Better Daddy, page 17
Sloane opens the door moments later, beaming. “I love the gray suit on you.” I know. It’s the entire reason I wore it. “Am I underdressed?” With a small frown, she glances down at her black pants and the blue cashmere sweater that molds to her body like a second skin.
I can’t help but focus on the small bump where our baby is growing, my hand itching to touch her. At sixteen weeks, she is starting to really show.
It probably isn’t my smartest move, but I give in and settle my palm over her lower abdomen.
“You’re perfect,” I whisper. With my other hand, I hold up the flowers. “For you.”
Her eyes go soft as she takes them and brings them to her nose. When she lowers the bouquet, I angle in and press my lips to hers.
She sighs into my mouth, and my heart stutters.
Yes, this is going to be perfect.
Though as we stand outside the building ten minutes later, I’m doubting that sentiment and Madame E. How in the bloody hell has it gotten warmer since I left Jersey? And when did all the clouds appear? Like this, not even the full moon is visible, let alone the stars.
It’s strangely quiet as a man on a bike stops in front of us. Attached to the bike is a small, half-covered cart with a neon sign that says Love.
“What is that?” Sloane says.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. My stomach pitches and sweat breaks out at my temples.
When I called about the horses, the bloke I talked to mentioned that the rides were different now. Though he didn’t tell me just how different, and I didn’t ask. I just told him that it was fine, as long as the concept was similar.
Bollocks, I really should have asked, because the small seat behind the bike is barely big enough for me, let alone both of us and my blanket.
“I believe that’s our ride. It’ll take us around the park.” Or not. I can’t imagine the little man on the bike can actually pull the two of us around.
“Do you think this is a good idea?” Sloane asks, not looking away from the ridiculous bicycle-carriage contraption. “It’s supposed to pour.”
“No,” I assure her quickly, my chest pinching. “I have it on good authority that it will not.”
She looks up at the heavy cloud cover and shrugs. “If you say so.”
The man on the bike is bathed in an eerie pink glow when he says, “Mr. Murphy? Hop in. We should get going if we want to beat the rain.”
“It’s not going to rain,” I grumble, though I’m feeling less sure of myself as the clouds grow darker above us.
He cocks his head, his face cast in strange pink-hued shadows. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”
I help Sloane into the carriage, if it could be called such a thing, then climb in and squeeze myself next to her. The foot of space between the bench and the front of the carriage means my feet barely fit, and my knees are wedged just below my chin. But with a long breath out, I force away the irritation gathering in my chest and tuck Sloane into my side.
“This is cozy.” I smile, though it feels more like a grimace.
Sloane rolls her lips, just like T.J. did an hour ago, and hums.
The man starts to pedal, standing up and using all his body weight to get the cart moving, and we move through the street.
As we turn the block onto the avenue, he spins back to us. I want to tell him to watch the damn road, but I don’t want Sloane to glare, so I keep my mouth shut.
“Normally,” he says, “we play music, but my sound system is on the fritz.” He gives us a small shrug.
That figures.
“The good news is I love to sing.” Before I can assure him we’re fine listening to the sounds of the city, he breaks into the ballad “Fools Rush In.”
Bloody hell. When he hits the melody, I can’t help but wince. So much for the perfect night.
I turn to apologize to my wife, only to find her pressing her lips together with enough force to make them go white. Her eyes are dancing and her cheeks are pink as she works hard to fight a laugh.
“It sounds like Dammit this morning when Brian went down to the office without him.” Her giggle washes away the anger clawing up my throat, making me laugh instead. She’s right.
“Not sure I can take this for much longer,” I say as the guy hits another high note.
Sloane leans into me, burying her face in my chest and falling into a true fit of laughter. “God, I missed having fun with you,” she admits once she’s collected herself.
I pull her tighter to me because, damn, I miss us too.
“Remember karaoke nights during law school? You used to love listening to all the people getting up there to sing, especially the bad ones,” she teases me.
