Fallon
Chapter twenty-five
Bittersweet
I exhale, the gravity of the day finally lifting from my shoulders.
Thinking about how the afternoon unfolded, I’d been bracing for awkwardness.
For guarded silences, forced politeness, the kind of distance kids sometimes sense even when adults try to hide it.
Instead, their first real meeting happened perfectly—sunlight filtering through the trees, water running low and clear over smooth stones worn soft and pale by time.
Billy kicked off her shoes without hesitation, toes sinking into the mud as she waded straight to the edge. Liam followed more cautiously, jeans rolled up, eyes sharp as he scanned the water.
“There!” Billy shouted, crouching. “Something moved!”
Liam dropped beside her, sleeves pushed up. “That’s a crawdad.”
Within minutes, they were knee-deep at the river’s edge, flipping rocks and squealing every time one skittered free.
Billy showed him how to grab from behind so it wouldn’t pinch.
Liam showed her how to cup her hands so it couldn’t escape.
Mud streaked their arms, laughter carried over the water, and something inside me eased with each hour that passed.
By the time I called them back for snacks, they were soaked, sun-warmed, and inseparable—arguing over who caught the biggest one.
As the sun dipped low and the mosquitoes started circling, the question came—soft but hopeful.
“Can Liam sleep over?” I said yes before my brain caught up.
Cyrus hadn’t agreed. I’m so used to being a single parent, my response had been natural.
I shifted, pivoting awkwardly toward Cyrus.
He stood by his truck, keys dangling from his fingers, as his eyes tracked Liam’s muddy sneakers and Billy’s river-tangled hair.
“Is that really a good idea, Fallon?” he asks. “It’s a lot. First day and—”
“She’s alive,” Nodding toward Billy, who proudly held up her final crawdad of the day. “I’ve kept her alive this long. Fed her. Clothed her. Managed not to lose her at Target.”
Billy grinned. “Barely.”
Cyrus’s mouth twitched despite himself. “I can handle one more kid,” I added, quieter now.
“I promise.” He hesitated, then exhaled, tension draining out of him.
“Okay,” he said. “One night. And Fallon, it has nothing to do with not trusting you with him. And everything to do with how protective I am of what’s mine. ”
The way he had said, ‘what’s mine.’ Ugh, something so hot shouldn’t be dropping from someone so infuriating. Don’t be weak, he is a dickhead. But that’s how Liam ended up here.
Billy is curled up on the couch, her socked feet tucked beneath her, tablet balanced on her knees. Liam sits beside her, cross-legged and serious, as if this were a board meeting and not online shopping. I perch on the ottoman, laptop open, coffee gone cold on the side table.
“Okay,” I say, clapping once to get their attention. “Ground rules. This is for your room, Liam. Not toys for the entire house. So, we’re picking things that make sense together.”
Billy grins. “Like a vibe.”
I point at her. “Exactly. A vibe.”
Liam nods solemnly. He’s seven, but very pensive. Cyrus’s son through and through.
The room upstairs sits empty right now. The one beside Billy’s.
It hit me last night, lying awake and staring at the ceiling, after agreeing to allow the kids to meet, that when Liam and Billy spend weekends together—sleepovers, movie nights that spill into the early hours of the morning—he can’t crash on the couch.
He’s her brother; he gets the same treatment I give my daughter.
No matter how painful it is to have to see and interact with their father.
He needs his own space.
He needs to feel like he belongs here. So, here we are. Online shopping. “All right,” I say, angling the laptop for them.
“First things first, the most important part—you need a bedroom theme.” Billy leans across Liam, practically vibrating.
“Dinosaurs.”
“Space,” she adds quickly. “Or sharks. Or—”
“Fishing.”
The word cuts through the room, silencing my daughter’s prattling. Billy blinks. “Fishing?”
Liam shrugs, suddenly shy. “Yeah…fly fishing, trout fishing, bass fishing, well, I fish a lot with Grammy. My dad takes me sometimes. With the waders, the lines, the boxes, and all the lures. He doesn’t even get mad when I accidentally hook him.”
Something tugs at me. A small voice betraying me, whispering, he can’t be that bad.
For all of Cyrus’s piss-poor behavior toward me, it speaks volumes that his little boy is so open about hooking his dad, and he’s not getting angry over it.
