Chapter 11 Ant
ELEVEN
ANT
The drive back from the airport is… a lot.
Or maybe not enough, depending on how you look at it.
Owen hasn’t stopped talking since we pulled out of the car park—about his new job, his new flat, the new guy he’s dating, the restaurant he went to last weekend, how the weather has been “just gorgeous lately”—every word delivered with that same breezy confidence he’s always had, the kind that used to charm me and now just makes my jaw ache from clenching it.
Not once has he asked about Henry. Not how school’s going. Not how’s he settled in. Not whether he’s happy.
I nod in the right places because it’s easier than pointing out what he’s not saying. But under the surface, my patience is grinding down.
By the time we turn into my street, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
I catch sight of Eli’s ute in the driveway and feel an unexpected ripple of relief.
Then it hits me—I haven’t told Owen he’ll be here.
We’ve never had the what are we? conversation, but we did agree not to make a big announcement to Henry or Eli’s family just yet.
Still, we’re something. And the way Henry’s accepted it without fuss has only cemented the fact that it feels right.
We step inside to find Eli and Henry sitting cross-legged in a fort they’ve built, the glow from the fairy lights Ava left a couple of weeks ago giving the whole thing a soft, warm haze. Henry’s face lights up when he spots me—then flickers when Owen steps in behind.
“Hey, kiddo,” Owen says.
Henry stands up and heads our way. When he’s in front of us, Owen gives him a quick, one-armed hug and a pat on the head, like he’s greeting a neighbour’s dog. “Look at you. Getting tall.”
And then Owen’s attention shifts. His gaze lands on Eli. “And who’s this?” His tone’s light, but his eyes are already doing a slow sweep, head to toe.
I force my voice to stay even. “This is Eli.”
Owen’s smile turns into the kind of grin I remember all too well—the one that used to signal trouble. “Pleasure,” he says, voice dipped in charm.
Eli looks like someone’s just swapped the rules of the game without telling him. He offers a polite nod but doesn’t quite meet Owen’s eyes for more than a second, as if unsure where to put himself.
Meanwhile, Henry’s shoulders have sunk, his chin lowering until he’s almost turtling into himself. It’s like watching a balloon deflate. My gut tightens.
Henry edges away. “I’m gonna… go to my room.” His voice is flat, his face tight, and I swear I catch the glint of unshed tears before he turns away.
“Henry—” I start, but he’s already gone, feet padding quickly down the hall.
“Wow,” Eli says, voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it. “Five months, and that’s the greeting he gets?”
Owen blinks, clearly not expecting the jab. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t even ask how he’s been,” Eli says, leaning forwards slightly, his voice low but solid. “Didn’t sit down with him for two minutes before you started—” He cuts himself off, glancing at me as though he’s just remembered whose house he’s in. “Sorry. Not my place.”
My pulse is steady, but a surge rises inside me—because he’s right, and because he said it out loud. For Henry. For me.
Owen’s jaw ticks. “Well, I didn’t realise I needed to run my parenting through you.”
I bite back the urge to step in—partly because this is my mess to manage, partly because I’m still stuck on the fact that Eli went there at all. It’s bold. Reckless, maybe. But it comes from a place of care.
And I love him for it. The thought lands before I can sidestep it, heavy and certain. I love him for protecting Henry, for speaking up when I couldn’t without causing a scene, for not playing politics when my son was hurting right in front of him.
I turn to follow the sound of Henry’s door clicking shut. Eli moves like he’s going to follow, too, but I give him a small shake of my head and reach out and squeeze his arm, not giving a shit what Owen makes of the gesture. “Let me,” I murmur.
Eli nods, jaw tight, but his eyes soften, and he stays put—close enough that Henry will immediately see he’s still here when we come back.
I knock lightly. “Mate? Can I come in?”
There’s a pause before a muffled “Yeah.”
He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the doona pattern like it might give him answers. My chest squeezes.
“Hey,” I say, crouching down so we’re eye level. “That wasn’t about you. Sometimes grown-ups are a bit useless at saying the right thing.”
He sniffs. “He didn’t even ask.”
“I know.” My voice comes out quieter than I intend. “That’s on him, not you. You’ve been doing amazing—school, the move, everything. I’m proud of you.”
His mouth tugs at one corner, like he’s trying to hide the fact that it matters. “Eli’s mad at him too.”