That’s not all I remember about karaoke, but I nod, because the other memory will cause me to pitch a boner right now, and I’m not sure any of my extremities can move in this cramped space.
“I don’t think Brian ever recovered from your impersonation of Britney Spears,” I tease her.
“He’s such a baby,” she says with a roll of her eyes, likely remembering how she tried to drag him up on stage and when he wouldn’t join, she brought the mic over to the table, sat on my lap, and serenaded him. To this day, Brian shudders at the mention of karaoke.
She gives me a wistful smile. “I’d love to do that again.”
Fucking hell, I’d give anything to give her a night full of bad music and laughs. The need to make that happen for her is as strong as the need to hold her.
“We did get him up on stage that one time, though,” she points out.
Above us, a raindrop hits the top of the car with a tink. It’s followed by another, then a third, but I ignore it, focusing on my wife.
“Only because he was bloody pissed.”
She smirks. “Drunk, Sully. You’ve spent more than twenty years in the US. We say drunk.”
I chuckle. The woman has always given me shite, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
The patter of the rain on the roof gets a little steadier, but even as the legs of my trousers get wet, I don’t mind.
“Fine,” I say. “He was drunk. And so were you, after seven Jäger bombs.”
She shakes her head. “It was redheaded sluts.”
“Bloody lies.” I scoff.
“No way. I hate Jäger bombs, so you let me pick.” She flashes me a smile that instantly convinces me that she’s right.
Come to think of it, that’s probably how she got me to toss back those rank shots she chose that night.
“So,” she goes on, “we drank redheaded sluts.”
“Maybe.” I kiss her forehead, knowing she’s one hundred percent right. I know well enough that if she had wanted the drink, I would have let her order without protest. I’d give her anything, back then and now.
As we turn into Central Park, the rain turns from a steady drizzle to a mighty pounding. My legs are soaked, and since we continue to move forward, the rain now hits my chest and shoulders.
Beside me, Sloane shivers, so I pull her in closer.
When the man on the bike finishes his fourth song, he stops and turns around. “I know you paid for the full park tour, but are you sure you want me to continue on, sir?”
I glance at my wife, at her damp hair and her wobbling bottom lip. Though she’s being a good sport, she’s soaked and no doubt miserable.
“Take us to the restaurant.” My heart sinks as I make the decision. So much for my perfect night.
“Sully.” Sloane burrows closer, her teeth chattering.
I’m a fucking plonker. What was I thinking, bringing her out like this?
“We can’t go anywhere like this,” she says. “Let’s just go home.”
Fucking fuck. She’s right.
Tamping down my frustration, I calmly tell the man to head back to our penthouse. As we ride in silence, her words hit me, and my mood lifts. She wants to go home. Our home. Not her place. Home.
By the time he pulls to a stop in front of our building, the rain is coming down so hard, I can barely make out his words when he tells us to have a good night.
I rush to open the door for Sloane, but she’s already beyond soaked. Her hair clings to the side of her face as water runs down her cheeks, and her entire body trembles.
“Go on up. Take a warm shower. I’ll find us something to eat,” I promise.
Though I expect my independent, sassy wife to protest, to swear she wants to help, she goes without a fight.
I dart back out into the rain, headed for the Quick Mart across the street. For a few minutes, I wander, unsure of what to pick up. But when my eyes land on the yellow and white package, an idea strikes. When Sloane was pregnant with T.J., she craved BLTs constantly. So with any luck, the simple meal will be a hit.
I’m standing at the stove in my sweats, almost finished with the bacon, when she comes out of the bedroom.
“I’ve missed this view,” she calls over the soft music I turned on.
I glance over my shoulder, and my heart lifts a little. She’s dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, looking flushed and warm. Turning back, I flick on the burner for her teakettle.
“Me or bacon?” I ask with a smirk, head turned so I can see her.
“Definitely the bacon.” She’s teasing and I bloody love it. When she steps up behind me, wrapping her arms around my bare torso, and presses her lips to my back, my heart skips. The moment is almost too good.
