Chapter 21 Tanner
TANNER
There’s not much my kids can do that phases me anymore. I’ve seen it all. Or so I think until we follow the screams into the backyard.
We run outside to find Davy putting Wesley in a headlock. Meanwhile, my three remaining kids are holding the door to their plastic playhouse shut, trapping Kyle’s twins inside, who are screaming for dear life to get out.
Before I yell at them to stop, my hand flies to my mouth.
Every parent dreads the day when their children get in a skirmish on the playground and they have to do the awkward apologizing to show the other parents that they know what they’re doing.
There is no rulebook for your kids terrorizing party guests.
“Oh my babies! My babies!” Marissa screams.
“Davy! Get off him!” Des marches forward and stands over my son.
“My girls! They’re going to suffocate in there!” Kyle cradles his wife, who looks on the verge of collapse. While they have every right to be upset, their reaction seems just a tad histrionic.
“What are you doing?” I race over to the playhouse and shove my kids out of the way.
The twins burst through the plastic door just as Davy relinquishes his headlock.
The three perfect angels in their matching yacht wear run into their parents arms, crying.
Again, I’m taken aback for a second at how hysterical they are.
I know Davy would never willingly hurt Wesley. My kids aren’t monsters.
But by the way Kyle and Marissa glare at me, they sure think so.
“What happened?” Stan asks.
“Des’s kids…they…” Kyle strains to catch his breath. “Sorry, my children’s lives just flashed before my eyes. They attacked my kids, Stan.”
“What the hell were you guys thinking?” Des barks. We all jolt for a second, not used to him using such a stern tone.
“They started it!” Davy yells. “They were teasing Lulu, and they took Dean’s magic hat.” He turns to me, his eyes wide with fear and the retreat of adrenaline.
“You don’t turn to violence. If there’s a problem, you call an adult over. You don’t settle it like this.” For being a new parent, Des sure has the stern dad voice down pat.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I just wanted him to give back Dean’s hat.” Davy looks down at the ground.
“I asked to play with it, and then he clobbered me,” Wesley yells to his parents, immediately falling into sobs.
“We asked to play in the playhouse,” says one twin.
“And then they locked us in!” exclaimed the other. I’m too on edge to remember their names.
“We only put you in there so you’d stop pinching my sister,” Lena says, the calmest one of all.
“Lena, you should know better,” I say.
“We only put them in there so they’d chill out. They started screaming out of nowhere.”
“Because they were trapped. That’s false imprisonment. That’s a crime.” Kyle points a finger at my daughter. Rage pulses through me so hard I want to snap that digit off. “Des, how could you let your kids do this?”
Des turns to him with a stone cold grimace. “My kids said they didn’t start this. And I believe them.”
I silently cheer. Des gives each of them a tense nod of support.
“Let’s let cooler heads prevail,” Stan says, stepping into the middle of the fracas like a wrestling ref. “I think playing just got out of hand.”
“I don’t want to paint over this with a euphemism. My poor kids were attacked.” Kyle hugs his brood tight. “I’m going to get them checked out by a doctor.”
“I’ll do the same for mine,” Des shoots back.
“I just want peace!” Marissa dabs at her eyes.
“Daddy, I think I have trauma!” cries one of the twins.
“Kids.” Stan claps his hands, getting all of their attention. “Now, are any of you physically hurt?” Stan gives them that teacher look, making it hard to lie. He stares each of them in the eye. The kids eventually shake their heads no. “Alright then. Just a little roughhousing.”
“A little roughhousing?” Kyle guffaws. “I think we’re gonna go.”
“It’s okay.” Des squats down and checks in with Lulu and Dean. He picks up Dean’s hat from the ground, places it back on his head.
“We’re sorry. Did we ruin your job?” Dean asks with a trembling lip.
“No. Are you all okay?” Des caresses a hand down Lulu’s hair. Despite the embarrassment of this moment, I can’t help but be swept away by Des’s warmth.
I go back inside the house and check on dinner.
It’s staying warm in the oven. Well, it looks like we’re going to have a lot of leftovers.
Through the kitchen window, I glare at Kyle’s family as they make their way to the minivan.
Kyle hands each of his kids a five-dollar bill before sliding the door shut.
“Stan, I am so sorry about this. I don’t know what happened,” Des says back in the living room.
Stan chuckles to himself. “Des, welcome to fatherhood. Being a parent means watching your best laid plans go to shit over and over again.”
“I’m realizing that.” Des pours himself a glass of wine. He offers me one when I rejoin them in the living room, but I decline. I probably shouldn’t consume alcohol mere minutes after watching my kids falsely imprison little girls in a playhouse.
Stan signals for Des and me to come closer. “Between us, Kyle’s kids give me the creeps.”
