Chapter 22 December 22nd #2
“You didn’t say thank you.” Albi isn’t scowling, but he’s close, and I rack my brain for what I needed to say thank you for, coming up blank. “Daddy gave you a kiss, and you didn’t say thank you. You said I must say thank you or please if someone gives me something or I ask for something.”
Dec laughs as he starts hoovering up the mess, and I’m momentarily distracted by the vision. It really shouldn’t be sexy, Dec hoovering. And yet, it is. “Thank you,” I murmur, falling into a reverie as Albi tips more Coco Pops into his empty bowl.
A knock on the front door pulls me out of my daze, and Dec looks down his front, to the hoover in his hand.
“I’ll go,” I shout over the noise, hopping off my stool.
“It’s probably April,” he calls. “I’ve not unbolted the door, so her key won’t work.”
I race up the stairs, grabbing the first thing I can find to cover my bottom half .
. . which happens to be a pair of Dec’s sweatpants.
I have to roll them over at the waist half a dozen times to shorten them so I don’t trip over them.
Pulling my T-shirt out, I hurry back downstairs and swing the door open.
It’s not April.
“Hi,” I say, hanging onto the wood, shivering when the chill hits my bare arms and feet, taking in the woman. Well-turned out. Smart but casual. A blond layered long bob. Piercing blue eyes. Pretty.
She looks me up and down. “Is Dec home?”
“Sure, let me just grab him. Can I say who’s here?”
Her lips press into a straight line, apparently not forthcoming with an answer.
“I’ll go get him,” I say, an odd feeling coming over me, something I can’t quite put my finger on. But I don’t need to fetch him, because when I turn around, he’s behind me, hoover in hand, black boxers on full show, along with the rest of his body, his eyes wide and shocked.
I withdraw, getting colder, and it has nothing to do with the sub-zero temperatures.
“Chelsea,” he breathes.
It takes a few seconds for my brain to catch up.
Chelsea? His ex-wife? Wait, no. They’re still married.
Chelsea his wife. My brain kick-starts, and I suck in air and face her, seeing she visibly stands taller before she steps in without an invite and closes the door behind her, gazing around the hallway. “You’ve decorated.”
I move back, looking between them, my mind running blank. I can hear Albi in the kitchen, his spoon clattering against his bowl, oblivious to who’s standing in the hallway. Dec’s a statue, just staring. I can’t read him. Shock, yes, I can see that, but what’s going through his mind right now?
And what should I do?
Chelsea’s eyes move from Dec to me, and she subtly looks me up and down. I feel so scrutinised and vulnerable standing here in Dec’s sweats, my hair pulled up messily, not a scrap of makeup on.
Judged.
Exposed.
And unreasonable or not, I feel stupid, because I have no idea what Dec would need me to do in this situation.
I don’t know him well enough to make an executive decision.
I know he’s only ever talked about his wife with contempt.
She’s dead to me. I know that when I asked him what he’d do if she ever showed up, he didn’t answer.
Not truly. He just said he’d get his divorce quicker.
But we didn’t touch on Albi because I didn’t even know he existed at that point.
And since I did find out about him, I haven’t asked any of the questions I should have.
Like if he’s ever asked about his mum. Like what Dec would do now, except ask for his divorce.
Does he still want that divorce? Now she’s here and he’s looking at the mother of his child, does he want that?
He must have felt something toward her. I wanted Albi to have a stable family.
I did what I thought was right. Does he think it’s right now, to give her the opportunity?
Assuming she wants it, and it’s pure female intuition I’m going on, but Chelsea looks like a very contrite woman. Does he still hate her?
Fuck.
My head pounds, feeling like it could fall off my shoulders with the weight of my thoughts. And the fear inside me? It’s so powerful it hurts.
I feel like an impostor.
“What are you doing here?” he finally asks, the words a quiet murmur. It surprises me. Isn’t it obvious why she’s here? I think I expected him to yell his outrage and throw her out. And he hasn’t.
“You look well,” she says, lowering her handbag to the wooden floor.
Is she about to take her coat off? Hang it on the stand?
Go to the kitchen to put the kettle on? Irritation begins to dilute the fear and shock, and that only worsens when her eyes roam the naked planes of Dec’s chest. Yes, he looks well.
Or did. Now? The warm, safe body aside that I love, he looks like he’s seen a ghost.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, frowning, shaking his head.
“Daddy?”
That one word is all it takes to snap him out of his stunned state, and he swings around, as do I, finding Albi in the kitchen doorway, his face smeared in chocolate milk.
“Oh my goodness,” Chelsea breathes, pulling my attention back around.
She’s staring at him, her hand over her heart.
I can’t take it. I feel like I’m sitting on the sidelines, helplessly watching all hope slip down the drain.