I swear I’m floating a foot off the ground as I pull the last two pieces of bacon off the pan and set them on the paper towel with the rest. Then, ensuring the burner is off, I spin and pull her into my arms.
The music changes to “Someone Like You” by Van Morrison, the tune instantly bringing memories to mind, and I sway with her in my arms. I swear the sigh that leaves her lips comes straight from her soul.
I brush my lips against the top of her head. It’s been years since we danced in the kitchen. I can’t for the life of me remember why I didn’t pull her into my arms more often. But I know without a doubt that from this day forward, I’ll make a point to do it more often.
“It’s bubbling,” she mumbles.
My brows furrow. “A bubbly dance?” I whisper, remembering Madame E’s prediction.
Sloane laughs, having absolutely no idea what I’m talking about and her breath teases my bare skin, causing goose bumps to erupt. “No, the water. Give it a second, and it’ll whistle.”
“Oh.” I release her, holding her forearms to ensure she’s steady. “Go get comfy on the sofa. I’ll bring your tea and sandwich.”
I shut off the teakettle just as it lets out a whistle and pour the boiling water into her mug. While the tea steeps, I add the bacon to the sandwiches I prepped with mayo, lettuce, and tomato.
It takes two trips, and when I sit beside her on the couch, she’s picking up her BLT.
“Mmm.” She moans at her first bite. “This might be the best thing I’ve eaten in days.”
I shake my head, cringing. “Clearly I’ve starved you tonight.”
“Not at all. I just forgot how good your BLTs are. They were my favorite when I was pregnant with T.J.”
“I remember.” I take a bite of my own sandwich.
For the next few minutes, we sit side by side, eating in silence. It’s not awkward, and there’s no tension in the air. It’s the best kind of quiet.
“Tonight was the best,” Sloane says as she sets her empty plate on the table in front of us.
I scoff. “You mean a mess.”
She shakes her head, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “No. I mean everything went wrong, but we got to be together, laughing and snuggling.” Her eyes sparkle with a hint of emotion that hits me straight in the chest. “That’s all I ever want. I don’t need fancy. I don’t need perfect.” Her eyes glitter with emotion. “I just need time with you.”
“Me too.” As I study her, I make a silent promise. She’ll never want for my attention again. Every day, I will carve out time for us.
I slide a little closer on the cushion and bring my mouth to hers. Her lips are warm and soft, her presence alone creating a haze around me, one where only the two of us exist. I cup her cheek and angle her head slightly up, seeking permission with my tongue. When she lets me in, I close my eyes and worship her mouth, owning every inch of it. The need to lay her back and dominate her body is all-encompassing. Somehow, I resist the urge, instead slowing the kiss, then pecking her lips one last time. If I get her naked, I’ll never want to leave this flat, and as tempting as it is, that’s not how tonight is going to play out.
“How about we get cleaned up and head home?”
She pulls back, her brows rising in surprise.
“As much as I’d love to crawl into bed here, I promised T.J. I’d be home tonight and that we’d go for donuts again tomorrow,” I explain. “So I’d love to get you home and into our bed there.”
My wife smiles at me. “I’d love that too.”
Chapter 24
Sloane
Alone for the first time tonight, I find myself humming along to the music playing from my phone. The smile on my face won’t go away, even as I brush my teeth and get ready for bed.
Tonight was good. So good. Every day, I sink deeper into whatever it is that Sully and I are doing.
Dating, maybe? Am I really dating my husband?
My lips twitch, and my smile grows. With my toothbrush in my mouth, I look ridiculous, like a damn schoolgirl with a crush. But I can’t shake this giddy feeling.
I totally have a crush on my husband.
Just thinking of his face tonight when the rain came down against the plastic shell of our cart makes my heart pitter-patter. As we rode toward Central Park, the sheer panic etched into his expression made it evident just how hard he was trying. Six months ago, getting Sully to take ten minutes to have dinner with me felt like a chore, but now he’s going out of his way, even when it’s uncomfortable, to spend time with me and make it meaningful.
