Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
MATT
My finger scrolls along the mouse.
“This says that a clean space is essential and reflects a healthy living environment.” I pause, still staring at the screen. “So just make sure you don’t throw your shit everywhere when we get to my place.”
“Our place,” Jordan says, her voice clipped.
I glance up. “What?”
“You said your place. But today, it’s our place,” she corrects. “Maybe don’t do that in front of the guardian ad litem.”
“Right,” I say. “Good point.”
She raises her brows, then turns her attention back to her computer. “I don’t even have anything with me besides my laptop and purse, anyway,” she mutters.
Our flight left at seven this morning and Jordan was scrambling to get out the door by six. She didn’t have time to make her tea, which mean she didn’t get her morning ritual. She’s grumpy. And, honestly, so am I. Just for different reasons.
I’m on edge. Tense. Between the hot tub display last night and preparing for this visit, I’m wound tight, stressed, and all I can do is study the hell out of this website and hope that counts for something.
I read a little further, then pause. “It says safety is really important. Mentions outlet covers.” I glance at her. “We don’t need those, right?”
She looks at me like I’m the dumbest person on Earth. “He’s twelve, not two. I think he knows not to stick his finger in the socket.”
“I fucking know that,” I snap, then rein it in. “It’s just listed here. I want all my bases covered.”
“Our bases,” she corrects again.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Sorry. Our bases,” I repeat, matching her irritation.
She snaps her laptop shut. “Is it going to be like this all day?”
I frown.
“Because if it is,” she adds, “that’s going to be the first red flag. If we can’t get along.”
“We’re fine,” I say quickly. “I just don’t want to screw this up.” I flash a dry grin. “See how I used we there?”
“Cute,” she says, lips tight. “What about discipline?”
“What about it?”
“If we’re asked how we discipline. What we do.”
I hesitate. That’s one I’m not sure about. I didn’t exactly grow up with a healthy example of it. “Talk first,” I say finally. “Always talk first.”
She gives a small smile. “Good answer.” Then, softer, “What about us? How do we handle disagreements?”
“Well, we used to fuck it out,” I say with a smirk. “Hard to smooth things over when you can’t touch your wife.”
The warmth is gone instantly. She’s not amused.
She folds her arms, eyes narrowing. “Are you just going to hand this to Cece? Because I’m serious, Matt.”
I lift a hand in defeat. “Christ, it was a joke. Lighten up.” I take a sip of my coffee. “We talk. We give each other grace.”
Then, because I can’t help myself, I add, “And I try not to make jokes about fucking my wife.”
I flash her a shit-eating grin so she knows I’m teasing, but she just shakes her head and rolls her eyes.
She opens her laptop again, and we both go back to studying the website like our livelihoods depend on it.
“What about our history?” I ask. “If he asks how we met. Our dating life.”
“That’s easy. Just tell him the truth. We both know our history,” she replies, still focused on the screen.
“But does it look bad that we’ve broken up and gotten back together so many times?”
“Why would it?” She finally looks up. “We’re here now. No one’s story is perfect. If it were, it wouldn’t feel authentic. Or lived in.” Her gaze holds mine. “And ours is as real as it gets.”
Right. Real.
As in, she married me because I needed her.
As in, she can walk away the second this is over.
Authentic, sure.
I swallow and turn back to the screen. Nothing to worry about at all.
“Sounds great, and I’m looking forward to seeing you next week. Talk soon.”
I end the call just as Jordan walks into the kitchen.
That fucking woman.
Aside from discussing the guardian ad litem visit, we barely spoke on the plane. We both pretended to be too busy working. Too busy to talk about what a goddamn tease she is.
That move with the swimsuit last night?
She’s evil.
Deliciously evil.
And what can I say? I’ve always been attracted to trouble. Her little stunt only made me want her more.
She pours her steaming water over her tea leaves. More tea.
I roll my eyes. She can’t even drink coffee like a normal person.
We’re complete opposites. Not in the whole opposites attract way either. More like we’re the same where it’s inconvenient and different where it’s impossible. Both stubborn. Both independent. Always trying to prove something to families who were impossible to please.
And then there’s the stupid shit.
I drink coffee. She drinks tea.
I lift weights. She does Pilates.
