Chapter 7
7
Gage
Mid-morning Friday, I receive an email from Mrs. Liu that she’s also sent to Amelia. She’s happy with the plans we’ve made so far. She’s also forwarded a list of volunteer parents that Stephanie just sent her. It’s disorganized as hell, and I can’t make sense of who actually volunteered, who was added without agreeing, and who has now bailed.
I’m in the middle of perusing the list when I receive a text from Amelia.
Amelia:
Have you seen Mrs. Liu’s email?
Me:
Reading it now. Trying to make sense of the volunteer list.
Amelia:
I think we should contact everyone to see if they still want to volunteer.
Me:
It’d be more efficient to just ask everyone to sign up again.
She takes a minute to come back to me.
Amelia:
Okay, but we need to do that ASAP.
Amelia:
We also need to do more work on the budget ASAP.
She’s right about that. It’s a complete fuckup. Unrealistic.
Me:
Let’s find time to go over it tonight when I collect Luna.
Amelia:
I thought Shayla was collecting her.
Me:
Change of plans. She’s busy. I’ll try to get there by five.
Amelia:
Okay. See you then.
Me:
We’ll make it happen, Amelia.
She doesn’t text a reply, and I find myself still watching my phone ten minutes later. Waiting.
It’s been years since a woman’s silence has held my attention like this. In fact, only one woman ever has, and it wasn’t depth that pulled me under. It was the sex and the intoxicating rush of being made to feel like I was her entire world.
I was young back then and had no fucking idea.
I didn’t know physical attraction and good sex weren’t enough to hold a relationship together.
Now?
This interest?
The way my thoughts have started returning to Amelia throughout the day, and the way I’m so fucking eager for a text from her?
It’s not about her looks, though she’s fucking stunning.
No, what holds me is a woman who reads about war, writes music like a poet, mothers like a lioness, cares deeply for others, puts herself last, and shows up every day with the kind of vulnerability I rarely see.
It’s the way she walks into a room like she has no idea she’s the most captivating thing in it. The way she prioritizes what matters while the rest of the world drowns in superficial bullshit. The way she bends under the weight she carries but refuses to break.
I’m fascinated by her mind and the way it never stops. Overthinking, organizing, and obsessing over the smallest details like they’re life or death.
I want to know every corner of it.
And fuck, I shouldn’t want that.
Not when her daughter’s friendship is the only one that’s ever mattered to Luna.
The only thing I should want is to keep things from going to hell between us because we wouldn’t be the only ones who got burned if that happened. It’d be the girls too.
I lean back and scrub a hand down my face.
The first woman I’ve wanted for more than dinner and sex in a long time, the only one who could crawl under my skin and make me like it, and she has to be my daughter’s best friend’s mother.
I’m in the middle of that thought when my office door crashes open and Shayla storms in like a goddamn hurricane.
“I have an assistant for many reasons, Shayla,” I drawl, lifting my gaze to her. “And one of those reasons is to only let people in here who have an appointment.”
“Don’t,” she snaps, striding to my desk. “What the hell is this?” She waves a crumpled letter like it’s offensive to her.
I stand, slowly taking her in. She’s dressed immaculately, of course. Designer dress. Blown-out hair. The usual. But there’s a crack in the veneer today. Her eyes are wild, and there’s a flush on her cheeks that has nothing to do with makeup.
“I see Blair’s letter reached you.” My cold tone should let her know I’m not in the mood for her today.
“This isn’t you,” she hisses. “You don’t handle things this way.”
“I do now.”
Blair’s letter was exactly what it needed to be. Firm, direct, and leaving no room for Shayla to keep letting Luna down. It outlined our custody agreement in black and white, noted every time she’d violated it over the past year, and made it clear that any further breaches would put us in court. No more changing plans and dumping Luna with me when she wants to party or when it simply doesn’t work for her. No more unilateral decisions. Blair warned her that if she kept this up, I’d file to modify the custody order, and I wouldn’t hold back.
Her perfectly glossed lips purse, and from experience, I know this will go one of two ways. She’ll either start yelling or begin crying. Always the victim when things don’t go her way. Today, though, she’ll find I don’t have my usual patience for any of it.
