9. Sloane
Sloane
I don’t know what to do with my hands as Sully eases into traffic. Do I put them in my lap? Is that how I normally sit when I’m the passenger in someone’s car?
I actually have no idea because I’m rarely a passenger sitting in the front.
Normally, if I’m driving with anyone other than Sully, it’s a hired car, so I sit in the back.
Before Sully and I were separated, I think we’d hold hands.
Or I wouldn’t focus so much on my damn hands because we’d be talking.
Or maybe T.J. would be in the back, screaming, and I’d be working to entertain him so he wouldn’t drive Sully nuts.
I reach for the coffee he picked up for me and take a sip, settling my nerves. The gesture was sweet. A surprise. Just like how he showed up early to pick me up.
I’d even go so far as to say I liked it. For a singular moment in time, I forgot all of our baggage, and when his eyes met mine, I couldn’t help but feel the tiniest flutter in my stomach.
But now it’s back to awkwardness, because I’m not sure what to do with my fucking hands.
It’s one thing to spend time with him in the apartment. At least we’re not alone there, and I can wander into another room if I’m feeling uncomfortable.
Even in our bedroom, T.J. is with us, and I ensure all conversations stay centered around him.
Now that it’s just the two of us, I don’t have the first clue what to talk about.
I used to tell this man my every thought.
He, on the other hand, has never been a big talker, even when we were at our happiest. When we didn’t have a lot to say, the silence was comfortable.
Or we’d turn up the music—normally sixties rock—and he’d rest a hand on my thigh while he drove.
That’s what I’d do with my hands. I’d settle mine on top of his. The memory leaves my thigh feeling unbearably cold.
I glance over at Sully, wishing I could somehow say how much I’d love his hands on me again. How much I miss his hands.
Now he keeps both on the steering wheel, in a grip like he’s strangling it. Rather than music, the only sounds come from the traffic around us. And there are no smiles to be found.
“How was?—”
“Can I turn on the music?” I say, inadvertently cutting him off.
He clears his throat and nods. “Sure, put on whatever you want.”
I wince, kicking myself for interrupting him. “You were going to ask a question.”
“I was just making conversation. Thought I’d ask how your day was. That kind of thing.” He blows out a breath, keeping his focus on the road. “Music is probably better, though.”
“Right.” I nod woodenly. Dammit. When did we become a pair of robots who don’t know how to make conversation? Rather than turn the music on, though, I take a steadying breath and say, “My day was fine. Did the school call you too?”
He glances my way, his forehead creased. “Call me for what? Is T.J. okay?”
His response melts the ice around my heart further. Because while our hellion of a child is more likely to be in trouble at school than hurt, Sully’s first instinct is to check on his well-being.
T.J. is always getting into mischief, and we’re always getting calls from the principal.
I am, at least. Maybe they don’t call Sully as well.
Maybe I should be relaying these incidents to him so he’s in the know.
“He’s fine. Luckily, the fire department was already at the school doing a demonstration?—”
“Oh fuck,” Sully mutters, tipping his head back.
I snort. “Yeah, T.J. climbed up the side of the building and then refused to get down.”
The corner of his lips twitch. “He does hate heights.”
I let out a breath of a laugh. “Yup. The lovely men of the NYFD had to get him down. I stopped by, got a talking-to from the principal, and promised we’d deal with it tonight.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he says with a sigh.
My heart clenches at the pain in his tone. “You don’t have to.”
Sully hates being the bad guy. He gets so little time with T.J., so I get it. Though I suppose that’s changed now that I’ve moved in.
Hands at ten and two, he sits straighter, his attention still on the road. “I will. You dealt with the principal. Seems only fair I deal with the discipline.”
“You won’t yell at him, right?”
I’m more sensitive to yelling than most, I think.
It seems strange for an attorney, but my whole childhood, my parents functioned in one of two modes: anger or indifference.
Long before T.J. was even a possibility, I made a vow not to raise my child that way.
Yes, T.J. needs discipline, but parenting is like walking a tightrope.
It’s ensuring I don’t take my anger out on him while also holding him accountable.
And it’s only made more difficult when one’s child would be considered naughty by some standards and high needs by professionals.
Without turning, Sully eyes me, offering me a small smile. “I promise I won’t raise my voice.”