I like things clean and organized. She lives in functional chaos.
And she doesn’t eat meat, for Christ’s sake.
Yet here I am, unable to take my eyes off her.
She sits at the counter with her tea and opens her laptop. My office has glass doors that face the living room, which opens into the kitchen. There’s no place to hide from each other here even when we want to.
We left early for Chicago this morning so I could take this last call. The guardian ad litem will be here in less than an hour, and I’m already sweating bullets.
This isn’t a meeting I can charm my way through.
This is someone deciding whether I’m fit to be a father.
My lawyer walked me through everything, but knowing this guy’s already been to Cece’s place, and that Jordan’s barely spoken three words to me all morning, has me on edge. We need to look united. Like a loving, newlywed couple ready to take on the responsibility of raising Cole.
Instead, everything feels… fragile.
And I can’t stop thinking about that damn kiss yesterday.
I was trying to fuck with her. Rattle her. Put Harper in her place. But then Jordan came back at me like she wanted it. Like she needed it. Like she was just as close to breaking as I was.
It wasn’t just a good kiss.
It was hot.
And it woke me the hell up.
Made me realize what an idiot I am for thinking this would all work itself out. That I’d be fine with her signing papers and moving out in a few months.
I don’t want Jordan to leave. I like having her here.
And it’s not about sex.
Sex would be easy. Friends with benefits would be easy. Fuck, pretending none of this means anything would be easy.
Jordan isn’t that.
What I want is her in my space. In my life. At my kitchen counter with her tea. Sleeping in my bed. Existing in a way that feels… real.
Jordan is the problem because Jordan is the whole thing.
I’ve always been the kind of guy who says what he feels when it matters. I tell the people I love that I love them. I don’t hide it.
But not with her.
With Jordan, I learned the hard way what vulnerability costs.
So now I keep that shit shoved in a box and locked tight. Don’t even know where the fucking key is anymore. I just show up. Again and again. Say everything with my actions and nothing with my mouth.
Because the second I say it out loud—I lose her. And that scares the hell out of me.
My phone dings, and a text from my father lights up my screen.
Connor Grayson
I suppose congratulations are in order. What the hell were you thinking?
The smartest thing I could do right now is not respond. But I’m a glutton for punishment.
I was thinking it’s none of your damn business.
Connor Grayson
It becomes my business when you smear our family name with stupid decisions. What possible good can come from this?
Smear our family name. He’s one to talk.
Why do you care? You don’t give a fuck about the good it brings to my life. You only care what it does to yours. How does this affect you?
Connor Grayson
I need you in my office tomorrow morning at 8 am sharp. Don’t be late.
I respectfully decline your request.
Sir.
Anger rises fast and familiar. Sweat beads at my hairline. Just what I need when I’m already tense. My fists clench on instinct, the same way they always do when I think about the one time I actually used them on him.
I was seventeen.
Jordan and I had ducked out of school during lunch to go fool around at my house because my parents were never home.
I pulled my mouth away from Jordan long enough to step out of the elevator, our lips colliding again three seconds later as I walked her through the foyer into the living room.
“Shit, Connor…” A woman’s voice echoed through the room. “Stop.”
I pulled away from Jordan, my gaze snapping to the sound. To the naked woman sprawled across our dining room table. To my father’s head lifting like a guilty dog.
“Oh my God,” Jordan whispered beside me.
My father looked up. “Fuck.” He stood fast. “Son—this isn’t what it looks like. Your mother—”
I saw red.
I didn’t think.
I crossed the living room in five steps and my fist connected with his face the second I reached him.
He didn’t pause. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t give a shit that I was his son. His fist came down hard, and pain exploded across my face.
My jaw clenches so tight it aches as another text comes through.
Connor Grayson
Don’t be such a fucking child. I’ll come to you, then.
“Fuck,” I groan, slamming my phone down on my desk a little harder than necessary.
I clenched my teeth. “Fuck you!” I shoved at his chest, then swung again. I missed.
He didn’t.
The first hit stunned me.
The second dropped me.
After that, it blurred. Fists, shouting, the sound of Jordan crying somewhere behind me.
The floor. The taste of blood. The paramedics.
Jordan.
Her voice. Her hands. Telling me she was there. That it was going to be okay.