“You chose Blair Whitney?” she says, voice dipping, softer now. The same quiet she always uses when she wants to pull me back in. “You know how she is, Gage.”
“She’s the best.” I’m not buying into the nostalgia she’s peddling. It’s not us against the world anymore, no matter how often she tries to use that tactic on me. “She’s exactly what Luna needs.”
“She’s a pit bull,” she spits, dropping the soft act like it was never there. “You’ve never once involved anyone like her before. Why now?”
Truth is, I’ve let Shayla run rings around me when it comes to Luna. Not because I don’t care, but because every time I’ve pushed back, Luna’s paid the price. Less attention. Less affection. More whispered bullshit like, “Daddy doesn’t care about us,” slipped in right when Luna’s defenses were down.
The worst has been watching my little girl shrink in on herself recently, trying to be the perfect daughter so her mother might love her a little louder. It’s gutted me.
I could fight Shayla, but Luna? She was the one who’d bleed for it.
I hate playing hardball with my ex, but I will go to the ends of the earth for my daughter.
I walk around the desk, moving in close to her, my entire body vibrating with anger. “I’m doing what I should have done a long fucking time ago, Shayla. I’m protecting our daughter.”
Her lip curls. “No. You’re punishing me.”
“Fuck, can you hear yourself? Where’s the woman I married? The woman I thought would be the greatest mother alive? She sure as hell wouldn’t whine about me trying to punish her.”
“God, you’re an asshole.” Her eyes glitter with hatred. “You’re going to rip this family apart.”
I stare at my ex and wonder for the millionth fucking time how I ever loved her. “You’ve already ripped this family apart. I’m trying to make things right for Luna.” I snatch Blair’s letter from her and angrily shake it between us. “ From now on , Blair’s handling everything for me. You want a switch of nights with Luna? You go through Blair. You want to pick her up an hour later than our agreement? You go through Blair. You want anything at all from me? You go through Blair.”
She draws back slightly, stiffening at my tone. “You think you’re a saint. Like you’re the best father out there and I’m the worst mother. Do you have any idea how hard it is being a mother in this world that’s not made for women? I’m doing my best while trying to juggle motherhood and work.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I clench my jaw. “You have two nannies, a housekeeper, a driver, a personal shopper, and a goddamn spiritual guide, whatever the hell that is. All paid for by me. The only thing you’re juggling is the attention you gain from Insta- fucking -gram.” Fuck .
“You never understood me! And you still don’t!”
She’s right about that. But I’m not getting into this shit with her today.
“We’re done here.” My tone is colder than it’s ever been with her. “And I’m done with pretending this is working. It’s time you start showing up for Luna.”
Her eyes go wide, flickering with shock for a split second before she gathers herself and we’re back to the practiced Shayla. The woman who stopped knowing how to be real a long time ago.
She squares her shoulders. “You keep acting like I don’t care. Like I don’t love her. But I do.”
“Then show her that. Show her she matters more to you than your followers or your image or your next event. Be her mom, Shayla.”
She slaps me. Exactly as I knew she would.
Then, she pivots and stalks out, heels echoing like rapid gunfire.
I exhale, the weight of this shit settling deep.
I didn’t want this.
None of it.
I just wanted Luna to have two parents who loved her enough to put her first.
But I realize I may have been wrong.
Maybe Shayla doesn’t have it in her to love Luna more than herself.
After a long day, the argument with Shayla looping in my mind like a bad movie, I arrive at Amelia’s just before five and find her unraveling.
The elevator doors open and I step into her condo, the scent of something buttery and rich filling the space. Comfort food. Underscored by the sharper edge of garlic, it’s the kind of smell that lets you know you’ve walked into a home, not just a house.
Classical music blares from the baby grand in the living room. Not playing, but blaring , as Luna hammers out a dramatic melody with all the enthusiasm of a six-year-old trying to summon a thunderstorm.
Sarah’s voice cuts through from the kitchen, loud and argumentative, locked in a tug-of-war with Amelia about some injustice I can’t fully catch. Probably homework. Or dessert. Or socks. Kids will go to war over any of them.
