Better Daddy, page 6
“Dammit,” Brian barks from the kitchen. “Get down. You’re too big to be on the counter. I said down, Dammit.”
“Don’t call him that.” Cal spins and stomps away to deal with Brian and his cat.
Normally, I’d chuckle at the little tiff the two are always engaged in over the animal’s name, but I’m too bloody stressed about bringing Sloane into this shithole to find any satisfaction in it.
“I still don’t know how you did it,” Lo says from the couch. “I was sure she couldn’t be convinced to move in.”
Roughing a hand over my jaw, I turn her way. “I—” I snap my mouth shut when I notice the fishbowl that should be in Cal’s room.
“Why is that thing out here?”
“He needed a walk.” Lo rolls her eyes. That’s code for Cal killed another fish. Seven down, and according to Madame E, three to go.
“Again?” I step closer to the bowl and examine the blue beta fish. This one is much more bug-eyed than the last. How in the bloody hell does my sod of a brother not notice how often Lo changes them out?
She nods and mouths, “We’re almost to lucky number ten.”
Straightening, I put my hands on my hips. “So how do I fix this?”
She chuckles, scanning the dreary room. “There is nothing you can do to fix this place. Absolutely nothing.”
“Yet you stay,” I point out.
With a shrug, she sits back. “Because your brother is here.”
That simple phrase is like a knife to the chest. Sloane and I used to feel that way too. Once upon a time, we were happy just because we were together.
From the beginning, we were inseparable. That’s how I went from just getting by to really putting in an effort at school. Sloane didn’t love the library, so when I suggested she could study with Brian and me at our place, she was more than willing.
Very quickly, she created a study schedule for the three of us, building in time not only to get our work done but to enjoy a few beers and watch movies. My GPA jumped almost a full point when impressing her became my motivation. The best part of our nightly study sessions was curling up with her on the sofa after. It took three movie nights and a whole lot of shite from Brian before I worked up the nerve to wrap my arm around her and tuck her against me. The small smile she sent me that evening will be forever locked in my heart.
Another Dammit from the kitchen pulls me from my revery. I swallow past the lump in my throat, my heart sinking. These days, experiencing a simple night like that with Sloane again feels implausible.
Lo stands, head tilted, like she’s waiting for me to speak. I can’t find the words. Sometimes I think it’d be easier to stop breathing than to live another day like this.
“Brian,” Cal complains. “Stop with the Dammit.”
With a chuckle, Lo skirts around me and follows the sound of the guys.
A massive cat, dozens of plants, and a bug-eyed fish. At least we’ve eradicated the mice and most of the bugs. And the place is clean. Ish.
Hands on my hips again, I take in the peeling paint. Lo is right. There’s no fixing this.
A loud thud downstairs startles me, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Murphy, my nephew, pokes his head out of his bedroom. “Guess Sebastian is messing around with the law books again, huh?”
I wince. Make that an oversized cat, forty plants too many, the fish, and a ghost with a heavy foot.
I scrub my hand over my face. This can’t be a disaster. I have to have hope.
Chapter 7
Sloane
Iturn in a slow circle in the middle of my bedroom, rethinking every decision I’ve ever made. Today is move-in day, and I still haven’t broken the news to T.J.
I’m afraid of getting his hopes up. What happens if he thinks this means we’ll be one happy family again?
Do I tell him that I’m moving into the apartment so his dad can save the business? Should I prepare him now for the inevitable? That we’ll eventually go our separate ways?
What I won’t mention for now is the baby. I’m still in the first trimester, and because of my age, as well as the complications I experienced during my first pregnancy, I can’t help but worry.
With a deep breath in, I shake the thoughts from my head. Instead, I remind myself of how fortunate I am to have T.J.
As the only child of two career-driven people, I was often forgotten about. An afterthought. And I vowed from an early age that I would never treat my child that way. It’s why I wanted another baby so badly. So he’d never experience the loneliness that was my reality as a child. I wanted him to have the kind of sibling bond that Cal and Sully have.
Sully was uninterested, not only because T.J. was a difficult baby, but because my pregnancy was almost as hard on him as it was on me. He missed a lot of work while I was on bed rest, and when he was working to make partner not long after T.J. was born, that kind of time off could have been detrimental to his career.
Through it all, my longing for another child never waned.
And now here we are.
Maybe the circumstances aren’t the greatest, but I can’t help but be thrilled to add to my little family.
And though I have to move into the disgusting apartment in Jersey, at least I’ll be living with my best friend. Lo will help me get through this.
One of the most difficult parts of separating from Sully was losing her, Cal, and Brian. Sure, they’re still my friends, but because they work with Sully, by default, he got custody of them.
I was a lonely child, though it wasn’t until law school that I realized just how isolated I’d been my whole life. The bond Brian and Sully shared opened my eyes to what I’d been missing out on. And when I went home with Sully that first holiday and met Cal? My mind was blown. I’d never been part of a boisterous family event. I’d never heard such laughter and teasing.