I can’t help smiling. “Yeah, I noticed. He’s in your corner, you know. Big time.”
That earns me the faintest real smile. “Yeah.”
We sit there for a beat, and I ruffle his hair. “How about you give your dad another chance tonight? If he still doesn’t get it… well, you’ve got me. And Eli. And about a dozen other people ready to back you up.”
Henry nods, and when I stand, he follows me back to the lounge. Eli’s exactly where I left him—leaning against the wall near the doorway, eyes on us, the line of tension in his shoulders softening when Henry steps into view.
“All right?” Eli asks him gently.
“Yeah.” Henry moves past Owen without even looking and flops into the fort. “So,” he says, deliberately loud, “are we having lunch or what?”
Eli bites back a smile and meets my gaze over Henry’s head. There’s still heat there from earlier, but also a softness that tells me he’d go into battle for this kid any day of the week.
Owen’s still scrolling on his phone, oblivious to the shift in the air.
I take the seat next to the fort entrance.
Eli settles on the other side of me, his knee brushing mine when he sits.
And in that small point of contact, I feel it—a quiet promise and the absolute certainty that I’m not in this alone.
Owen looks up from his phone just long enough to say, “Right, well, I figured we’d head out somewhere nice for lunch. There’s a spot by the water—”
“Actually,” I cut in, keeping my tone easy but firm, “Henry wants to stay in.”
Owen blinks like I’ve just told him the tide’s running backwards. “Stay in? On a day like this?”
Henry’s head pops up from inside the fort. “I built this thing for us, Owen. Why would we go out?”
I catch Eli’s glance—quick, questioning—and for a split second, I consider whether I should step back, let Owen have his father-son time. But the memory of that non-greeting in the doorway is still sharp. Leaving now would be the opposite of what Henry needs.
“I can take off,” Eli offers, voice careful, like he’s trying to give me an out. “Let you guys have the place to yourselves.”
“No.” Henry says it with the kind of finality only a ten-year-old can get away with. “Stay. You’re part of the fort too.”
The look he throws Eli is pure challenge, and Eli’s mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “Guess I’m staying, then,” he says, settling back into his spot.
Owen gives a small, dismissive shrug. “All right. What’s the plan, then, chef?”
“Toasties,” Henry says instantly. “With tomato soup.”
It’s not fancy cooking, but it’s ours. I head into the kitchen, Eli following to help without being asked. He starts lining up bread on the counter while I dig out the cheese, and there’s an ease in the way we move around each other that Owen can’t touch.
When we sit down a few minutes later—four plates, four mugs of soup—Henry dives straight into telling Owen about school, the fort, the game he and Noah made up.
Owen listens, or at least pretends to, between sips.
Eli listens for real, smiling and nodding at the right beats, and every so often, Henry’s eyes flick to him before going back to his story.
And in that tiny loop—Henry’s trust, Eli’s attention, my place at the table—I know we’ve already built a bond Owen doesn’t get to rewrite.
Halfway through his sandwich, Owen’s steering the conversation back to himself.
“… so then my boss says he wants me to run the entire division. It’s a big step up. Not everyone could handle that sort of pressure, but you know me.” He gives me a pointed look, as if I should be suitably impressed.
“Mm,” I say around a mouthful of cheese and tomato. Across the table, Eli’s keeping his expression neutral, though his eyes flick between Owen and Henry with a kind of watchfulness I’ve come to recognise.
Henry’s gone quiet again, stirring his soup.
“You like your new school?” Owen asks, almost as an afterthought.
Henry shrugs. “Yeah.”
“That’s great,” Owen says before launching into another story about his work, not noticing that Henry’s attention has already slid back to the crust of his toastie.
It’s Eli who steers things back. “Henry, didn’t you say you had a new handball trick to show me?”
Henry brightens. “Yeah!”
And just like that, the weight in the room shifts. Owen’s still talking—he’s been talking for most of the past hour—but Henry’s already thinking ahead to the game, and Eli’s right there with him.
When the plates are cleared, Henry races off to dig out the ball. I follow Eli into the kitchen to drop the dishes in the sink. Our hands brush as I pass him a mug, and I catch the look he gives me—soft, steady, a little fierce underneath.
No words, but it says everything: I see it too. I’ve got your back.
And right then, I know the next chapter—the one after Owen’s visit—belongs to us.