And then there’s Amelia.
She’s at the stove, one hand clutching a wooden spoon, the other gripping the counter like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Her hair is half up, half falling out of its twist, strands sticking to her cheek. Her blouse is untucked on one side of her jeans, her phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, though I can’t tell if anyone’s actually on the other end. Her eyes flick to me, wide and glassy, and in that second, I see her entire brain short-circuiting behind them.
I’ve been here before, but only as far as the living room. That space, like her, has always felt polished to the point of untouchable. Neoclassical perfection with its pale walls, high-end textures, and expensive restraint. But now? The kitchen’s a battlefield. Open cookbooks with sticky tabs jutting out. A pasta box half-torn on the counter. A trail of grated cheese marking territory across the island. Whatever polish I thought lived here all the time is nowhere to be found. And I don’t think she has it in her right now to handle this alone.
She doesn’t even register me fully before I move.
Jacket off. Sleeves up. I’m in her space, my hand closing around the spoon before she can process it.
“I’ve got this,” I murmur.
She looks at me, lips parting, breath catching. “You don’t have to?—”
My look is determined. Steady. Final.
She clamps her mouth shut. A full beat passes. Then she exhales, nods once, and steps back, letting me take charge.
I turn down the heat, stir whatever’s in the pot—some kind of creamy pasta—and open the oven to check on the garlic bread browning inside.
Sarah’s still arguing. Luna’s banging away at the keys like she’s performing for Carnegie Hall. Amelia’s put her phone down and is pacing now, trying to calm Sarah while pressing her fingers to her temples like she can physically push the stress back into her skull.
I glance over at my daughter. “Piano recital or end-of-world score?”
Luna stops playing just long enough to grin at me. “I’m composing a villain theme.”
Of course she is.
Amelia shoots me a look. “Sorry. I told her to turn it down.”
I shake my head. “It suits the mood.”
She stares at me for a second like she can’t figure out whether I’m mocking her or offering grace. “Are you enjoying this?” she asks with a tilt of her head and furrowed brows.
I let my grin curve slowly. “Immensely.”
Her eyes narrow. “That’s cruel.”
“I could have simply grabbed Luna and run. That would have been cruel. I’d say I’m showing mercy.”
She rolls her eyes and goddamn if I don’t like that. “Seriously.” Then a shake of her head. “Men.”
My grin only grows. Earning an eye roll from Amelia feels like an achievement. Not to mention that muttering about men that she’s doing.
And despite the stress still etched in her face, she’s stunning like this. Frustrated, stubborn, and trying to hold her world together with nothing but sheer force of will. I should not want to be the man she leans on.
I grab the garlic bread from the oven and meet her gaze again. “I’d like to point out that this would have burned under your watch.”
That doesn’t earn me another eye roll but close to it. “It’s a good thing it was also on the receiving end of your mercy then. Whatever would we have done without your assistance?”
A laugh barks out of me, and I can’t remember the last time a woman caused that. “You’d probably have set the place on fire by now. You’re lucky I showed up when I did.”
Her reaction isn’t immediate. First, it’s the twitch of her lips, like she’s fighting to hold it in. Then comes the spark in her eyes, like she’s seconds from losing the battle. And finally, her laugh breaks free, soft and real, hitting me like a clean shot to the place I swore I’d locked up for good.
“Mommy!” Sarah’s voice breaks the moment, dragging Amelia’s eyes from me. “I want my book!” She plants her feet, folds her arms tight, and lifts her chin defiantly, every ounce of her radiating six-year-old fury and royal injustice.
“And you know why you can’t have your book, Sarah,” Amelia says, not giving an inch. “Now, please go to your room and take ten minutes to calm down.”
Her tone is firm enough that Sarah scowls, lips pushed out in a dramatic pout, then backs down and stomps off in the direction her mother pointed.
Amelia tilts her head back and inhales a long breath. As she releases it, she looks at me. “You and Luna should stay for dinner.”
“To protect Sarah from harm?”
Her laughter is immediate this time. “Yes. Who knows what I’ll do to her if you’re not around to stop me.”