“It’s the Stepford vibe,” I say.
“Exactly. Des, I like this one.” Stan claps me on the shoulder. He heads to the door.
“Did you want to stay for dinner? We have plenty.” I let out a weak laugh.
“It’s probably best that I go and let everyone’s nerves settle.”
We huddle by the door, Stan pulling on his coat. Perhaps we came out of this disaster without burning everything to the ground.
But then Stan pauses, looking between Des and me like he’s working out a puzzle.
"You two have been so polite tonight," Stan says, smoothing down his sleeves. "Almost too polite. You didn’t even…" He gestures vaguely between us, a wry smile curling his lips.
“Kiss?” I ask.
"You’re not holding back just to keep an old man comfortable, are you?"
My stomach dips. Des stiffens beside me. I can practically hear the PR machine spinning in his head, trying to spin this moment.
Stan chuckles softly. "Listen, I’ve been in love, I’ve been married a long time. I know when people care about each other. And I also know when they’re holding back."
Des glances at me, something unspoken passing between us—panic, maybe, or…something else.
Stan waves a hand. "Don’t be shy on my account. I’d hate to think my old-fashioned ass scared you two into acting like roommates."
There’s a beat where neither of us moves.
And then Des surprises the hell out of me—he steps closer, hand curling gently around the back of my neck, tilting my face toward his.
His eyes search mine for a split second, like he's asking permission—and I give it, leaning in.
The kiss starts soft. Careful.
But somewhere in the space between Stan's chuckle and Des’s grip, it deepens. Des’s lips mold to mine, firm, steady, like this isn’t fake at all. Like this has been years in the making.
And maybe… it has.
We break apart slowly. My pulse is hammering in my ears.
"That better?" Des asks Stan, his voice a little lower than usual, his thumb brushing along the edge of my jaw. “Are you still an ally?”
Stan laughs, satisfied. “Des, I’m impressed at how quickly you can go from a romantic to a sarcastic son of a bitch. Night, you two.”
There’s plenty of dinner for everyone, but naturally, the kids mostly filled up on cocktail snacks. By the time we wrangle the kids to bed, put away all the dinner leftovers in Tupperware, and stumble into our room, I can still feel the ghost of that kiss lingering.
Des untucks and unbuttons his shirt, avoiding my gaze in a way that’s distinctly not like him.
I climb onto the bed, stretching out, watching him. "That kiss…" I start.
He hums noncommittally, pulling off his watch, eyes fixed anywhere but me.
"It was good," I say carefully. "Really good. Better than good."
“We sure sold it to Stan.”
“Yeah,” I say, though Stan was the last guy I was thinking of currently.
We get into bed. I cuddle close to him. It’s our new routine, and my body craves his touch.
"Can we…" I swallow, pushing past the nerves. "Could we maybe…pick up where we left off the other night?"
His shoulders tense. I’ve known Des long enough to sense slight shifts in his demeanor. He seems just a touch too stiff. Perhaps he’s still coming down from the stress of dinner.
“I’ve been thinking lately…about what it would feel like to have sex with you. To feel you inside me.” My breath hitches as these images flash in my head.
Here is the part where Des would hold me in his arms, or say something incredibly charming about how badly he wants that, too.
But instead, I’m met with silence.
I sit up straighter, the mood shifting, cold creeping in around the edges. "Des?"
He finally turns, face carefully neutral, walls going up brick by brick.
"Tanner, you are so gorgeous, but…I can't," he says quietly.
I blink. "You…can't? Or you don't want to?"
He rubs the back of his neck, frustration simmering just under the surface.
“Is it because of the dinner? We sold Stan on our family. Fight aside, it went great.”
“It was a success. We sold everybody.” His face is pensive when I least expect it, another side of Des to wonder about.
"It’s not that I don’t want to—Jesus, Tanner, you felt what I felt the other night.
" His voice softens. "But this thing with your kids, this house, this whole… life. Things are moving really fast."
An old ache settles in my chest.
He breathes out, heavy. "I’m already in deep pretending to be this perfect husband and stepdad. And I can’t tell when I’m pretending and when I’m not anymore. If we keep blurring the lines—if I…slip—it’ll screw with my head. And yours. And the kids."
My jaw clenches. He’s probably right. But it doesn’t stop the sting.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Tanner.” His big, dark eyes bore into me. They break my heart.
"Okay," I say finally, lying back down, keeping my voice steady. "I get it."
Des shifts under the covers. The distance between us feels cavernous, even though the bed's not that big.
I stare at the ceiling for a long time, listening to his quiet breathing.
It’s the safest, most dangerous place I’ve ever been—lying next to him, knowing exactly how close we could be, and how far apart we still are.