestured to the counter where a handful of old silverware sat. It had been a wedding gift from Jules’s grandmother—a family heirloom. “You don’t want those?”
“Your grandmother’s silver?” Bronx asked. “That’s all yours.”
Jules used the tip of his pinky nail to pick at his teeth. “I’m staying on a yacht right now. I have no place for it.”
Bronx shrugged. “Get a storage unit. I’m not keeping your stuff for you.”
“Apartment too small?” Jules smiled again, and Bronx fought the urge to punch him in his perfectly placed veneers. But Jules was doing what he did best: he was getting under his skin. He’d been furious when Bronx had his address redacted from the divorce papers, and he’d been trying to get him to admit where they were staying. “I saw the sign on your door office too. Your name was removed. Did you go postal?”
Bronx ignored him, turning and walking away. He headed down the hall toward the basement door, where he knew the few things he wanted were waiting for him. He could hear Jules follow him, and he knew it was going to be like this for the rest of the afternoon. He needed to get this over with. Nothing was worth dragging this out.
He turned the knob and was met with musty, hot air. It had always smelled a little like old stone—mossy and wet, though they’d never had a mold issue which was the one saving grace when they were selling the place. He turned on the switch, and the low bulbs illuminated the mostly empty room, keeping him from eating shit on the stairs as he made his way down.
“Is this how it’s going to be? The silent treatment is beneath you, Bronxy.”
He flinched but kept his cool. “I’m not giving you the silent treatment. I just have nothing to say.”
“We could see about that wine. It always loosens your tongue. I know you want to yell at me.” Jules took the steps three at a time until he was nearly pressed up against Bronx’s back. His voice dropped, low and sultry. “And maybe smack me around a little bit?”
He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t feel the urge to cause his ex pain. But that was what Jules wanted. He thrived on conflict. It fed his ego, knowing that Bronx was hurting, knowing that he was close to snapping, and all because of him.
Bronx wasn’t going to let it happen. He wasn’t going to let Jules win.
“Come on, tell me how angry you are. I deserve it.”
Bronx turned his head and raised a brow at him, then took the last few steps and walked over to the remaining bin, which was perched on an old card table. Pressed against the inside was a single Polaroid of one-year-old Lucas perched on Dallas’s shoulder. It was before he’d had his implant surgery, so his eyelids were nothing more than tiny commas with thick lashes. He looked like a grown-up now.
It had been years since Bronx had seen those chubby cheeks and goofy smile.