We take a moment, just watching each other, and then I smile. “We’d love to.” I turn to Luna who’s still composing her villain theme, surely contributing to the headache I suspect Amelia has. “Sweetheart, that’s enough now. Go wash your hands for dinner please.”
“And please tell Sarah to wash hers, too,” Amelia calls after her.
Once we’re alone, I assess Amelia. “How bad’s the headache?”
Her fingers absently find her temple again. “I’m okay.”
“Says the woman who looks like she just survived a war.”
She nods slowly and I swear I see a wall coming down as she practically begs, “Tell me you survive wars too. I need to know I’m not doing everything wrong.”
“Fuck, sometimes I survive more than one a day.” I pause before adding, “You’re not doing anything wrong, Amelia. You’re the best mother I know.”
She blinks. Then stares at me for a long moment that stretches between us, fragile but charged. Neither of us move. Neither willing to be the one to look away or speak first, and fuck if I don’t want to reach out and tuck that stray strand of hair behind her ear just to see if she’d let me.
But I don’t.
Instead, I hold her gaze and let her have the space to decide what to do with whatever just passed between us.
“Thank you,” she finally says, her voice soft and raw with emotion, like tears are threatening. “I needed to hear that.”
I want to kick her ex’s ass for not being the one to make sure she knows that. For not telling her every goddamn day that she’s a phenomenal mother.
I shift gears because she’s looking at me like I just pulled the pin on a grenade of emotions inside her. And fuck, I get it. Sometimes we just need a moment to pull ourselves back together. “Go round up the girls.” I keep my voice steady. “I’ve got the rest of dinner handled.”
She hesitates for only a second before nodding and slipping out of the kitchen, leaving me with a million thoughts I never saw coming and am not sure I’m ready for.
We all survive dinner, though I can see that Amelia’s had a rough day and that her daughter is pushing all her buttons. So, I take charge, directing the conversation with the girls, getting them talking about the project they’re collaborating on for the science fair.
Amelia’s the reason this weather project isn’t a total mess. She’s the one who helped steer them into choosing a weather forecasting project rather than one of the usual experiments kids this age love. And the one who has helped them come up with some great ideas. They’re tracking weather patterns like tiny meteorologists in training, and will present their own forecast at the fair, complete with charts and a “live report.” It’s smart, fun, and just enough chaos to keep kids engaged.
As we’re clearing the table after dinner, Luna announces, very dramatically, hands flying like she’s the star of a show, “I’m gonna pretend there’s a giant storm coming that will blow all the playground equipment away.”
Sarah frowns. “But that’s not what we’re predicting. There’s no storm coming.”
“It’s for the video,” Luna says, clearly exasperated that this needs explaining. “I’ll do the serious weather voice too. Like this”—she clears her throat—“A storm is coming... and only the brave will survive!”
Sarah looks at her like she’s deeply concerned. “I think I should say the science stuff first. Then you can doyour thing.”
Amelia snorts quietly and our eyes meet. A silent this is going to be fun passes between us.
I glance at the girls. “How about you two go and work on this some more while we clean up?”
They don’t hesitate, and a second later, Luna is pulling Sarah by the hand while exclaiming, “We need to write scripts!” The last thing we hear is Sarah saying, “No, we need to learn more about forecasting before that.”
Amelia laughs once they’ve disappeared, and as I carry the plates into the kitchen, she says, “Luna is so you.”
“How so?”
“She’s take charge. Confident in herself, in her place in the world. And so damn smart.” She reaches for the plates to begin filling the dishwasher, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she adds, “That flair for the dramatics though? That has to be Shayla. I can’t imagine you ever being dramatic.”
I arch a brow. “What, you don’t think I’ve got a dramatic bone in my body?”
She tilts her head, playing innocent. “Do you?”
“I’ve got a six-year-old composing villain music like she’s Hans Zimmer on a vengeance arc. Where do you think she gets that from?”
Amusement flickers across her face, then shifts, like her brain just flagged something worth a second look. “I’m impressed you know who Hans Zimmer is,” she says, quieter now, the playfulness stripped from her voice.
