You don’t hate her #3
The words make sense, and I don’t need to tear Stacey down to stand with him. The boundary is enough.
He exhales, some of the tightness easing. “She said she’s been clean a while.”
“And has she shown that to anyone official?” I ask gently.
His mouth flattens. “No.”
I let a beat pass before I speak again.
“She shouldn’t get access without following the proper channels,” I say carefully. “That’s not up for debate.”
He nods once, pursing his lips as he stares at the floor.
“But…” I hesitate, choosing my words carefully because this isn’t my history to rewrite. “If she is sober, and if she wants to prove that properly, maybe there are safe ways to let her try.”
His eyes drag back up to mine, and he folds his arms, listening.
“Supervised visits,” I continue softly. “Short ones, in public places. Somewhere you control.”
He doesn’t shut me down, but his shoulders remain tight as he watches me.
“She doesn’t get alone time,” I add immediately. “And she doesn’t get to skip steps just because she showed up crying at a school.”
He runs a hand through his hair, and his eyes move back to the floor, as though he’s mulling my words over.
“She tried to grab my arm,” he mutters.
“I know.”
“And I’m not letting her corner you,” he says, eyes snapping back to mine.
“You won’t have to.”
There’s a silence as he bites the inside of his cheek for a moment before he huffs out a breath.
“She’ll say I’m controlling it,” he says.
“You are,” I answer. “You’re controlling it because you have to, and because she hasn’t earned anything different, and because you’re the best dad possible for Elle.”
He studies me for a long second. “You don’t hate her.”
“Well, I don’t know her. I just think…” I glance toward the hallway where Elle’s laughter drifts faintly through the house. “If there’s a safe way for Elle to know her mom… maybe that matters.”
His throat works as he swallows, and his gaze drops back to the floor, then back to me.
“I don’t want you thinking I’m shutting her out because of our history,” he says. “This isn’t about me being angry.”
“I know.”
He exhales, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s about keeping her safe.”
“I care about keeping her safe, too,” I whisper, holding his gaze. “She’s not just a job to me, or some kid I watch between nine and three. She matters to me,” I say. “I love her.”
The words sit there between us, and I don’t take them back. Evan’s eyes flicker to mine with surprise, followed by something warmer. He hesitates for a second, then steps closer to me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the cotton of his T-shirt.
“She’s easy to love,” he says quietly.
My throat tightens around the next thing before I can catch it. “And you, I—”
The words hover, but I close my mouth before they can become real. He hears it anyway. I know he does, because his eyes soften, and he reaches out. Warm, rough palms run up the sides of my shoulders.
Elle’s bright laughter rings down the hallway again, cutting through the tension in the kitchen, and we both smile.
Evan searches my face again. “She doesn’t get a free pass. She’s had too many already.”
“No, she doesn’t,” I agree.
“And the second she crosses a boundary—”
“We pull it back,” I finish.
His shoulders lower a fraction.
“If she wants to prove she’s sober,” I continue, “she can start by respecting the boundaries you set.”
“I don’t trust her.” He studies me for another long second. “I trust you.”
The way he says it makes my heart feel too tight for my ribs, and I reach for his hand. Trusting me with the most important part of his life is something I don’t take lightly.
“I’m not going anywhere. We can do this together,” I say.
“Together,” he murmurs as he plays with my fingers, threading his through mine. “I’ll call her. Lay it out.”
“And I can help,” I remind him.
“I know.” He lifts his free hand to cup the side of my jaw.
His thumb brushes lightly along my cheekbone, and the tension that’s been sitting in his shoulders all afternoon eases by another fraction.
“You love Elle,” he says softly.
“Yeah.”
His gaze holds mine, and his jaw works.
“Thank you.”
I lean into him, my hand sliding up his chest until I feel the rhythmic beat of his heart under my palm. He exhales as I rise onto my toes and press my mouth to his.
My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt and deepen it just enough to feel the shift in him. He pulls me closer, holding me there.
When we part, his forehead rests briefly against mine.
“You almost said something else,” he murmurs.
My breath catches on a nervous laugh. “I did.”
And I almost say it again—it presses at the back of my throat. But this day has already asked too much of him, so I hold it there, where it still feels safe.
He smiles softly but doesn’t push me on it. Instead, his hand tightens behind the back of my neck as he tugs may mouth back onto his.
Down the hallway, we hear a thud, followed by a pause, then Elle’s voice.
“Gus knocked it over again!”
Evan huffs. “We should probably supervise that.”
“Probably.”
“And I need to go back to get my truck.”
But before he moves, he leans in again for one more kiss.