Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
With just one week until Christmas, I finally had the townhouse unpacked and all the Christmas decorations up—including the tree.
It wasn’t easy with my demanding work schedule and Kira’s even more demanding swim practice schedule, but late nights, wine and my super-supportive new friend Jeanie helped.
With just a splash of Carolans Irish Cream in my decaf Early Grey tea to-go mug, I climbed on to the bleachers—which were only six benches high—just before swim practice started and sat down, my back to the wall behind me.
I was usually the first parent there, which I didn’t mind.
It allowed me to pick the best seat—the top bleacher row with the back support.
I peeled off my jacket and set it beside me to save a spot for Jeanie.
My phone vibrated in the back pocket of my jeans, and I pulled it out, but not before taking a sip of my spiked tea. A simmering ire filled my veins when I saw it was a message from Damien.
Teach your daughter some manners. See the text she just sent me.
He followed that message up with a screenshot of an exchange between Kira and Damien.
In any other circumstance, I would have agreed with him that Kira’s message was rude and disrespectful, but considering how little respect he’d shown our daughter over the last half of the year, he deserved all the attitude—and more.
First of all, she’s OUR daughter. Second of all, maybe if you showed her some respect AND love, she’d show you some in return.
You go weeks without texting her, Damien.
You haven’t called her in over a month, and when she sent you a picture of the Christmas-themed elastics on her braces, you reacted with an angry-face emoji.
So her calling you a selfish asshole of a father who prioritizes his boy toy over his own child is pretty damn accurate.
I stared at the message. I knew better than to react in haste and let my immediate feelings do the talking.
I was thirty-four years old. I’d learned not to be so reactionary.
Not to be so impulsive. It’d served me well over the years, walking away and taking a breather before responding to someone I’d sooner just punch in the throat.
But did Damien deserve my taking a deep breath?
“Uh-oh,” came the smooth, deep and sexy voice of Coach Deacon. “That’s an angry-mom face. What happened?”
I lifted my gaze away from my phone to his chiseled handsomeness.
It had to be illegal to be that gorgeous.
It really did. I’d heard more than once over the last two weeks that most of the young girls—and their mothers—had secret crushes on Coach Deacon.
Fair enough. The man was absolutely gorgeous.
He’d yet to take off his shirt, which was probably a good thing.
More than one woman in the bleachers would surely faint—myself included.
“What’s got you making that face?” he asked, climbing the bleachers and, surprisingly, taking a seat beside me.
At this point, I didn’t give a shit anymore. I handed him my phone.
He read Damien’s message, along with the screenshot and my unsent message. “Fuck,” he breathed, glancing at me. “He left you for a dude?”
Releasing a long, slow breath, I nodded.
“Yep. A dude not much older than you, actually. Not that age really matters. But he was his student. Which was a huge no-no. Damien left the college and followed Paul down to LA, where Paul is working on his PhD and Damien moved into consulting at a museum or some shit.”
“Jesus.”
“Is my response too harsh?”
“Too harsh? I’d say it’s not harsh enough. You know I used to refer to him—in my head, of course—as Dingdong Dipshit. I always thought you could do better than him.”
That comment warmed me more than I thought it would. “Really?”
He regarded me as if I were crazy for even asking.
“Absolutely. Not only is he like a huge narcissist—and I know what those are because my dad’s girlfriend is one—but you’re way hotter than he is.
He married way up.” His finger hovered over the little arrow to send the message.
“I say, send it. Unless you want me to add a bit more to it to really drive home how terrible a human being he is? Because I can.”
That made me laugh. “I dunno …”
“It’s perfect the way it is. It’s blunt, but it’s not too harsh or over-the-top.”
“Send it,” I said before I could back down and delete it. I covered my eyes, peeking through parted fingers.
“Done,” he said with a big grin, handing me back my phone. Then his smile dropped. “I’m really sorry he did that to you, and is doing that to Kira. Neither of you deserves such awful treatment.”
My smile kicked up on one side more than the other.
“Thanks. I can handle things myself. It’s just Kira that my heart aches for.
She doesn’t deserve any of this. It’s almost like he’s punishing her for choosing to live with me rather than him.
Which I honestly don’t think is the case, because he’s loving this free and easy childless life down in LA.