I pass her a bowl for the dishwasher, keeping my tone casual even though I caught the way her focus shifted to seeing me a little differently. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Yes,” she confesses. “I’ve realized that.”
Her admission lands low in my gut but I don’t have time to sit with it because Luna barrels back into the kitchen like a one-kid parade. “Dad! We just had the best idea!” She’s pure electricity. Wide-eyed, breathless, buzzing with excitement.
“Tell me,” I say as Sarah joins us, looking just as excited.
“Well, you know how we’re recording our weather forecast?”
I nod.
“We need badges! And our own news channel name! And you have to do the video editing like you did for the video we made Uncle Ethan and Aunt Maddie!”
Luna will always be the best thing I’ve ever done. Nothing compares to watching her grow into herself. Confident. Fierce. Unapologetically Luna.
I ruffle her hair. “You’ve got it. We’ll get badges and figure out your news channel name.”
Sarah steps forward, anticipation shining in her eyes. “And you’ll do the video editing, right?”
I meet her gaze with a smile. “Absolutely. And your mom can compose your channel’s opening music.”
“Yes!” Luna says, bouncing now. “This is going to be so good!”
Within seconds, Luna’s dragging Sarah back to the bedroom, already plotting their next move.
“Do you always just volunteer people for things?” Amelia asks once we’re alone. There’s no annoyance in her tone, but still, I can see she wishes I wouldn’t do that.
“Fuck, sorry. I got caught up in the girls’ enthusiasm.” I want to kick my own ass now for adding another thing to her plate. “I’ll find someone else to help?—”
“No,” she says, placing her hand on my arm, stopping me. “It’s okay. I’ll do it. Just, please”—her voice trails off, but everything she’s trying to say is right there in her eyes—“I’m busy.”
“I hear you. I’ll ask you before just assuming you have time for something, or that you’d even want to do it.”
“Thank you.”
The thread of quiet surprise I hear in her voice, along with the way she stumbled over voicing her request make me wonder how often she feels like people consider her.
While I’m contemplating that, she reaches for the dishcloth and eyes me, her playfulness sparking again. “It’s no wonder your company is so successful. You probably boss everyone into brilliance by noon.”
My gaze locks onto hers with an intensity I can’t dial back. Not when she’s meeting me with this much fire. “You haven’t seen my bossiness, Amelia.”
Her eyes widen a little and a subtle flush colors her cheeks. “No?” There’s a slight catch in her voice.
“No. You’ve seen me being polite.”
The air shifts. She hesitates, just a beat. “What does bossiness look like on you then?”
“You’ll know when you’ve met it.”
Her breathing slows. Just a fraction. But I catch it.
So does she.
It hangs between us, the moment stretched tight, heat curling at the edges. We both know what I was referring to.
And hell, I’m fighting myself every second I watch her.
I want to know what she’s thinking.
What she’s overthinking .
Where her mind’s letting this go.
And just when I see her chest rise, as if she’s about to say something, the elevator dings. Footsteps echo, fast and purposeful. A moment later, her ex strides into the kitchen like he owns it, and Amelia’s entire body tenses.
His shock at seeing me here is more than clear. As is his displeasure.
He halts mid-step. “Gage.” One word. Flat. Frosted. Then he turns to Amelia. “I wasn’t aware you’d have company.”
“And I wasn’t aware you’d be dropping by,” she retorts coolly.
“Am I not allowed to surprise my daughter with a visit?”
“Actually, no, you’re not. We have a custody agreement, James, and it’d be nice if you started following it.”
“You know,” he says, his tone superior, “most women would be over the moon to have a partner who is attentive, Amelia.”
“You’ve forgotten we’re no longer partners, James.”
“Oh, we’ll always be partners, sweetheart. I’m the father of your child, after all.”
Fuck, he’s a manipulative bastard.
Every word’s calculated. Every smile, a trap.
No wonder she’s so guarded.
“What do you want?” she demands, looking like she’s this close to unleashing all her thoughts and feelings on him. “In case you can’t see, I’m busy.”
His eyes come to mine again, and I see his deep hatred of the fact I’m standing in this kitchen. “I can see that.” Narrowing his gaze at me, he says, “You’re who she’s planning the science fair with?”
