One-sided climaxes could be considered a felony, I suppose. Using that argument, my discomposure was justifiable.

I mumbled something about needing to get the boys from Tessa in the midst of my mildly subdued panic. Not wholly a lie. She did have a lot of work to do.

Ben bought it. That’s all that mattered.

And now I’m walking us right back into that discussion.

I gaze out the passenger window. At the trees whipping past us. I can’t jump out of the truck at this speed. Even if I do manage a decent tuck-and-roll, I’m sure I’ll break something.

My hands knot together in my lap. They suddenly feel clammy and cold. Somewhere between the dashboard and my knees, my eyes lose focus.

How can I avoid talking about this again? It’s not that I don’t want more kids. That’s not it at all. Not even close. It’s just . . .

The brush of Ben’s fingers against my cheek turns my head.

He has shifted a little in his seat, his body now angled toward me and his elbow resting on top of the wheel. It’s then I notice we’ve stopped moving. The truck is in park, pulled in front of a long driveway leading to a pale-blue rancher.

“Oh,” I murmur, swallowing thickly. I look from the house into Ben’s eyes. “We’re here.”

Great. I was so caught up in possible baby-talk with Ben, I didn’t have time to mentally prepare for this nightmare of a meeting. Now I’m about to walk into it blind.

Anxiety builds at the base of my neck, tensing my shoulders. I quickly feel sick to my stomach.

“Yeah. We’re here,” Ben echoes, his gaze gentle. No longer inquisitive.

He turns his head, looking through the window, his body suddenly taking on that stiff, agitated demeanor I’d been expecting and silently asking for this entire drive.

Reactive Ben. There you are.

He’s no longer collected and mild-mannered. He’s unyielding to the soft leather of the seat, refusing to form against it and glaring straight ahead, his nostrils flaring and his breaths growing heavier. Louder.

Now I’m wishing for the opposite. A composed, unconcerned man.

I don’t want Ben to be worked up by this. I don’t want him worrying or wondering what will possibly come of this meeting. Angie shouldn’t be affecting my family, yet she is.

Damn it! What gives her the right to hold any power over the men I love?

I glare through the window. A figure moves onto the front porch.

Blonde. Bitch.

What gives her the right? Nothing. Angie doesn’t have any right. She shouldn’t have any power. And I refuse to let her believe she does.

A demanding possessiveness stirs in my blood.

This is my family. Mine. Not hers. Ben is mine. Nolan is mine. Chase is . . . well, obviously Chase has nothing to do with Angie, but still. If she even looks at him thinking anything besides how fucking cute he is, I might just haul off and deck her.

With a quick hand, I unlatch my seat belt and shove the door open, jumping down from the truck.

“Mia?”

I look up at Ben, my hand on the door, ready to slam it shut. My chest rising and falling rapidly. “What?” I snap.

He blinks. “You okay?”

“I’ll be better in five minutes. Come on. Get out of the truck.”

I run a hand through my hair, then brace that same hand on my hip. My fingers tapping impatiently on my dress as I turn my head and stare directly at Angie. My eyes narrow to tiny slits.

She holds my gaze for a solid second before cutting away and looking down.

Surprised to see me, bitch?

“You look sexy as hell right now.”

“I just want . . . Wait, what?” My head whips in his direction.

What did he just say?

Ben smirks, unlatching his seatbelt, his eyes never leaving mine. “Sexy, Angel. Looking like you’re ready to throw down and claim what’s yours. I’m feeling you, baby. I get it.” He steps down from the truck and looks at me over the top of the seat, grinning a full-blown, heart-stopping grin, all big and beautiful.

I roll my eyes, even though I love that look. “You make everything about cookies, you know that?”

Shrugging, he steps back and grabs the edge of the door. “Hard not to, being married to the hottest woman I’ve ever seen.”

I fight my smile, and lose.

“Love you,” I tell him before shaking my head and looking away. My shoulders drop with a sigh. “No more sweet talk. I need to retain my edge.”

“I’ll try and keep it under control.”

We both grab one of the boys, me cradling Chase in my arms, his eyes still closed and his body still slack from sleep, and Ben hoisting Nolan up onto his shoulders, letting him straddle his neck the way he likes doing.

I lead the way up the driveway, coming to a stop in front of the bottom step of the porch. I don’t feel any need to go any further. This is good enough.

She is close enough.

Angie slowly moves to the edge of the railing.

I barely recognize her. She looks thinner. Her skin a little paler, her hair lifeless, her complexion dull. It’s been three years since we spoke in person last, but gazing at her now it feels like it’s been longer. She’s aged terribly, that bitchy, smart-assed confidence she had burning inside her is vanished. Snuffed out.

Her shoulders aren’t pulled back. She isn’t asserting her place.

The woman in front of me is uneasy. Hesitant. She’s looking down at me, but in no way is she above me.

Good, I want to think, just as an unexpected wave of sympathy passes through my body.