Chapter 31
HARLOW
Sunday evening after getting back from my weekend trip, I’m wiping down the kitchen counters with disinfectant when there’s a knock on the door. I hurry over and open it, crouching down and opening my arms wide for Monroe to crash into, but instead she dodges past me straight to her room.
My face falls and I slowly get up, forced to see Spencer’s sympathetic expression.
“I think she’s already hitting the teenage years,” he says. “She’s been extra moody this weekend.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Do you want to come in?”
He shrugs and steps over the threshold, closing the door behind him. “Where’s Jameson? It’s a little early for bed, isn’t it?”
I laugh softly. “He’s at his place.”
“Ah.” Spencer nods. “Didn’t know he still had his own place.” His lips twitch with humor.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be an asshole. You know he has his own place.”
“He’s here all the time,” he replies. “How am I to know? You don’t tell me about him.”
I resume wiping down the counters. “Hmm, I don’t know, Spencer, maybe it’s because I’m not going to talk about my boyfriend with my ex.”
“Ouch.” He presses a hand to his chest. “I thought I was your friend.”
Again, I roll my eyes. I think I’m overly tired and unable to keep my annoyance at bay. “I’m trying the whole friend thing and I’m sorry but it’s a little awkward when you have carnal knowledge of each other.”
He chuckles. “You’re the one making it awkward. Not me.”
I sigh and level him with a look that’s normally only reserved for our daughter. “I’m sure you have women staying over all the time and I never ask.”
His face freezes into a mask of annoyance. “I don’t, but I’m glad you assume the worst of me.”
I stop scrubbing the counters. They were clean long ago anyway. “Spencer, you’re like an A-list celebrity with drop dead gorgeous co-stars, and models frequenting parties you go to, and beautiful influencers interviewing you. I’m not dumb.”
I gasp when he moves into my space, and I’m pressed into the corner of the cabinets.
“Don’t for a minute think that any other woman holds even a flicker of a flame next to you.
” His voice is low and gravely. “No woman on this earth can ever compare. I knew when we were teenagers that there would never be another like you. I’m hurt that you think you’re replaceable.
When I tell you there’s been no one since you, I mean it.
” He pulls away slightly and gives me the saddest smile I’ve possibly ever seen. “Goodnight, Harlow.”
He lets himself out.
I stand there, still in the corner where the cabinets meet, and struggle to form coherent thoughts.
He can’t mean…
He has to mean that he hasn’t dated anyone seriously.
There’s no way he hasn’t slept with anyone else.
It’s been years. Spencer’s a young, fit guy who’s hot by most standards.
Not to mention, he has the whole actor thing going for him.
Besides, most importantly, he’s kind and gentle and sweet.
He’s a catch. Even I can admit that. I wouldn’t have been with him if he wasn’t.
But the idea that he’s truly never been with another woman since me is … it has to be impossible.
Blowing out a breath, I manage to shove away from the counter and put the cleaning supplies away before I go to check on Monroe.
I knock on her half-closed door. She might only be six, but I want her to know if she wants to be left alone she can.
“Come in,” she says in a tiny voice.
I push the door open fully and find her sprawled belly flat on her bed with her arms and legs spread wide. She slowly turns her head toward me, pouting her bottom lip. “I’m sorry I wasn’t nice on the phone. Daddy told me I wasn’t being fair and that you’re busy because you love me.”
Swallowing past the sudden lump lodged in my throat, I carefully sit down on the edge of the bed. “Oh, honey. It’s okay.” I rub her back, hating the sadness I see in her eyes. “I was thinking, and if it’s okay with your dad, then we should all three go bodyboarding next weekend.”
She sniffles and wipes beneath her nose. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I continue rubbing her back and she relaxes slightly. “Would you like that?”
She nods, her cheek rustling the comforter. “Yes,” she says, voice small, and my heart breaks a little.
I hate this for her—that she feels bad for asking for her mom and dad to do stuff together with her.
Brushing her hair back from her forehead, I say, “Why don’t you get your shower and then we can read a book or watch a movie or play a board game or … well, whatever you want to do until bedtime.”
“I had a shower at Daddy’s,” she mumbles.
“If I call him, is he going to confirm that answer?” She makes a small huff of annoyance, and I know the answer is no. “Pick out some pajamas and wash up.”
With a dramatic groan, she heaves off her bed and trudges over to her dresser where she pulls out the first pair on top in the drawer
Once she’s washed up and I’ve detangled and brushed her hair, she opts to put on a movie in my bedroom and set up a board game.
“Can I sleep in here tonight?” she asks, climbing up on my bed with one of her many stuffed animals.
“You want to have a sleepover?” She nods. “Yeah, sweetie, we can do that.”
I didn’t realize how neglected she must have been feeling.
I feel like complete shit for not noticing sooner.
I’m stretched thin between work and classes and since she loves Jameson, I hadn’t contemplated that she might want one on one time with only the two of us.
That fact makes me feel incredibly selfish.
I promise to be more cognizant of it moving forward. I never want my little girl to feel like I’m not here for her.