Me too
Chapter twenty-three
Evan
My phone is already in my hand when I step out onto the back deck.
It’s early. Quiet enough that I can hear the faint clink of Penny’s spoon against a mug inside. Elle’s still in her room getting dressed, and Gus is pacing the fence line like he’s got a job to do.
I scroll to my lawyer’s name and hit call.
“Mark here.”
“Stacey’s in town.”
“Has she filed anything?”
“No.”
There’s a pause, then the sound of paper shuffling on Mark’s end followed by a keyboard tap. He doesn’t sound surprised. He never does.
“Has she contacted you formally about modifying custody?”
“No.”
Another pause. “Then nothing’s changed.”
I watch the neighbor’s dog, Scout, meet Gus at the fence line, their wet noses pressing up against each other while the mist catches in the low light.
“She turned up outside at her school.”
“You still have sole legal and physical custody,” he continues. “Unless she petitions the court, you are the decision-maker. Any visitation is voluntary.”
Voluntary.
The word settles cold in me.
That’s what it always comes back to with Stacey. What she chooses and what she doesn’t. Every time she volunteered herself to the thing killing her instead of the little girl waiting for her.
And now I’m supposed to volunteer Elle.
“She’s asking to see her again,” I say.
“You’re within your rights to decline. If you decide to allow it, keep it public and short. And document everything.”
“I will.”
My hand tightens around the phone.
Stacey and I were never married. Engaged for one stupid, hopeful stretch of time when I still thought loving someone hard enough could make her stay clean.
But after the last time she disappeared, after the promises and the missed visits and the mornings Elle woke up asking for someone who wasn’t coming, I had Mark formalize what Stacey already knew.
She didn’t fight the custody order. That was almost the worst part. Some lucid piece of her knew she couldn’t be what Elle needed, and I’d been terrified that piece would vanish the second she wanted something badly enough.
“You don’t owe her access,” he says, tone shifting to slightly less formal. “You owe your daughter stability.”
“I know.”
“I’ll make a note in the file that she’s back in the area,” he adds. “And if she does file, we’re prepared.”
We hang up, but I don’t stand there thinking about it. I scroll to the next number and call the contact from the old supervised visitation arrangement—Lisa, the case coordinator who handled the last round of visits.
She must recognize my name. “Good morning, Mr. Prince.”
“Hi, Lisa. I’d just like something documented,” I tell her. “Stacey’s back in town. There’s no court motion, but if she requests formal visitation, I’ll need the proper process reinstated.”
“That can be arranged,” she says evenly. “Are there concerns?”
“There are always concerns.”
She hums and makes a note, then confirms the prior arrangement is still in their records and nothing has changed. When I hang up, my pulse isn’t racing like it was yesterday.
Last time, I’d waited. Last time, I’d hoped she’d follow through on her own, and I’d believed her promises. I don’t do that anymore.
I call Stacey next. It’s the same number she’s had for years, and she answers on the fifth ring, a little breathy.
“Evan. Hi.”
Her voice has a careful warmth to it that I’ve heard a million times before, and it makes my stomach lurch.
“You said you wanted to see her,” I say.
“I do. I just—I’d really love to talk about us, too. It’s been a long time.”
“There is no us.”
There hasn’t been an us in years. Not since she pawned the ring, though by then we were already broken. And definitely not since I learned the hard way that wanting someone to get better doesn’t mean they will.
A small exhale sounds down the line. “Right. Of course.”
“You can see her, but public places only. Short visits to start with, and you show up on time. If you cancel or you’re late without notice, I’ll pull it all back.”
There’s a beat.
“That feels a little strict, don’t you think?”
“No.”
Silence stretches between us, and I don’t fill it.
“I’m her mother,” she says softly.
“And I’m the one raising her.”
“I’m trying, Evan,” she says. “I’ve been working on things, and I thought maybe… if I stayed a little longer this time, we could figure something out.”
I lean back against the back door, my gaze hooked on the fence where Gus is still sniffing about.
“You haven’t filed anything,” I say. “So don’t start acting like you have.”
She goes quiet.
“I’m not trying to take her or challenge custody,” she says eventually.
“Then don’t talk like you are.”
There’s a heavy sigh.
“When?” she asks.
“Flora’s. Saturday. Ten a.m.”
“That’s soon.”
“It is.”
There’s a faint rustle, like she’s shifting the phone from one hand to the other.
“Okay,” she says. “Ten.”
“If you’re not there, we’ll leave at ten-fifteen.”