My parents, Roger and Beverly O’Malley, are the definition of serious. Dinners were quiet affairs, the silence interrupted only by the clinking of silverware and the subdued conversation of the adults. Because in our home, children were meant to be seen, not heard. Once I was old enough to hold a conversation that interested them, they used family meals as a way to foster debates. My parents would give me a topic, and I’d have to argue both sides.
It was riveting, as one can imagine.
But I’d prefer that kind of interaction at dinner over the nights I spent waiting for Sully. Night after night, I’d make dinner, set the table, get myself dressed, and wait for him to get home. On the days that I didn’t go to the office, it was the only adult interaction I’d have, and I longed for it.
But after months of blowing out the candles and going to bed without my husband, I stopped trying.
Experiencing one of those nights was heartbreaking enough. Suffering through it for months on end killed something inside me.
Sully feels like the divorce came out of left field, and in truth, I can’t connect my decision to ask him to move out with one specific moment. There was no knockdown, drag-out fight. Instead, it was one tiny moment built on top of another and another that led to a resentment I could no longer push down and a loneliness that swallowed me whole.
Last April, he made it home for dinner, which hadn’t happened in months. The entire time, we sat across from one another in silence. It wasn’t until we were almost finished that T.J. piped up and asked why everyone was so quiet.
Sully was reading over a case file and I’d probably been staring into space. It hit me then that my child was living my childhood. A childhood I wouldn’t wish on even my worst enemy.
I panicked. And I realized I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. I couldn’t live like that for another second.
“Ready?” T.J. asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
Not really, but it’s now or never.
So I turn around and assess my son. He’s dressed for school, with his backpack secured over his shoulders. His big blue eyes, the same shade as his dad’s, see more than we give him credit for.
“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you for a second before we go.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, he bounces on his toes. T.J. is a doer. He’s always moving. Standing in one place and listening can be a challenge. So when he shakes his hips back and forth and giggles, all I can do is smile. “Sure.”
“Remember when you asked about moving in with Uncle Cal, Uncle Brian and Dad while they live in Jersey?”
T. J. nods, his hair falling across his forehead.
“Is that something you’d still like?”
“Yes,” he practically screeches, bouncing around in a circle.
My heart aches in the best and worst way. He’s so excited, yet the idea of leaving this place is painful.
I clear my throat and wait for him to settle again. “Would it be okay if I came too? I think I’ll miss you too much if you go without me.”
T.J. scans the room rather than looking at me. “Sure.”
I close my eyes and shake my head at his indifference. My feelings aren’t actually hurt, because come bedtime, he’ll be thankful I’m there. Bedtime has always been special for us, and since Sully moved out and T.J. has spent weekends with him, it’s been hard on us both.
“Hey,” I say, snagging his attention. “Do you have any questions for me?”
Head tilted, he presses his lips together, like he’s really thinking hard. I worry constantly about the damage we’re doing to him by splitting up. It was the right thing to do. I have no doubt. I was miserable and I couldn’t stand the idea that T.J. could pick up on the tension and resentment.
With any luck, he hasn’t sensed the underlying turmoil. I’m heartbroken enough for the both of us as it is. I just want good things for my son.
“Is cat poop poisonous?” he finally asks, catching me off guard. “Because Simon at school said it is, but Fuzzy’s poop isn’t poisonous, right?”
Poop. That’s what he was contemplating all that time.
I bite back a laugh and shake my head. “Let’s just stay away from poop in general, bud.” I brush his hair back from his face. “Is there anything else you want to bring to your dad’s?”
Before I’ve finished the sentence, he’s darting out the door, yelling a no over his shoulder.
I wince. I think that conversation went okay.
Hopefully, the move goes as smoothly.
—
“Thanks, guys,” I say as Sully, Brian, and Cal appear in the doorway, each carrying a suitcase.
Sully ordered me to sit here on the couch while they collected my things from the car Sully ordered.
My reply? Right, because the incubator has one job. You guys can handle the rest.
Cal winced, Sully sighed, and Brian shook his head. Lo just smiled at me knowingly. Thankfully, she gets my sarcastic sense of humor. If not, she’d surely think I was a bitch. Maybe I am a bitch. I don’t like myself very much lately, but once again, I blame my husband for that.
“This is all you have?” Sully glares down at the three suitcases.
I nod.
He drags a hand down his face. “You used to travel to Florida with more than this.”
My death glare is strong this afternoon. I went into the office for a bit this morning, but I wanted to get our stuff situated here before Cal picks T.J. and Murphy up from school, so I took the afternoon off.
“I traveled with three suitcases because I was packing for our family, Sully. The Sully and Mike monsters T.J. couldn’t go anywhere without took up an entire bag. Snacks from his approved list, bottles, diapers, extra changes of clothes. And don’t forget that I packed all of your things too.”
The room goes deathly silent.
Shoulders slumping, Sully gives me a sheepish frown. “I just mean you have more stuff than this. A penthouse full.”
Why must this man insist on having this conversation in front of our friends? I don’t want to fight, but he never stops pushing.
“Listen, I’ve agreed to this little arrangement because it’s what’s best for T.J. You need this firm and he needs a father who isn’t miserable. But make no mistake: I’m not here for you. My stuff is in New York because T.J. and the baby and I will return to the penthouse when you complete this insane trust provision. Then we can all move on.”