“You’ve changed so much.” She lowers to a knee, and Albi’s little eyes narrow as he moves into Dec’s side and circles both his arms around his daddy’s naked thighs, hugging them.
Dec’s arm goes around his boy protectively. “Changed so much?” he breathes in disbelief, his eyes suddenly darkening. Anger. I’ve seen it on him only a few times, and it’s not pretty. “Of course he’s changed, Chelsea, he was four weeks old when you left over four fucking years ago.”
Something in me clicks, and it overrides my fear and uncertainty, and Dec’s anger and whatever feelings Chelsea’s having.
Albi.
I don’t even know if it’s my place, or if it’s what Dec wants, but I don’t like the building anger in him, and his language tells me he’s not thinking straight.
I hurry over to Albi, who’s still clinging to his daddy’s thighs, and crouch.
“Why don’t you come show me the Spitfire Mr. Percival was telling you about? ”
His scowling face pushes into Dec’s thigh some more. He knows. He knows something’s not right. Little sponges. I smile wide, using every ounce of strength I have to show him I’m not affected. Everything’s okay. I wish Dec could do the same.
“Come on,” I say, offering my hand. “Daddy needs to talk to the lady.”
Dec’s suddenly crouched with me, but he doesn’t look at me, his full attention on Albi. “I’ll be back in a minute, fella.”
“Where are you going, Daddy?”
“Nowhere. I’m staying right here. I’ll be a few minutes, I promise.”
“Come,” I say, taking Albi’s hand gently and standing, leading him away.
He looks back over his shoulder constantly.
Suspicious. Chelsea catches my eye. Her straight lips tell me everything I need to know.
“Show me this Spitfire,” I say, my voice loaded with enthusiasm I’m not feeling as I lead him into the kitchen.
“Who is she?” Chelsea asks as we disappear. “A replacement for me?”
“I can’t replace something he never had,” Dec snipes. “What do you want, Chelsea?”
I grab Dec’s phone but meet a brick wall, the screen locked. “Do you know Daddy’s code?”
“My birthday!”
“Which is when?” I don’t even know that.
“June!”
“Do you know what day?”
“Fifteen!”
I type in 1506 and breathe my relief when the screen comes to life.
Loading Google, I type in “Spitfire” trying not to listen but struggling when there’s no attempts to lower their voices.
“Oh wow,” I say, lifting Albi onto the island and showing him the screen.
“Look at that!” He takes the phone and stares down at the plane.
“Mr. Percival flew one of these?” I ask.
“Yep. Over Germany!”
“Wow.”
“What’s Germany?”
“It’s a country,” I explain. “You’ll learn all about it at school one day.”
“Mr. Percival said he would teach me.”
“I want to come home,” I hear Chelsea say.
My body becomes stock-still as Albi chatters, his chubby finger swiping the screen to scroll through the endless pictures. I wait for Dec to speak. To tell her to fuck off. But he doesn’t. He says . . . nothing. And then the sound of a door closing reaches the kitchen.
“You sit there a second,” I say, lifting him onto a stool. “No stretching, remember?”
“Remember,” he confirms, lost in Spitfires.
I creep to the kitchen doorway and peek down the hallway. They’re gone, and the double doors to the lounge are closed. My eyes drop and dart to the floor, my heart sinking. I have no right to feel so shattered.
They were never mine to have. They’re hers. And she wants to come “home.”
To her home.
With them.
Where I don’t belong.
I turn around, watching Albi slumped over the phone, studying every picture of Spitfires he can find. He’s not mine.
I lost mine. Not for four years.
But forever.
I cover my face with both hands, squeezing my eyes closed. He didn’t tell her to fuck off.
I hear the front door open and drop my hands, seeing April breezing in, all smiles, followed by Blaine. They both falter when they see me, their faces falling. It takes everything in me to try and smile—try being the operative word. I feel completely lost.
“Morning,” I say, my voice cracked and broken.
I go back to Albi, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and hugging him tightly.
“Aunty April’s here now,” I say, sinking my face into his hair and taking in a strong dose of shampoo and Albi.
Then I break away, forcing myself to hold it together as I go back into the hallway.
They’ve got their coats off now. “Albi’s in the kitchen,” I say, heading for the stairs. “Dec’s got a visitor in the lounge.”
April frowns as I pass.
“I’m just going to get dressed.” I rush up the stairs and change into my jeans and jumper, grabbing all of my things and hurrying back down.
I hear the sounds of astonishment coming from the kitchen, Albi no doubt showing his aunty and uncle his new obsession.
I don’t want to say goodbye to that gorgeous little boy.
But if Dec wants to keep his “family” intact and Chelsea comes home, I need to step aside.
It fucking kills me, but I have to walk away.
My breaking heart pulls me back toward the kitchen.
My head leads me out of the front door, not looking back.