CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Amelia
The real world slaps me in the face bright and early when my alarm goes off.
“I thought you didn’t have to work today?” Deacon asks in a sleepy voice as I bat at my phone until the horrible noise stops.
“I have family stuff,” I say. “I’ve got to get a shower and get out of here.”
He wraps an arm around me and pulls me against him. Somehow, even though we just had sex a few hours ago, for the fourth time in the same night, he’s hard again. “How about I join you in that shower?”
My parents are supposed to be dropping Harper off here in about thirty minutes. No way am I taking a chance on her finding a man with me. “Honestly?” I ask because this is only going to work if I can be brutally honest with him. “I need you to leave. I have family coming over in a bit and—”
He lets me go and rolls out of bed like he’s full of energy even after a night of little sleep. “No need to say more. I’m only here for the sex.”
He says it with a smile and no hint of displeasure in his tone, but his words still cause an odd pang in the center of my chest. No reason for that when I’m getting everything I want and far more than I probably deserve. “Thank you for understanding. I’m not sure when I can see you again, but—”
“No pressure,” he says. “Just send me a text when you need me, and I’ll be here.”
“Okay.” I watch as he pulls on his pants.
An unsettling urge to ask him not to see anyone else before he sees me again ripples through me, but I swallow it down.
That would be a ridiculous, unfair thing to ask him in a long line of ridiculous, unfair things I’m asking of him.
“There will be a million times I want to text you, but circumstances beyond my control and all that.”
He bends down and presses a gentle kiss to my lips that leaves me wanting so much more. “I get it, honey. I’m here for fun between the sheets, and that’s it. Thank you.”
I smile, relief flooding me. “Every man’s dream, right? A woman he only ever has to see for sex.”
His smile fades. “Don’t paint me with that brush. I like you as a person, too.” His grin returns full force. “But I’m never going to complain about being the first person you call when you want to feel good.”
He kisses me once more, quickly, pulls on his shirt and leaves. I hear him moving through the house, probably getting his shoes and keys.
“Marmalade’s using his cat gym,” he shouts, before the front door opens and closes behind him.
I grab his pillow and, for just a few seconds, I breathe in the woodsy, masculine scent of him. I force myself to get out of bed, but I can’t do anything about the smile stretching my cheeks so much they ache with it.
I must be the luckiest woman in the world.
I hurry through my shower and let my hair air dry. I dress in comfortable shorts and a t-shirt because today is my day off and I’m spending it with Harper. Probably at the park in the morning and at the birthday party of one of her preschool friends this afternoon.
Marmalade is indeed in his cat gym. He’s on the highest landing, stretched out in the early morning sun and watching a bird in the tree right outside the window.
Even better, nothing was destroyed in my house during the night.
This cat gym might be the best idea I’ve ever had.
I’m cracking eggs for Harper’s favorite weekend breakfast, waffles, when Harper rushes into the room and wraps herself around my legs. “Momma,” she says. “I’m home.” She says home with a b at the end, homb.
There is nothing better than Harper hugging me. I bend and lift her in my arms, which isn’t as easy as it used to be. My baby is growing up.
She hugs my neck with her little arms.
“I missed you,” I say.
“I didn’t miss you,” she says. “Granny and Pop-pop got me ice cream, and they let me stay up until the moon came out. It was so dark.”
I smile at my parents over the golden fluff of her curls. “Sounds like you all had fun.”
“We did,” Dad says. His sun-worn face twists in pain as he eases himself to sit at the table. He doesn’t like to complain, but his back’s been bothering him more and more lately.
Diabetes is also slowing him down, though I suspect he’s been keeping from me just how serious it is. He doesn’t tell me half of what’s going on with his and Mom’s health, but I can tell they’re both struggling.
“We had a great time,” he says. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Waffles,” I say.
Harper cheers so loudly in my ear, I’m sure I’ll have permanent hearing loss. She wiggles to be free, and I set her down.
“What did you do to the sunroom?” Mom asks.
“A friend helped me build a gym to keep Marmalade busy. Why don’t you and Harper check it out?”
“Do I know this friend?” Dad asks, studying me way too intensely. I did ask Deacon, but he said he’s never worked with my father’s company.
“Nope.” My phone buzzes on the counter and my heart stops when a familiar name flashes across the screen.
It has to be a butt dial. I let it go to voicemail, doing my utmost best to ignore it as I finish mixing the batter for the waffles.
