23. Daire
23
DAIRE
“Admiring your handiwork?” Rosie asks from the doorway of the nursery.
All the furniture finally arrived, and while a good deal of it was already assembled, like the dresser beneath the window, a few things, like the crib, needed to be put together.
I turn to face her. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
She’s already dressed to go. If we don’t leave in the next couple of minutes, we’ll be late to our visit with Sammy.
My chest aches at the thought of holding him again. This’ll only be the second time I get to cradle him in my arms.
In his whole life, the amount of time I’ve gotten to spend with him can be counted in minutes.
She steps up beside me. “It looks nice, right? Cozy?”
I nod. She did an incredible job picking out the furniture and decor. It’s… honestly, it’s perfect. But the thought that he’ll never get to stay here with us is like a knife to the chest.
I understand and respect the court’s caution with this.
But selfishly, I just want my son.
I step out of the room, and Rosie follows. She eases the door shut with a quiet click.
“Thank you for this. For all of this.” My words come out thick with sincerity. Rosie didn’t have to agree to marry me, to help me out the way she has. “I’m sure this isn’t the way you hoped to spend Christmas Eve.”
Her answering smile does something to my heart. “I’m right where I want to be.”
Fuck. That means more to me than she can possibly know.
Just like last time, we’re met by my lawyer and a social worker.
I cradle the present I got for Sammy in my hands, twirling the box around and around as nerves skitter through me. It’s a silly little thing, but when I saw the tiny hockey jersey, I couldn’t pass it up, so I had it customized with my last name. Maybe it’s forward of me to want my son to share my last name, but it’s hard not to dream about the prospect. Sammy might not like hockey as he gets older. He might prefer another sport or even no sport at all. But I can’t help but envision us playing together when he’s older.
“You’re fidgeting,” Rosie whispers, pulling out the chair at the table.
“I can’t help it.”
She points at the seat, silently directing me to sit.
I don’t listen. Instead, I pace the room, filled with a nervous energy I can’t expel.
Minutes pass, and my restlessness only gets worse.
Even my lawyer looks worried, eyeing her watch.
Eventually I stop in front of her, my heart lodged in my throat. “They’re not coming, are they?”
She exhales a breath, exchanging a look with the social worker. Nothing is spoken, but information is conveyed, nonetheless. The social worker slips from the room.
“They should have been here an hour ago. That doesn’t look good for them. We’ll wait a little longer, but I can’t force them to show up. The good news for you, however, is that going against a court ordered visit won’t look good for them when it’s time to make a decision about custody.”
I nod, wiping my damp palms on my jeans. “All right. We’ll keep waiting, then.”
The thought of not seeing Sammy today makes me want to throw up. I’ve been counting down the days since we scheduled this visitation. But none of us can magically make Danielle show up with him.
Rosie’s gentle hand lands on my back. “Hey,” her soft voice coaxes, “are you okay?”
“I have to be,” I reply, ducking my head.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Shaking my head, I reach for her hand and bring it to my mouth. “No,” I say and press a kiss to her knuckles. “But thank you.”
She gives me a reassuring smile. “Maybe they got stuck in traffic.”
“Maybe.”
Defeated doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel when we get home. I drag myself into the house, and Rosie trails silently behind me. She hasn’t said a word since we left the social services office. She understands that no words can ease the pain in my chest.
They never showed up.
I set the present down on the kitchen counter.
I’ve never wanted a drink more than I do right now, but I ignore the beers in the fridge and instead pull out ingredients for turkey burgers.
“I… uh… I’m going to shower,” Rosie says from the archway.
I jerk my head in a nod. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour.”
She hesitates, like she’s hopeful I’ll say more. When I lower my head and silently continue prepping the food, her footsteps echo on the stairs.
With her gone, I pause, giving myself a moment to break down.
I slam the side of my fist against the counter.
I’m sad. Hurt. Angry.
It’s fucking Christmas Eve, and I didn’t get to see my son.
The stupid fucking present I bought sits mockingly on the island.
