1. Tyler
ONE
TYLER
I fight the urge to go stiff as a board at the sound of my name.
“Mr. Davis!”
“Whattya think they want, huh?” I grumble to Ellie, who giggles. I’m carrying her away from the half-day preschool I barely got her into. Apparently you have to register kids for preschool when they’re crowning. And daycare? Better consider that before you even flirt with their potential mother.
Oh, and when they say “half-day,” they really mean 7 to 10 a.m. I have some words for whoever decided three hours constituted half a day. Last I checked, half a day was twelve hours. Hell, even six would be a break.
I turn to find Ellie’s teacher, Miss Kristen, breathless and almost caught up to us. “Mr. Davis, hey.”
“It’s just Tyler,” I say.
“Tyler.” Her expression softens into a winning smile. “I noticed you didn’t fill out Ellie’s permission slip for our field trip.”
I purse my lips and set Ellie on her feet, bending down to her ear. “Why don’t you go over to the playground and show me which slide is your favorite? I’ll be watching.”
Once Ellie’s out of earshot, I cross my arms over my chest. “Yeah, I’m not sending my daughter to a place called ‘Becca’s Peckers.’”
Miss Kristen laughs like I’m somehow being funny and even puts her hand on my forearm to recover from such a rousing good time. “Yes, her farm is called Becca’s Peckers, but her Farm Trekkers program is well-loved. We were lucky to get a spot for our class.”
I pop my jaw forward, then wave to Ellie to show her I’m watching her go down the twisty slide. “Yeah. Still no.”
“Do you not know Becca Martin? She knows just about everybody here.”
My stomach dips at the sound of her name. I know Becca, but I sure as hell try not to. There was a time, long before half of my heart went down twisty slides and asked me to braid her hair every morning, where all I wanted was to know Becca.
But Becca ruined everything, just like she always does.
Rebecca Martin is a trainwreck in Daisy Dukes, a menace hidden behind a veil of bright smiles and cheeky winks.
Smiles that once made me feel like maybe I just dreamed up the idea of clouds, because clouds couldn’t exist while her sunshine walked this earth.
“Tyler?” Miss Kristen has been talking but I’ve been miles away.
“Sorry. What?”
“I asked if you’re going to hold Ellie out of school on that day. We wouldn’t want her to feel left out.”
I growl and grind my teeth.
Miss Kristen’s fingers pass over my arm, reminding me that she’s still touching me. I glare down at them, hoping she’ll get the hint. I debate barking at her to get her Bath and Body Works-lubed hands off me.
“I promise it’s going to be fun. And educational! Becca’s so good with the kids. Last spring, our class did this program and they still talk about it. It’s like Becca has her finger on the pulse of what little kids like.”
Couldn’t be the Becca Martin I know. The Becca I know probably spends her mornings puking up last night’s bad decisions while she plots out the next evening’s debauchery.
The Becca I know is the reason CJ, my daughter’s mom, isn’t around.
The two of them were hell on wheels. Party girls living for the next high, the next thrill, the next thing that would make their lives feel a little less miserable.
But one day, the lights came on at their party and CJ blew out of town, leaving a trail of dust and my darling daughter in her wake.
I hear updates about Becca’s life against my will from her brother Dusty, who is my best friend.
He claims she’s a good aunt to his daughter, but she’s probably trying to put whiskey in the baby’s bottle when he’s not looking.
I know she’s got that farm with that stupid name, willed to her by their family friends.
Without that lucky strike, the thought of Becca owning any property beyond packs of that damn bubble gum she’s always popping is absurd.
But then, there’s the car. That one little piece of how she used to be that I’ve hung onto, though I’d never admit that’s why I have it.
Now I have a choice: subject my daughter to the source of her mother’s downfall, or have Ellie spend yet another full day at my auto shop. Try as I might with coloring pages and carefully chosen educational screen time, it’s not the most enriching environment.
Maybe Dusty’s right and Becca’s not as bad as I’ve made her out to be. It’s a foreign thought that I never dare to entertain.
I scrub my hand across my forehead, trying not to grind my teeth so hard I launch a headache. I wave Ellie over and respond to Miss Kristen. “Where’s the form?”