Seconds after it stops, it starts again. I power off my phone. I can’t deal with this right now. Not while Dad’s here. He’d be livid if he knew my ex-husband, Harper’s father, who I haven’t heard from in four years, is calling.
“So who is this friend?” Dad asks, his bright blue eyes alive with curiosity. His hair might be white, and he might move slower than he used to, but he’s still as invested in my personal life as ever.
I stir the batter far longer than it needs to be stirred. “He’s new to town,” I say. “A nice guy.”
“A nice guy, huh?” he asks. “You could use a nice guy.”
I glare at my father over my shoulder. He’s constantly pushing me to date, to find a guy who’ll treat me and Harper right. I know he means well and just wants to see me happy, but it’s annoying as hell.
“I don’t want a nice guy,” I say. “If I get this scholarship, I won’t have time to date, anyway.”
“Have you heard?” Mom asks as she walks back into the kitchen, Harper’s little hand in hers. Mom and Harper move at about the same speed these days. It’s Mom’s bad knees that slow her down.
“No,” I say. “What did you two think of the cat gym?”
“Marmalade is happy,” Harper says in a tone that means she knows what she’s talking about.
“It’s lovely,” Mom says, patting her gray bob. “Your friend does good work.”
“He’s new to town,” Dad says as Mom sits next to him.
I tune them out as I ladle batter onto the sizzling waffle iron. I can’t stop thinking about that missed call. Why would Bryson be calling me now? I haven’t heard from him in over four years.
Maybe he’s just calling to catch up. He signed away his parental rights to Harper years ago. He can’t think he’s going to take her away from me.
I pause and take three box breaths. It’s okay. I’m okay. My thoughts are spiraling, and there’s no good that comes from that.
“You okay?” Mom asks.
I realize the kitchen has gone silent. “Just anxious about the scholarship.”
She hums in acknowledgment.
I learned box breathing from a classmate in high school.
When she talked about her anxiety, it made me realize I struggled with the same thing.
We couldn’t afford for me to go to therapy, and my parents’ insurance was crap at the time.
My friend shared all the coping mechanisms she learned with me, and box breathing is my favorite go-to whenever I feel that familiar anxiety creeping in.
Five breaths in, hold for five, five breaths out, hold for five over and over until I’m calm. It’s amazing how well it works.
The four of us have breakfast, and Mom and Dad leave. Harper and I spend the morning at the park. We swing and slide and run into some friends. It’s a good day.
But the specter of Bryson and why he’s calling sits like a brooding, predatory dragon in the back of my mind.
It’s not until the birthday party, when Harper runs off with her friends and I’m able to sneak to a quiet area of the children’s museum, that I call him back.
“Amelia,” Bryson says. “I’ve been calling you all day.”
“I can’t talk long,” I say. “What do you want?”
I can see Harper from where I’m standing. She’s happy, but the parents of her friends keep glancing my way. They want to talk, to say hello, and I’m over here being antisocial.
I turn my back to them. Sometimes, knowing everyone in town has its downsides.
Bryson sighs. “I deserve that. I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while, but I’ve been doing a lot of work on myself, and I’m in a much better—”
“I wasn’t saying that to be rude, Bryson. I really don’t have time to talk. I’m with Harper at a party for one of her friends.”
“Oh, shit. Well, call me back when you have time, Melly. There’s no emergency situation over here.”
Not that I can imagine an emergency situation that would involve me for any reason.
His parents were barely involved in his childhood.
They want nothing to do with Harper. They’ve both moved on to new states and new partners.
And Bryson is the kind of guy who always seems to land on his feet, no matter who he stomps on to do it.
“I’ll call you later, but I need to know what this is about. I need to know why you’re calling after four years of silence.”
There’s a long pause.
“Bryson,” I say, already losing patience. This feels so familiar, like no time has passed at all and we’re still a couple, me begging him for some sort of input, any kind of input, and getting nothing but silence. “Just spit it out.”
“Shit. Sorry. I’m not trying to freeze you out. I just needed to re-word my speech and… I want to be in Harper’s life, Melly. I know I don’t have that right, and I’m not asking for custody or even to see her on my own. I just want a place in her life.”
It’s hard to breathe suddenly. “Where are you? How far will we have to go to see you?”
“I’m moving back to Catalpa Creek. I’ve got a job with the bank. I want to be close to Harper, even if I can’t be in her life, and I thought, maybe you and I could be—”
“Absolutely not,” I hiss into the phone.