Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
CONSTANCE
I pull the curtain to the side and watch as Morgan Creed crosses my front yard, making his way to his car. He doesn't look back so he has no clue I’m watching. But I silently wonder if he feels my eyes on him. If he knows he captivated me by the kindness he showed to my son.
Having him in my home was weird. But that wasn’t the strangest part; it was the fact that he actually stayed.
He took care of me, made sure I was okay, he got up with Chance, and made coffee in my kitchen like he actually belonged there.
He did it with the ease of confidence of someone who’s done it a million times before.
The way he made sure I knew that I didn’t have to worry about anything.
That my income wouldn’t be affected because I needed to care for my son.
Heat creeps up my neck as the memory of the shower earlier slips in uninvited, how unexpected it had been, how it caught me completely off guard.
I’d walked into it unsure, almost nervous, and somehow come out…
curious. A little shaken, a little exhilarated.
I never imagined myself wanting things like that, never pictured exploring pieces of myself I didn’t know existed.
And yet with Morgan, nothing felt careless.
Even without long conversations or neatly defined rules, I knew — deep down — that if I ever truly needed it to stop, he would stop.
That certainty lingered longer than the thrill itself, leaving me wondering not just what else he might introduce me to, but who I might become brave enough to be with him.
I watch as he gets in his car and drives away. But I don’t move, I stay there, one hand braced against the cold, glass window, while the other hangs loosely at my side. I exhale, knowing that everything’s changed.
“Mom?” Chance’s weak voice calls my name.
I turn, the corners of my mouth curling up in a smile. Chance is standing in the hallway in his dinosaur hoodie, hair sticking up all over his head.
“Yeah, Baby?”
“Is Morgan coming back?”
“Sweetie, his name is Mr. Creed.” I give him a gentle reminder that adults should always be addressed properly.
“But he told me I could call him Morgan, Mom.” My heart skips a beat at his words. Just another mystery to the man who is Morgan Creed.
“I—” I hesitate. “Okay then. Later… I think. I’m not sure.”
Chance nods, accepting my answer with no further questions. He heads toward the kitchen, humming to himself, and I follow behind him.
“Thirsty?” I ask him.
“Yeah. My tummy still hurts.”
“Well, go get your blanket and lay down on the couch and watch cartoons. I’ll get you something to drink.”
“Okay.” Chance turns and heads out of the kitchen. His pace is slow and unsteady.
The way Morgan was with Chance warmed my heart. The way he’d looked after not only Chance but me gave me hope that I could be taken care of by someone. That I could be vulnerable.
I go through the motions of the day: laundry, cleaning, dishes, and disinfecting the house. Whatever stomach bug Chance has, I don’t want it lingering or catching it myself. Once that’s done, I make a coffee and sit down on the couch to relax for a few minutes.
Morgan is true to his word. He calls later in the afternoon, checking on Chance. When I tell him he’s feeling better and that my neighbor was watching him so I could go to work Monday, he went silent.
“Constance, if he’s still ill, stay home. I told you that your time wouldn’t be docked.”
“I know. But if he’s feeling better,” I remind him, my voice softer.
“Fine. But come in at ten and you can leave early.” He pauses. “Do you need anything?”
Him. I want to say that. I want to feel how he made me feel last night. But I don’t, because giving in to him isn’t what I should be doing.
“No. We’re good. I’m actually going to lay down and take a nap with him.”
He’s quiet on the other end of the phone. Just his deep breaths drifting through the receiver.
“If you need anything don’t hesitate to contact me. I’m going to have food delivered for you tonight at six. I’ll let you know when it’s on the way.”
“Thank you.” I don’t know what else to say other than those two words.
I end the call and let out a deep breath just as Chance stirs on the couch.
Work should feel the same. But it doesn’t.
I notice it the minute I log into my email.
Two meetings have been removed from my calendar, a deadline has been pushed back by a week, and a project I was set to start working on in the next few days has been reassigned to someone else—no explanation given.
I frown at the screen. I should feel some relief at my work load diminishing. But I don’t. All it does is make me feel as if Morgan thinks I can’t handle the responsibilities of my job. That being a single parent makes me a liability.
By lunch, the feeling has sharpened into something brittle. I’m no longer upset…I’m pissed.
Just after two, I knock on Morgan’s door. It’s open and he’s leaning against his desk with his jacket slung over the chair, phone in hand. His eyes lock with mine and he waves me in. Stepping inside, I shut the door behind me and wait for him to finish his call.
When he ends it, I pounce.
“You changed my work schedule,” I say coldly.
He gazes at me, his face showing no signs of surprise or irritation.
“Yes.”
That’s all he has to say?
“Why? Was I not doing my job to your liking? Did you think I was unable to perform my duties?”
“Did I say that?”
I let out a groan, annoyed with his fucking non answers.
I cross my arms over my chest as I jut my hip to the side. “You don’t get to manage my life because you—” I stop myself. Because you what? Stayed the night? Met my son? Looked at me like I mattered?
“You’re not being managed. You’re being helped.”
I let out a heavy sigh, This man is infuriating.
“That’s unnecessary."
“I know.” He sets his phone down on his desk.
My voice lowers. “Then why? Are you firing me?”
He laughs.
“It’s not funny. I need my job. I was hoping that what happened between us would not interfere, but I see it has. You think because I’m a mother I can’t do my work properly.”
He moves around the desk, stepping closer into my space. He raises his hand, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“You don’t need to stretch yourself thin right now,” he says tenderly.
“You don’t need to prove you can carry everything alone.
I know you could do everything that was on your plate.
But I chose to delegate it for you. It’s a reward.
Not a punishment. I wanted to offer far more enjoyable punishments for you.
But I thought this was more professional. ”
My legs press together and I stifle a moan.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“And yet…” My throat tightens. “Part of me is relieved.”
“Relief doesn’t mean surrender,” he says. “It means you were tired.”