I woke up in a hospital bed with her by my side.
Everything after that was handled. Discreetly.
I push up from my chair and head for the kitchen.
I need a drink.
I pass Jordan at the counter and swing open the liquor cabinet, grabbing the tequila and a whiskey glass. I pop the lid and start to pour.
“Whoa. What are you doing?” Jordan asks, her voice laced with concern. “The guardian ad litem is coming in twenty minutes. You can’t drink that.”
“Ah, fuck.” I dump the tequila into the sink and set the glass down hard on the counter. “Fuck.”
I shove the bottle away, sliding it across the counter. A risky move. Jordan’s gaze follows it, shocked and wide-eyed as it stops just short of the edge.
I plant my hands on the surface of the quartz and inhale, forcing air into my lungs before looking at her. “Tell me I’m not like him.”
Her brows knit together. “Like who?”
“My father.” My voice comes out rough. “I’m not like him. Am I? Please. Tell me I’m not.”
“Matt—what happened? What did he say?” She’s already on her feet, moving toward me.
I push off the counter, clasping my hands behind my head. “Just tell me I’m not like him, Jordan. Please.”
I start pacing, noticing the time on the clock. “Shit. He’s going to be here in fifteen minutes. And I’m not ready. I’m not ready for this.”
“Matt. Stop.” She reaches for my arm.
I brush her off.
“What if I can’t do this? What if—” I stop, going still.
“What if I’m like him and don’t even know it yet?
What if I hurt Cole? Or make him feel like shit?
What if…” I huff out a breath. “What if this isn’t even the best thing for him?
What if he’s better off with Cece?” I drag my hands down my face. “Fuck.”
Jordan’s hands press to my chest, her chin tilting up. “I don’t know what happened,” she says, shaking her head, eyes steady. “And it honestly doesn’t matter, because it doesn’t change the fact that…” Her hands slide up to my neck, thumbs grazing my jaw. “Look at me.”
I exhale, defeated.
“You are nothing like him. You hear me?” She frames my face, then repeats, firmer this time, “Nothing. Not even a little.”
I hold her gaze, wanting to believe her, if only for the next two hours.
To be good enough right now.
I can worry about all the ways I might fuck Cole up later.
Just let me be enough today.
She’s the only one that knows about that night. About my dad. About the hospital.
How I moved out afterward and got my own place.
How I told my mom and she already knew, then asked me to stay quiet about it.
I did.
I never even told Jensen.
But Jordan? She stood by me. Even after everything with her dad came crashing down.
We were there for each other.
I told her I loved her.
She told me she loved me.
Then she left.
I blink back the sting of it all. Christ.
“What if,” I whisper, the fear creeping in, “I have innate characteristics that are like him?”
Her thumbs sweep across my cheek. “You don’t.”
“But—”
“Matt,” she cuts me off, determined. “You don’t. You’re thirty-five. You’d know by now if you were an asshole.”
Her lips curve into a soft smile. “Besides, I hate your dad as much as you do. And there’s no one I’d rather spend time with than you. Promise.”
I take a deep breath, letting it out slow. I’ve got to get my shit together.
“You need to go change,” Jordan says, then laughs softly. “God, you’re the only person I know who works from home and still wears a suit.”
“Shit. What do I wear? I don’t want to look too relaxed. Like I don’t care.”
“Matt.” She smirks. “Your sweatpants cost over a thousand dollars. You couldn’t look too relaxed if you tried.”
I puff out a laugh, the weight slightly lifting.
“Just throw on something in between work and lounging.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
She pats my chest, then wraps her arms around me. “You got this. You’re going to do great.” She looks up at me, smiling. “We’re gonna do great.”
“You’re right,” I say. “We are.”
I head for the hall.
“Matt,” she says before I’m out of sight.
I turn around.
She holds up her index and middle finger together, kisses them, then reaches them toward me through the air.
I chuckle. Goddamn her. She has a way of making everything feel manageable. She always has. I mirror her, kissing my fingers and holding them up.
It’s what we did in elementary school, after I told her I wanted to kiss her and she said she didn’t want to get in trouble.
She grins, picking up the bottle of tequila. “I’ll take care of all this while you change. Hurry.”
I turn back, stealing one last glance at her before disappearing down the hall.