“It’s also what’s best for you,” he says, like the man can’t help but pick a fight. I arch a brow, allowing him to dig himself a little deeper. It’s more fun this way. “You’re pregnant—”
I slap my cheeks and widen my eyes. “I am?”
His face reddens, a sure sign that he’s lost hold of any vestige of patience. “For fuck’s sake, Sloane. Could we have one rational conversation?”
Beside me, Lo sucks in a breath. Brian subtly turns, surveying the room rather than looking at either of us. Cal grimaces, but he keeps his mouth shut.
I’m not surprised by Sully’s outburst. It’s par for the course, honestly. If he doesn’t get his way, he loses it.
And I don’t have the bandwidth to put up with it. We have a child who acts the same way, who’s too young to have a handle on his emotions and reactions. That I can handle. But I refuse to let a grown man who should know better behave that way.
“Yes, I’m pregnant. And yes, my last pregnancy was difficult, so I may need help.” I glance down at my hands, hating to admit that kind of weakness. Yes, I’m a stubborn ass sometimes, but I won’t ever allow my pride to get in the way of the well-being of my child. I want this baby so badly, and I won’t do anything to risk this pregnancy. My hands tremble in my lap at the mere thought of things going wrong. “So I’m moving in here to be with Lo. I need Lo. She’s here, so I’m here.”
Lo squeezes my forearm, making it difficult to maintain my tough-bitch façade. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up in tears.
Sully lowers his head and gives it a shake. Then he hefts the suitcase he carried up again and heads for his room. “You’re moving in with me,” he says without looking back. “I’m helping you with this pregnancy because you’re carrying my child and you’re my wife.”
“I am not sleeping with you.” Annoyed again, I haul myself to my feet and follow him.
Not a single one of our friends follows. Not that I blame them. If I could, I’d run and hide too. Between my blood boiling and the steam coming from Sully’s ears it’s clear this fight could go nuclear.
He sets the suitcase by the door and motions to the queen-size bed pushed against one wall. “You can have the bed.”
I inhale a steadying breath but immediately regret it when I’m assaulted by a scent that is one hundred percent Sully. Nostalgia washes over me, and memory after memory pummels me. He still wears the cologne I bought him for our first anniversary. For nearly twenty years, the familiar smell has grounded and comforted me.
Mask, Sloane. Put on your damn mask. You will not cry.
I swallow back the melancholy threatening to cause tears and pull my shoulders back. “Obviously. You can sleep in the bunk with T. J.” I nod at the beds. Both are made up, as if this was his plan all along. I hate him for knowing that I’d force him into the bunk and not even attempting to argue about it. For knowing I’d put a grown man—a six-foot-four man, with broad shoulders and, well, broad everything—in a bed designed for a child.
Just the thought of him on the top bunk, since T. J.’s afraid of heights, is ridiculous.
Sully steps aside, giving me a better view of the queen mattress and the oversized pregnancy pillow on top of it. “That’s the plan. I have your bed all set. If you need anything else—”
I shake my head and press my lips together. I want to tell him to get rid of the damn pregnancy pillow. I hated the one I had seven years ago, and I hate this one just as much. But seven years ago I had my husband to cuddle with. My husband’s body was my pillow.
So I’ll keep the dreaded thing. It’s all I have now. I guess Sully knew that was the case. That or he’s so oblivious to my preferences that he never noticed how, night after night, I’d kick that pillow to the floor, then turn over and snuggle up to him.
“I’ll grab the rest of your things and then leave you to unpack.” His voice is quiet, the tone defeated, like maybe he doesn’t actually want that.
I wish I knew how to move on from this stalemate. How to navigate us into the kind of rational conversation he asked for.
But there’s nothing rational about divorcing the love of my life. The person who broke me time and again while I waited, day after day, to see if the man I once adored would reappear. Eventually, I stopped waiting. I stopped hoping. This man in front of me is nothing but a mirage. It’s too hard to stand so close physically, yet be so, so far away emotionally. It’s easier to pick fights than it is to work through how we got here. When he sighs like I’ve annoyed or exasperated him, just by existing, it’s easier to remind myself that he’s not my Sully anymore.
Finally, I find my voice, keeping my focus averted. “Sounds good.”
He disappears, and I slump down on the bed, giving myself a moment to fall apart. Not a single thing about this situation sounds good, but for T. J.’s sake and the sake of this new life we’ve created, I have to try.
“Lo,” I call.
I took my time unpacking in peace, leaving my toiletries for last. I wander past what can only be described as a locker room in search of a second bathroom, but all I find are three additional bedrooms. Makeup bag pressed to my chest, I shuffle back into the tiled room I used on that fateful night several weeks ago.
Slowly, I turn in a circle, surveying the space. This can’t actually be the only bathroom. God, I’m a terrible mother. How did I not investigate every inch of this apartment when I left T. J. here the first time?
The plastic curtain with pretty flowers on it looks new. No doubt because of Lo. I remember the curtain being very masculine. Navy blue, maybe?
There are seven of us now. And there’s only one shower? There’s no way we can all use it without coming up with a detailed schedule.
