4. Sully #2
She peels out, and I’m once again alone. I scrub a hand down my face. Bubbly dances and smiles. Sounds like a load of gobshite. But then again, so did the prediction about the incubator. So as I drive into Manhattan, I remind myself over and over that I’m happy, even bubbly.
When I reach the high-rise not far from Rockefeller Center, I pull into the underground parking garage, trying not to agonize over how fucking nice it is compared to my office building in Jersey.
It’s bloody absurd to be jealous. Will’s father’s firm is rubbish.
Bunch of nutters overcharging clients and winning less than half their cases.
Murphy and Machon, the New York Office, is still running six blocks away, even if Cal, Brian, and I are stuck in Jersey for the time being.
The atmosphere my father created far surpasses that of Higgins’s firm.
And in nine months, Sloane and I will be back there together.
As long as I can convince her to move in with me now.
And I will. We can’t lose the firm. So, I take Madame E’s advice.
With a forced smile on my face, I step through the doors and ride up the enemy’s elevator to my wife.
As the numbers lit up above the door creep higher, I double-check the basket I brought.
It’s full of all of Sloane’s favorite pregnancy items. Belly butter, Earth Mama heartburn and anti-nausea teas, ginger candies, and a picture of the body pillow I purchased and left on the bed for her.
I even tossed in a box set of Grey’s Anatomy , the show she binged while she was pregnant with T.J.
My smile becomes easier as I remember how many of those episodes ended up with Sloane naked and crying out my name.
The happiness is joined with longing the more I think about it.
What I’d give to have those days back. If only I could go back in time and tell that young, dumb sod just how good he had it. Warn him not to mess it all up.
The elevator dings and I shake myself out of my melancholy. Right now, I’m the only one who can fix my marriage. And the only way to do that is to convince Sloane to give us a chance.
I breeze past the reception area with a quick greeting.
It pays to have the reputation I’ve curated over the years.
No one even bats an eye. Though the man sitting at the desk outside Sloane’s office seems less than pleased to see me.
He’s maybe twenty-five, with the kind of preppy look that says he uses summer as a verb.
I can picture him talking about how he summers on the Cape and winters in Aspen.
His immediate smirk when he spots me has me rattled. “Well, if it isn’t the baby daddy.”
“Husband,” I snap, forgetting that I’m supposed to be smiling .
“Hmm.” He chuckles. “Not sure about that.” His brown eyes cut to the basket in my hands.
I pull it closer to my side, like it needs protecting. I spent hours finding Sloane’s favorites because I want her to know that I remember. That I care. But I don’t want this arsehole judging me.
He arches a brow. “The baby daddy is a sure thing, though.”
Jaw tightening, I turn toward my wife’s office.
The move only ratchets up the tension that’s worked its way back into me.
Because Will Freaking Higgins is there, leaning over my wife’s desk.
They aren’t touching, and his hands are firmly planted on the wooden surface, but my body rebels at the idea.
Without giving the preppy boy behind the desk another glance, I storm into Sloane’s office.
“For my wife.” I drop the basket in front of her, though my attention is fixed on the man with beady green eyes who’s standing too close.
He looks down at the basket, and his brow pinches slightly as he takes it all in. When he zeroes in on me, his expression turns pensive. “Sully,” he says as he steps away from the desk.
“Will.” I frown, stepping closer.
“ Sully ,” Sloane hisses. “What are you doing here?”
My attention shifts instantly, disappointment sinking like a stone in my stomach. I’m not surprised by the frustration in her tone. Not after yesterday. But it hurts all the same. She’s my wife and the mother of my son and my future child. She’s the center of my universe.
The urge to round the desk and splay my hand over her belly is strong.
I couldn’t feel T.J. move for months, but the action made me feel connected to her and to the baby growing inside her, regardless.
She watches me, the emotion in her eyes unreadable. There was a time when a look like this was enough to tell me exactly what she was thinking. Clearly, that’s no longer true. Her blue irises are stormy, but I don’t know why .
Will clears his throat, reminding us of his presence. “We’ll finish this later, Sloane.” He dips his chin my way. “Sully.”
I frown as he leaves the room.
“I can’t believe you did this,” she hisses.
Fucking hell. The gesture was supposed to be sweet.
It took hours to track down all the brands she loved during her first pregnancy, including a pillow with the exact medium firmness she preferred.
Is it so wrong of me to hope for a reaction that included something like Aw, I can’t believe you did this; it’s so sweet , rather than I can’t believe you did this, arsehole ?
I cross my arms and spin back to her. “I wanted to do something nice for you,” I growl. “To show you how happy I am. So you know I want to support you.”
Only now do I remember to smile. So I force my lips up into something that should be a grin.
Sloane’s expression pinches. “What is wrong with your face?”
Oh for fuck’s sake. I can’t even smile right.
“Sully.” She pushes the basket to the far edge of her desk. “No one here knows about the baby.”
“Mr. Puffy Hair does.” I lift my chin, signaling to her assistant.
“Julius was the only one until you basically told my boss.”
Panic hits me. I’m fucking it up already. “Well,” I hear myself say, the words coming out without my permission, “if I have anything to say about it, it won’t just be Caesar for long. Everyone will know.”
Sloane drops her elbows to her desk and cradles her face in her hands.
And suddenly I feel like a dick.
“Sweetheart.” I stride to her side and drop to a knee, rubbing her back. She relaxes at my touch, as if the response is ingrained in her, but after a heartbeat, her entire body tightens and she pulls away.
“Don’t.” She sighs.
I put both hands up. “I just want to be there for you and the baby. Your first pregnancy wasn’t easy, and I don’t want you to go through that alone. You haven’t responded to my texts, but please tell me you’re at least considering moving in.”
She opens her mouth, and I’m hit with the overwhelming certainty that she’ll say no, so I continue before she can speak.
“Not for the firm, or Cal or Brian, or even me. But because you and the baby deserve the support system we can give you. I want to be near so I can take care of you.”
She slumps, the fight leaving her. “I’m considering it.”