There’s a tightness in her exhale this time, which could be frustration, or it could be something else. It’s hard to tell with her. She’s good at sounding innocent and controlled.
“Okay,” she says again.
When I end the call, I don’t feel victorious. She doesn’t get to drift in and out of my daughter’s life on a breeze and a promise. She doesn’t get to rewrite the rules because she’s feeling stable this week. If she wants more access to Elle, she has to prove it.
Until then, I control the door—and it only opens if I decide it does.
I go back inside and set my phone on the counter. Music hums softly through the kitchen speakers, but it’s lower than usual. Penny’s at the counter packing Elle’s lunch while she sways and hums faintly to the rhythm, more out of habit than actual dancing.
It’s too careful, though. As if she’s trying not to take up too much space around the tension hanging in the house.
I move in behind her and slide my arms around her waist, pulling her back against me. My nose presses to the side of her neck, and I breathe her in. Coffee and fruity shampoo and something like jasmine. Her shoulders soften under my arms.
“Why’s the music so low?” I ask.
She turns her head into me. “Thought I better keep quiet. Didn’t wanna interrupt your calls.”
“Pen.” I tighten my hold a fraction, anchoring her there.
Her mouth curves faintly as she shrugs. “It’s fine. I didn’t wanna add to the noise when—”
She stops when I let go and walk over to the speaker to turn the volume up. I let the music spill back into the space until it sounds the way I’ve started to need it.
With coffee dripping and Elle singing the wrong lyrics while Gus follows her around begging for toast crusts. And Penny in the middle of it all, making this house feel more like a home.
She watches me carefully as I turn back toward her.
“You haven’t danced yet,” I say.
A soft laugh slips out of her. “That’s apparently something you monitor now?”
“Yeah. Come here.”
Her smile flickers as I step closer.
“Evan—”
“You thought I needed less of you?”
Her throat works, and her eyes dart down to the counter. I take the lunchbox from her hands and set it aside, then pull her into me. One arm wraps around her waist, and the other catches her hand, guiding her slowly across the kitchen tiles.
“I don’t.” I lower my mouth to her hair. “This house sounded empty before you, so don’t go quiet on me now, baby.”
She melts into me after a second, her fingers tightening around mine. And when she tips her face up, her eyes are glassier than I’m prepared for.
“That was dangerously sweet for a man who claims he doesn’t partake in kitchen dance parties.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” I murmur.
She bites her lip through a grin, ignoring the deflection as we sway between the island and the fridge while morning light spills across the floorboards.
A moment later, Elle appears in the hallway with one sock on and her backpack hanging open.
“Hey!” she gasps. “You started dancing without me!”
Penny laughs softly against my chest, and I hold my hand out toward Elle without letting Penny go.
“C’mere then, bug.”
She runs at us full speed, wedging herself between us with a delighted giggle, and Penny shifts instantly to make room for her.
Elle’s head tips back to look between us. “Can we do this every morning?”
“Penny already dances with you every morning,” I remind her.
She gives me a look far too unimpressed for someone with one sock on. “With you, too.”
Penny smiles at me over Elle’s head. “I think your dad might need to be eased into morning choreography.”
“I don’t need to be eased into anything,” I mutter.
Her smile widens. “Great. Then occasional choreography should be fine.”
Elle beams. “Does that mean tomorrow?”
“It absolutely does not mean tomorrow,” I say.
Penny laughs softly, and I tug them both a little closer, the three of us swaying clumsily around the kitchen together.
When the dance party finishes, Elle dashes off to get her sneakers and extra sock, and Penny turns back to finish packing her lunchbox.
“Did the calls go okay?” she asks over her shoulder.
“Yeah,” I say, walking up behind her to wrap my arms around her middle. “Sorted it. This Saturday at ten.”
“If you need, I can—”
“I know.” I tighten my hold a fraction, and my mouth skims just below her ear. “I got it.”
Her fingers curl around my forearm where it crosses her stomach, but she doesn’t relax into me the way she did a minute ago.
“I don’t wanna make this harder for you,” she says.
I shift and turn her fully toward me so I can see her face. There’s concern there, and a little edge of guilt, as though maybe she thinks she’s somehow part of this complication just by existing in our lives.
“Hey.” I wait until she looks at me properly. “Whatever voice is in your head right now saying you’re bad luck, it’s wrong.”
She exhales slowly through her nose.
“You’re not, Penny,” I add. “You make everything better.”
There’s a beat where she considers me, her eyes searching mine to measure the truth of my words, and then she nods.
“Okay.”
***
Flora’s is already busy when we walk in at nine-fifty.