Chapter 4 #2
How am I going to navigate fighting for my boys when they think their dad is the coolest man in the world?
I always thought I’d protect that. Even now, when the temptation to show them who their dad really is fills my soul with rage, I know that’s not what’s best for them.
They’re young. He’s their dad. And when he is around them, he’s pretty fun.
But there’s a whole lot more to parenting than buying the boys video games and feeding them junk food.
In fact, those things don’t even make the list.
Rather than face my reality head-on while my sister compares my situation to our parents’ strange relationship, I press the ignore button and send my sister right to voicemail. And then I drive directly to Brooks’s apartment building.
He’s not due at the stadium for a few hours, and I planned on running some errands before showing up to take over watching Holly.
But I can’t handle the monotony of shopping for a new lip gloss and picking up premade salads at the grocery store right now.
And I definitely don’t want to walk into my parents’ house where my boys no longer are.
I’m parked outside Brooks’s building in minutes, and barely remember taking the stairs that lead to his door.
I’m knocking softly within seconds, and the flood of tears rips through my chest and pours down my cheeks about a half second before the shirtless, adorable ballplayer opens the door.
I do what any respectable nanny would—I slam my body into his and smoosh my wet cheeks against his pecs as my fingers scrape against the bare skin on his back.
“Uh . . .” His arms slowly fold around me, and the door thuds closed behind me.
“Don’t talk. Just stand there and hold me. Just for a minute.” I suck in air to steady my breathing, but it’s a struggle. Getting a full breath feels impossible, and my vision is blurry.
I must look like a crazy wreck. My God.
Brooks’s arms shift, his embrace growing tighter, and his chin rests on the top of my head.
The tight hold would normally make me feel claustrophobic, but right now, it seems to be regulating my pulse.
The slow drag of his fingertips down my spine matches the long breath that leaves my nostrils and lips, and my lungs deflate.
I let myself close my eyes and breathe in again, focusing on the little things—the way Brooks smells, the smoothness of his skin, the way his chest lines up perfectly with my cheekbone, giving me the ideal resting place.
After a few deep breaths, I loosen my hold and move back a few inches so I can lift my gaze and read his eyes.
I expect an amused expression; perplexed at the very least. But all I see in his eyes is a soft tenderness, and as he moves his right palm to the side of my face, literally everything else in the world stops except for the stroke of his thumb along my cheek.
When my gaze locks on his, my chest grows hot.
Not with anger, but with something else.
And the vibration tormenting my lips is making them numb.
I’ve been married for a few years, but I remember this feeling—the anticipation that comes on the verge of a kiss.
I should stop myself from biting my lower lip, but I’m compelled, and the tiny action draws Brooks’s eyes to it immediately.
My lips part, and my brain is screaming for me to speak, to utter the words, “We shouldn’t.” But instead, I close my eyes and Brooks runs his thumb along my cheek one more time before sliding his fingers deeper into my hair. My chin lifts. My mouth opens. And I am drowning in his kiss.
My hands climb his arms, wrapping around his wrists, not to pull him away but to hold him still.
He cradles my face as his mouth opens, and his strong lips caress mine.
His tongue moves along my lower lip as he sucks it between his, and the gasp leaves my body before it’s audible.
It’s a tiny whimper, and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter at the sound.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. I’m doing something I shouldn’t, but so is he.
We’re both adults, and as long as the line is drawn here, we’ll be all right.
It’s a moment. I was upset. And he was kind.
I really needed a kiss like this to remind me what passion feels like. It’s been so long.
The sharp notes of Holly’s cry hit the air like a hammer to a pane of glass, and just like that, the perfect distraction fizzles into regret and panic.
My palms rush to my own face as Brooks covers his mouth with his forearm, dragging it across his bottom lip as if he’s trying to erase poison left behind.
His eyes are burning, his stare pointed and sharp.
He shakes his head, but the movement is frantic, tiny.
“Lindsey, I shouldn’t have done—”
“No, it was both of us. I—”
I shake my head and a laugh vibrates from me as I take a step back and stare at the floor.
“My ex had me served today. Right outside the college.” I wince, hating that these two moments are now married in my memory. I need this job. More now than ever. What was I thinking?
“Fuck, Lindsey. I’m so sorry. That’s really shitty.”
Holly’s cry grows louder, and we glance in the direction of his bedroom. Only one of us should go in there.
“One second,” he says, holding up his palm before rushing into his bedroom to scoop his daughter up from a nap. I linger in the middle of his living room, picking at the edges of my fingernails and replaying the last hour of my life.
“She’s probably hungry. She’s dry,” he says, holding her to his bare chest as he moves toward me. I open my arms and take over holding her while he zips into the kitchen to fix her a bottle of formula.
“I can do that while I hold her. If you have to get ready, I mean.” If you want to go put on a damn shirt, you Greek god of biceps, shoulders and abs.
“It just takes a second,” he says. I avert my eyes, swaying the fussy baby in my arms as I move away from him. He hands me a bottle a minute later, and I position it for Holly to take. She guzzles it immediately, and we both breathe out a soft laugh.
“Girl isn’t shy about asking for what she wants,” I say, realizing almost instantly the double entendre that sort of implies.
“Lindsey, I didn’t mean to . . .”
I squeeze my eyes shut as my back is to him. I don’t want to hear him apologize for taking advantage of me. He didn’t.
“I know. I was having a moment, and you were being nice. And we’re grown-ass adults. This doesn’t have to be an issue.” I turn around slowly, glancing up at him briefly before recentering my focus on Holly.
“I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I swear, that was an aberration. Won’t happen again.” He crosses his chest with two fingers, blending the scout’s honor with the Holy Cross, and it makes me chuckle.
“I’m pretty sure you just prayed for Girl Scout cookies, but I get the point, and it’s fine. We are fine.”
The crackle in the air when our eyes meet begs to differ. Thankfully, Brooks is stuck in a town without a lot of other nanny options, and I have a mountain’s worth of personal baggage to sort through to keep me focused on making smart choices.
His mouth quirks up with a slight smirk, and he nods.
“Like nothing happened. Good,” he says, his gaze lingering on mine for a tiny extra second before he heads back into his bedroom.
I memorize every flex of muscle on his back before he shuts the door behind him.
That was the best nothing I’ve ever had happen.