I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I wasn’t anywhere near prepared for all the emotions I’ve been hit with. Maybe this is my punishment for all the times I scoffed when my dad said we’d understand how he’s always felt once we had kids of our own.
I prepare dinner on autopilot, and just as I’m finishing up, Rosie returns. It seems impossible, but she’s beautiful in every state—even in an oversized hoodie and shorts, with her hair damp from the shower.
“You smell good,” I blurt as she steps up beside me. I squeeze my eyes shut. Fuck. I can’t believe I said that out loud.
She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, the move drawing my attention to her makeup-free face. “Thanks.” She shuffles to the fridge and emerges with a can of ginger ale—something I’ve learned she likes to have nightly.
I grab a straw from the drawer and pass it to her.
“Am I that predictable?” She slips it into the can.
I set our plates on the table and take a seat. “I’m learning your quirks.”
“I feel like that should worry me.” She arches a brow as she slides out the chair beside me. “Cozy.” Her arm brushes mine.
“I wanted you close.”
No point in beating around the bush.
“Hmm,” she hums, picking up a sweet potato fry. “You’re starting to make me think you like me.”
I bump her elbow with mine. “I do like you, Rosie.”
Her eyes meet mine, and the room around us drifts away. I forget about dinner. About my disappointment. All I see, all I feel, is her.
Leaning in, I hesitate, giving her the chance to back away.
When she doesn’t, I cup her cheek with my left hand. The second our lips touch, a fire ignites inside me.
Scooting my chair back, I pull her closer. At the same time, she pivots and lifts her leg until she sinks down, straddling me.
Between kisses, she says, “This… is… crazy.”
She’s right, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Images of that night in the living room play on repeat in my head far more than they should. I’ve grown way too used to getting myself off in the shower to the memory of her taste and the way she writhed against me.
“Do you want me to stop?” I kiss down the column of her neck.
She pulls away, her eyes hazy. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Dinner is forgotten in an instant. I wasn’t hungry anyway. Without letting go of her, I stand and circle the table. I set her down on the surface, working the fabric of her hoodie up her body.
Fuck.
She’s wearing nothing beneath it.
I press my forehead to hers. “You’re killing me.”
“You can touch me.” She puts a gentle hand against my jaw. “I want you to.”
Eyes closed, I inhale, relishing those words. Frankly, I don’t fucking deserve them. Not after how I’ve treated her over the years. She doesn’t have the first clue what her forgiveness means or what a privilege she’s affording me by trusting me with her body.
I cup her breasts—so full and heavy in my hands. Bending down, I swirl my tongue around one nipple and then the other. I kiss my way down her stomach until I reach the elastic band of her sleep shorts. Without waiting for me, she hooks her thumbs under the fabric and shoves them down.
The chuckle that rumbles out of me is low and dark as I take in her naked body on the table before me. “Eager, are we?”
She cuffs the back of my neck and pulls me in until our lips touch. “You have no idea.”
I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight. I can’t get close enough to her. We’re acting like horny teenagers, making out on the table like this. Like we’re making up for lost time.
Giving her a gentle push back, I kiss down the column of her neck.
A shiver rolls through her, and she whispers a small “sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I take her right nipple into my mouth, sucking gently. Her little whimper has me smiling. I move to her other breast, giving it the same attention before I sink down to my knees, my face perfectly aligned with her pussy. I groan at the sight of her glistening, pink flesh.
But before I can taste her, my phone rings.
I let out a low curse and sit back on my heels. “I better get that.”
It’s not often someone calls me, and when they do, it’s typically important. After what went on with Sammy, there’s no way I can ignore it.
Rosie nods in understanding and reaches for her sweatshirt. As she yanks it back on and hops down from the table, disappointment floods me.
With a sigh, I pull my phone from my pocket. When my lawyer’s name flashes on the screen, my heart jumps. Even though I’m already missing the feel of Rosie’s skin beneath my hands, I’m thankful I stopped.
“Hey, what’s up?” The greeting is probably a bit too casual, but after working with her all these months, the formalities don’t feel necessary.
“There’s been an accident.”