I’ve been caught before. It hurts. So does the heart after Cyrus tramples it.
“That’s a great theme,” I manage. “Outdoorsy. Calm.”
Billy wrinkles her nose. “It’s not calm when you catch one.”
Liam grins. “That’s the best part.”
I type ‘kids’ fishing bedroom’ into the search bar, and the screen instantly fills with blues and greens and soft wood tones. Lakes at sunrise. Vintage-style posters with curved rods and looping lines.
Billy scoots closer. “Ooooh. That blanket looks cozy.” The bedding she’s pointing at is navy blue, dotted with little illustrated trout. Nothing too vibrant. Nothing cartoonish. Liam leans in. “Can I have that one?”
“Absolutely,” I say, adding it to the cart. “What about wall stuff?”
He points to a poster—an old-school fly-fishing print, all muted colors and careful detail. “That. And could we get me…a shelf? For my tackle box.”
I smile. “A shelf is a wonderful idea. How about a tackle box for trinkets? Cool treasures to fill it with?” His blonde hair, Cyrus’s hair bobs with his enthusiasm.
Billy tilts her head. “You need fish stuffies.”
Liam groans. “No, I don’t. I’m seven.”
“You do, and I’m almost ten and have all kinds of stuffies,” she insists. “Every bed needs stuffies.”
I intervene before it turns into a full sibling debate. “How about one? Compromise.”
He considers, then nods. “One.”
We add a stuffed bass to the cart. Then, a small, lake shaped rug. A desk lamp with a wooden base. A couple of flannel shirts and cargo shorts, Billy insists, are ‘room-appropriate outfits.’
“Will Cyrus be okay with this?” She pauses, darting her eyes between Liam and me, looking shy. She says, “Should I call him Dad?” My fingers pause on the iPad.
“If that’s what’s in your heart, sweetie,” I tell her.
That’s all it takes, and they are both right back to ordering more fun stuff for Liam’s room.
Watching them together twists my heart in so many ways.
While I’m happy for them, I’m sad too. They look so much alike that they could both be mine and Cyrus’s.
This is the future we had planned so long ago.
Once again, in a fleeting moment, I’m being left behind.
And that isn’t fair to the kids. I want them to have one another—it hurts.
“Okay,” I murmur. “That’s enough shopping.” They both look up at me. “For tonight,” I amend. “We’ve done good work.”
Billy flops back against the cushions. “Does Liam get to sleep upstairs now?”
“Sure,” I say. “For tonight, we can build a fort.”
Their eyes light up, dazzling and brilliant in their excitement. I notice Billy’s bouncing around the living room while Liam is more reserved. “You okay, buddy?” I hedge.
“When will my stuff get here?” he asks quietly.
“Soon, I promise.”
Liam doesn’t push. He nods, eyes still drifting back to the screen, memorizing it. I close the laptop. That’s when the knock comes. Three sharp raps against the front door. My heart stutters, traitorous and immediate.
“I’ll get it,” I say, standing too fast.
Cyrus stands on the porch, hair wind-tousled like he’s been running his hands through it. His gaze flicks past me, straight to the living room.
“Hey,” he says. “I was swinging by to check on Liam before—” He stops, noticing the kids together on the couch. One girl, one boy, different moms, though they look nearly identical.
Billy waves. “Hi, Cyrus!”
Liam’s smile is smaller, softer. “Hey, Dad.”
Cyrus’s expression changes. Something loosens in his shoulders. Could that be sadness as well? “Everything okay?” he asks, eyes back on me now.
“Fine,” I say. “We were…hanging out.”
There’s a beat. Too long.
Cyrus steps inside, the space between us narrowing, charged and unspoken. His arm brushes mine as he passes, and it’s ridiculous how much that small touch affects me. His eyes search my face, looking for something he doesn’t have the right to ask for.
“You good, Fallon?” he murmurs.
I nod. “Yeah. I’m good.”
We both know it’s a lie.
Neither of us calls it out.
Behind us, the kids laugh over something on Billy’s tablet, unaware of the quiet war happening in the space between Cyrus and me—everything we want battling against everything we refuse to say.
“I was stopping by to tell the kids goodnight.”
I nod, my feet already carrying me to another part of the house, my vision blurred as my eyes mist over. He wouldn’t have to stop by and tell them goodnight. This could have been our life together, had he trusted me enough to love him.