You should see his Instagram.” I gagged a little and pulled it up.
I didn’t follow Damien for obvious reasons, but his profile also wasn’t private, so anybody could see what my midlife crisis ex-husband was up to.
Damien’s green eyes bugged out, and his jaw went slack.
“He’s really going all out embracing the gay life, huh?
” He was obviously referring to the pics of Damien and Paul at various gay nightclubs where they were dressed in neon Speedos, wearing glow stick necklaces and black-light body paint.
He was living his best new life and probably loving that he didn’t have a child at home that he needed to be responsible for.
“I don’t care that he’s gay,” I said quickly.
“I care that he lied. That he deceived us. That he cheated. And how he’s treating Kira now.
As if she’s nothing but a burden. If he’d been a shitty dad when we were together, it wouldn’t be such a blow, but he wasn’t.
He was a doting father. He loved her. And now … ”
“It doesn’t seem that way,” he said, finishing my sentence for me.
Emotion hung thick in my throat, so all I could do was nod.
“Does Kira have Instagram?” he asked.
I nodded again.
“So she can see all of his?”
I continued to nod.
He sucked in a deep breath through his nose and breathed it out like a heavy puff from his mouth.
“That’s rough. She’s seeing her dad living it up, partying and whatever, meanwhile he can’t even be bothered to message her back.
” He wrinkled his nose up in a cute way.
“Why’d he respond to her braces picture with an angry face? ”
“Probably because he’s pissed off with how much the braces are costing us. We don’t have an insurance plan since I’m freelance and self-employed, and he left the university and went private, so he doesn’t have coverage either. And yeah, they aren’t cheap, but she needs them, so …”
Deacon shook his head. “Talk about selfish.”
“His picture’s right beside the word in the dictionary.
” I shook my head. “I’m also worried about what’s going to happen when Paul eventually ends things with him.
What do a twenty-five-year-old and a thirty-six-year-old have in common?
How does that relationship even work? It doesn’t.
It’s all about the sex. And Paul introduced Damien to all his gay friends.
Will Damien then decide he wants to be part of Kira’s life when Paul kicks him to the curb?
Talk about fucking with your kid’s head. ”
I didn’t notice at first, but Deacon squirmed a little beside me, almost as if he was uncomfortable.
I cocked my head at him, squinting my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“I dunno …” he started, breaking eye contact, “age-gap relationships can work. If the younger person is mature for their age, maybe? And the older person is open-minded and young-at-heart? They’re not all doomed to fail.
” He shrugged. “I mean these two …” he pointed to Damien and Paul on my phone in a picture on Instagram.
They were at a nightclub, half-naked, with their arms around each other.
Damien was kissing Paul on the cheek, and Paul was smiling with his mouth open while wearing those stupid sunglasses with all the lines across the lenses.
“They’re doomed to fail. But it’s not because of their age.
Damien is a narcissist, and Paul will eventually see that—if he isn’t one himself. ”
I went to open my mouth, though I wasn’t sure what exactly I was going to say, but the arrival of Jeanie saved the day. “What’s in your mug today?” my friend asked, climbing the bleachers and sitting down on the other side of me. “I’ve got Bailey’s in my decaf coffee.”
Damien smirked and stood up. “Oh, these moms are here to party!”
Snorting, I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him. “Hardly. Just a little nip to add some extra flavor, that’s all. And I’ve gone with Carolans Irish Cream today in decaf Earl Grey.”
“Ooh, let me try.” Jeanie took my to-go mug from my hand and had a sip. “Mmm. That’s delicious,” she replied. “I’m going to do that next time.”
Deacon bobbed his brows at me before climbing down the bleachers just as all the kids, other coaches and parents started to file in. “Don’t send anything else until I get to read it and you get my approval,” he said, mostly in jest, but there was a thread of truth to his tone too.
“All right,” I replied. “You’re creating a lot of extra work for yourself, though, you know?”
“Don’t care. Assholes need to be dealt with accordingly.” Then he flashed me his biggest, brightest smile before turning around to address the swim team gathering behind him like eager little ducklings.
“What’s going on with you two?” Jeanie asked, her gaze swiveling between Deacon’s back and me a few times. “What does he mean, don’t send anything?”