I appreciate it. And I’m working hard not to focus on the past. I’m determined to let it all go, to believe that he can change. Maybe this separation was what we needed. Not a permanent parting, just a reality check. A taste of what it would be like if we continued failing one another.
Once I’ve rinsed out my mouth, I survey myself for another second. Our relationship wasn’t the only thing that needed work. Somewhere along the way, I lost myself. I became a person I didn’t recognize. A person, quite frankly, I didn’t like very much.
When “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones starts, I pick it up and, toes tingling, I bounce around in my little happy place. Eyes closed, head tossed back, I dance, laughing at myself and with myself. This is another thing I missed. Me.
I stop, planting my feet a little wider, because all the spinning made me a little dizzy, and unlock my phone so I can text Sully. He’d get a kick out of me dancing in the bathroom. Before I can pull up his contact, the curtain to my stall rustles.
Excited that he came to find me, I spin, wearing a huge smile, ready to pull him in to dance with me. Instead of my six-foot-something husband, I find Lo, wearing pajamas, her head tilted to the side, like she’s trying to figure me out. “Didn’t know Sloane’s had dance parties on Wednesday nights,” she teases.
I snort. “Sloane’s is full of surprises.”
Lo nods. “Sure is.”
I turn the music down and focus on my friend. “What’s up?”
She shakes her head, her red hair swaying, then pins me with a suspicious look. “Nothing. How was your work meeting tonight?”
Oops. Clearly I was too optimistic when I convinced myself our friends would believe that Sully and I had meetings on the same night. I’m not ready to explain whatever this is, though.
“It was fine. You know how work is.” I turn back to the mirror and pick up my face cream, distracting myself in the hope that Lo won’t try to read my expression.
“Hmm, yeah. So weird that you and Sully both had meetings so late. Especially because Sully hasn’t had a single dinner meeting since we moved to Jersey. Matter of fact, I can’t remember you ever having one either.”
I just shrug.
“Speaking of work…” Lo’s tone is more serious now, rather than teasing, drawing my gaze to her in the mirror. “I wanted to get your opinion on a case.”
I spin and lean against the sink, waiting for her to continue. “Okay?”
“Did I tell you Cal and I have been going to yoga?”
I let out a surprised laugh. “Seriously?” Forget about the case she mentioned. Just picturing my ridiculously tall brother-in-law twisting himself up to impress his girlfriend makes me giddy. Cal is the sweetest kind of guy, and he’s head over heels for Lo. I’m glad they have each other. But still, the image makes me giggle.
Lo’s entire face lights up like she knows exactly what I’m thinking. “He’s so annoyingly good at it. Like seriously, the man has this insane balance, and his form is so stupidly perfect. I want to knock him over every time he sticks his ass up in the air and winks at me while he nails downward dog.”
She blows out a breath and rolls her eyes.
“All the women in class are obsessed with him. I always thought I had decent balance, but he’s so damn good it’s annoying.” Arms crossed now, she frowns.
I laugh harder. I can envision the entire thing. “God, I’d pay to see that. When are you going again?”
“Funny you should ask,” she says, a twinkle in her eye.
“Oh god,” I mutter, bracing my hands on the sink on either side of me.
“Come on. It’d be a fun double date.”
I turn back to the mirror, snagging my hairbrush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fine,” she says. “You can pretend you’re not secretly dating your husband if you promise to meet with this client.”
“I’m not interested in taking on a disaster client you don’t want. Work is hard enough.”
“She’s not a disaster. She’s lovely.” Lo steps a little closer, her green slippers clashing with the pink rug. “She’s a single mom of two beautiful little girls whose ex has no interest in being a father. She’s stuck in Jersey”—she shudders just saying the word; Lo has always hated Jersey, though she’s settled in nicely now that she’s with Cal—“because this is where they were married. She has family in Vermont, and she’d have help and support there, but her ex refuses to sign off on it.”