Before I can answer, Amelia grits out, “Oh my god, James. No . Stop.”
His head swings immediately in her direction. “No? This isn’t science fair planning?”
I’ve had enough of this asshole.
“No, not science fair planning,” I cut in. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
That earns me a glare. “It is my business if you’re a man she’s bringing into my daughter’s home.”
I arch a brow. “ She’s ? I think you meant to say “Amelia.’”
That old saying, “if looks could kill”, rings true right now. James wants me gone.
“I’d like a minute with my wife,” he snarls.
I try like hell to allow Amelia the opportunity to correct him. But I can’t hold back. “You mean, your ex -wife.”
His jaw clenches. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Enough!” Amelia snaps, completely done with his bullshit. “Gage isn’t going anywhere, so how about you just say what you came here to say, and then leave.”
There’s that steel I keep catching glimpses of.
Casting one last filthy glare my way, James turns to her. “I came to discuss your parents’ party. I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow night.”
“ I’ve told you I’m not going with you,” she says, firm enough that even I’d think twice.
He blows right past that clear boundary. “There’s no need for hostility. I’m just trying to honor your parents’ wishes for a united front.”
This guy isn’t here for his daughter. He’s here to rattle Amelia’s cage.
“The reason she can’t go with you,” I say, “is because I’m taking her to the party.”
Within a second of uttering that lie, I’ve got both of them staring at me. James is furious. Amelia, stunned.
She quickly recovers, though, and instead of pandering to his inflated sense of entitlement, she simply says, “I told you we couldn’t go together.”
James stiffens. His jaw ticks. For a second, I think he might argue.
Instead, he smooths his expression and levels her with a disappointed look, the kind meant to shame. “That’s unfortunate. I really thought you’d want to honor your parents on a night that matters to them.”
He gives her one last look that’s cruel enough to bruise without laying a hand on her, and then he’s gone.
After he leaves, the air is thick with the kind of silence men like him leave behind. Men who gaslight like it’s a damn art form.
I study Amelia. “You okay?”
Shoulders back, spine straight, she nods. I see her though. She’s not okay, but she’s holding. “Welcome to the disaster of my life. That’s pretty standard for James.”
Fuck.
It’s clear she doesn’t want to talk about it because she deflects quickly.
Giving me a look that’s the equivalent to a raised brow, she says, “Nice work there, by the way. What happened to never volunteering me again?”
I can’t help the smile tugging at the edge of my mouth. She’s quick. Sharp. And calling me out like it’s a sport. A sport I like more than I should. “I’d say I volunteered myself .”
She crosses her arms, and that glint in her eyes? It holds a challenge I want to lose. “Right. You were just showing me mercy again.”
“I knew you’d catch on.”
“You do realize that you now have to take me to a party, don’t you?” There’s an eye roll in there somewhere. I’m certain of it.
“I do.”
She shakes her head as a slow smile spreads across that beautiful face of hers. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just tell him something came up and you couldn’t make it.”
“I’ll take you.”
She blinks. Likely at my decisive tone. And instead of responding, she silently watches me while I watch her brain do a whole lot of thinking.
“Okay,” she finally decides, dropping her arms to her sides. “Pick me up at six but be here ten minutes before that. It’s black tie. And if you truly value your life, you will not, under any circumstance, agree to anything, not one tiny thing , on my behalf if my family asks for something.” Her eyes bore into mine like she’s extracting a signed agreement from me. “Are we clear?”
Christ, I had no idea how much I’d like being ordered around.
“You want me to pick you up at six but be here ten minutes before that?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Are you planning to spend ten minutes issuing more orders?”
That gets me my eye roll. But there’s a smile there too.
“I’ll be here ten minutes early,” I agree. “And I won’t offer you up for anything.”
“See, I knew you were a smart man.”
We finish cleaning the kitchen after that. The girls pop in and out, and we talk science fair plans like it’s business as usual between us.
But it’s not.
Far from it.
I just made plans to take her to a party. Lied to her ex. Promised to behave.
For a guy who wasn’t supposed to get involved, I’m doing a hell of a job.