With a sigh, I settle back in my seat, and as silence descends, Sully hits the button for the radio. When “Wild Thing” by the Troggs filters through the speakers, I have to hold back a smile. At times, I may feel like I don’t know this man anymore, but at least his taste in music hasn’t changed.
When a commercial comes on, I turn the volume down. “How was your day?”
His eyes widen, like my question surprises him. “It was fine.” Then he shakes his head. “Actually, it was awful.”
I cough out a laugh. “Really? Not loving your new office?”
He rolls his eyes, though he’s smirking. “What is there to love?”
“You’ve got a psychic, a ghost, and a magical closet.” I shift in my seat so I’m facing him. “Sounds a lot more exciting than New York.”
Sully nods. “At least Amy didn’t mail any motions to the deli this week.”
“Amy?” It’s embarrassing the way my tone rises a full octave.
Last year, he had an intern who seemed a bit too comfortable with him.
She was everywhere. I didn’t work in the office too often, mostly I drafted the trusts or wills from home, but every time I came in to meet with a client, there she was.
Young and perky and beautiful and far too familiar with my husband.
But she was in New York. Only Lo works in the Jersey office.
Unaware of my inner turmoil, Sully continues. “Yeah, you remember her. She’s in her third year of law school, so she’s interning for us again.”
“In New Jersey?” This time I couldn’t hide my annoyance if I tried.
He frowns at me. “Yeah. Lo hates her, but she’s gotten better over the last month. Like I said, no certified mail to the deli.” He chuckles like I should find this funny.
“Right.” I fake a smile. “Small wins.” As an old pain flares to life in my chest, I turn toward the passenger window.
Dammit, Sloane .
I need to get a handle on these thoughts of mine. Why do I care if Amy works in Sully’s office? We’re getting divorced. His personal life is no longer my concern. And for the first time in months, we’re getting along. I should be thankful we’ve made it to this point .
My stomach does this weird twisty thing, though, when I imagine Sully signing the papers.
And when I think of how Amy is probably waiting for that to happen, I have to fight the urge to double over.
She’ll probably be the one who files them for Brian, and she’ll wear a big smile when she does.
Then she’ll stalk into my husband’s office, wearing a low-cut dress, and ask him out to dinner.
He’d have no reason to say no. By then, he’d owe me nothing.
Meanwhile I’ll be pregnant and at home, likely on bed rest.
“Sloane?” Sully’s voice pulls me from my inner ramblings. When I turn to look at him, his face is etched in concern. “Are you okay?”
I dip my chin. It’s a lie. And pretending is becoming harder every day. I nod once more but follow it up with a shake of my head. “No.”
He grips the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening, and inspects me between glances at the road. “What’s wrong?”
“I never liked the way Amy looked at you.”
His lips tug down as he glances in his rearview mirror. “Intern Amy? That’s what this is about?”
My cheeks heat with shame, but I’m tired of hiding my every thought.
We’re having another child. We live together, even if it’s temporary and under duress and with far too many roommates.
We’ll spend the next eighteen years co-parenting, and if we’re going to be successful, then we need to learn to communicate better.
“Yes.” I blow out a breath as we inch forward in traffic. “Be honest with me, please. You said you never cheated?—”
Sully growls, the steering wheel creaking as he grips it tighter. “I haven’t so much as looked at another woman since I met you.” Though he keeps his eyes on the road, the pain radiating from him pummels into me.
I ignore the sensation, pulling my shoulders back. “Until we separated.”
With a grunt, he turns the wheel, maneuvering the car to the shoulder, and slams the gearshift into park.
When he turns to face me, his slate blue eyes are molten and his breaths are ragged.
“Never. Not since the day you walked into torts wearing that black and red plaid skirt and a turtleneck. I heard you laugh. You were talking to your friend—” He closes his eyes like he’s trying to conjure her name.
“Samantha,” I supply.
His eyes fly open and he gives a jerky nod.
“Yes. Her. I heard you laugh and my heart went up my goddamn throat. I knew in that moment I would marry you. I knew I’d spend the rest of my life chasing that sound.
” He shakes his head, frustration rolling off him.
“Sweetheart, I know I’ve fucked up. You haven’t made that sound in far too long, and that’s my fault .
But I swear on everything I have, those feelings have never gone away.
They’ve never even dimmed. There isn’t a woman who holds a fucking match, let alone a candle to you. ”