23. Sully
Sully
“ I hate it when Mommy has to work late.” T.J. flops back onto the pillows of the bed Sloane and I now share.
Our bed. That thought brings a smile to my face.
Typically, I’d agree with my son. If she’d listen, I’d convince her that there’s no reason to ever work late.
Especially with Will. It’s bloody awful that she’s with that man every day.
However, she’s not at the office tonight.
No, she’s waiting for me at our flat in the city.
“Mum’s job is important, bud.” The bed creaks as I settle on the edge.
“And you’re going to an important work meeting.” He rolls his blue eyes and blows out a breath that ruffles his hair. “It’s not fair that I can’t come with you.”
I will always treasure the time the three of us spent together over the holidays, but tonight, I finally have a chance to take Sloane on our second first date .
Sloane took the week between Christmas and New Year’s off so she could be home with T.J.
during his winter break. And since she is still firmly in the we aren’t telling anyone we’re back together camp, it made more sense to wait until she was back in the office, when we both had reasonable excuses to be in the city, to have our night out .
The wait has been pure torture, but it’s given me ample time to make tonight perfect.
It’s taken several phone calls, but it’s official: our night out will be a recreation of our first date.
It will be filled with the same kind of magic we felt the first time I was given the honor of having Sloane on my arm.
Back then, I took two weeks to plan the date. Brian made fun of me daily as I tossed out ideas. We’d already slept together at that point, but I wanted it to be special. Memorable.
I planned a horse-drawn carriage ride through Central Park on the night of the full moon, when the sky was at its brightest, certain she’d be blown away. But I was the one who ended up under her spell. We talked for hours, the conversation easy, her eyes dancing the whole time.
Somehow, over the years, that spark was snuffed out, and I let the world around me cause too many distractions. Tonight, I’m determined to find my way back to our old ways, to remind her of what we could have again.
“You get to hang out with Uncle Brian,” I remind him with a single raised brow. “And he picked up new Lego sets for you and Murphy. I figured you’d be begging me to leave you alone so you fellas could get busy building.”
He rolls his lips tight, just like his mother does when she is fighting a smile. “Fine.”
“Come on.” I stand and slip my jacket on over the white button-down, then lead T.J. out of the room.
As we enter the common area, the door opens and Brian stomps in with the cat behind him.
“At least it hit forty today. It’s a nice change. Not freezing my fingers off.” He lets the massive cat off his leash, and it takes off toward his room. “Dammit,” he mutters, glaring at the feline’s back.
At this point, it would take a lot of stress off Brian if he’d give in to the relationship he and the beast have found themselves in.
“Is it snowing yet?” I ask, trying to redirect his attention.
Brian scoffs. “Did you miss the part where I said it’s forty degrees? It’s too warm for snow tonight.” He slips his coat off and hangs it on a hook behind the door.
“Knockity, knock, knock.” Madame E opens the door and steps in without being invited. “Where are my favorite yoga partners?”
Maybe it should shock me that my brother joins her for yoga twice a week, but honestly, after the last year, nothing surprises me.
“We’re right here.” Lo skip-hops into the room with a rolled-up yoga mat strapped to her back. “We’ve been antsy all day. Yoga Jess said we’re going to work on our crow pose today. Cal’s been practicing.”
Cal appears, tucking Lo into his side and whispering in her ear.
Instantly, her cheeks turn pink and she ducks her head. Jesus, I don’t want to know what the fuck that’s about.
“Anyway,” Brian mutters.
Cal looks up, giving me a once-over. “Better grab your rain jacket.”
No. I refuse to believe it will rain. “It’s supposed to snow.”
“Nah.” Lo shakes her head. “A warm front came through this afternoon. Instead of the ice and slush, we’re supposed to get a few inches of rain.”
Teeth gritted, I zero in on Madame E. “Tell them it’s going to snow.”
She purses her lips as she studies me. “Do not fret, Sullivan. It’s going to be a perfect night.”
I let out a long breath. That’s all I need to hear.
If she says it’ll be perfect, then it won’t rain.
Because a perfect night in Central Park requires a light snowfall.
I even have a blanket in the car to tuck around us.
I can already picture Sloane’s soft smile as the white flakes settle in her dark hair.
“Perfect might be a bit much for a night with Storm,” Brian jokes.
Oh. That’s right. They think I’m meeting a very demanding client.
A few years ago, his ex falsely accused him of abuse against their then two-year-old.
It took over a year and multiple court appearances, but eventually, the record was cleared, and he was given custody of their daughter.
Recently, the ex has started up the claims again, and it takes a lot of coddling to keep him from giving in and retaliating.
“He won’t care about the rain.” Lo shrugs. “He’d meet you during a cat-5 hurricane if he thought it was important.”
That last part is very true. He’s a devoted parent.
“Yeah, yeah.” I wave them off and head down the hall to say good night to my son.
“Night, T.J.”
He jumps off the bottom bunk and throws his arms around me. “You promise you’ll be here if I wake up in the middle of the night? And you promise we’ll get donuts in the morning?”
I nod and hug him tight. One of the unfortunate side effects of our separation is the constant need for reassurance that he now requires. It breaks my bloody heart to hear the concern in his voice when he’s worried I won’t be around.
He finally releases me and goes back to his bed. “Love you, bud,” I say as I step into the hall.
On the drive to the city, I ignore the temperature reading on the dash. So what if it’s forty-two? Now that it’s dark, the temperature will surely drop. And Madame E said it would be a perfect night, so it will not rain.
The fates want Sloane and me to work out. Even Madame E knows it. They wouldn’t let rain ruin our night.
The nerves that swirl in my gut as I take the elevator up to our old flat are unfamiliar.
Coming home, to the penthouse we shared for years, to Sloane and T.
J., used to be the most peaceful part of my day.
I want to get back to that, and tonight, I’m taking one more step in that direction.
Showing my wife how special she is, how much she means to me, is my sole focus.
I made meticulous plans, even booking the same company I used twenty years ago for the horse-drawn carriage ride. Then I made reservations at her favorite restaurant.
As the elevator reaches our floor, I shift the bouquet in my hand, and when the doors open into the small hallway, I stride straight for the door. I have a key, but rather than use it, I knock.
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.”