Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Robert
The air in the office feels like it’s waiting for something to suck it out.
I sit behind the desk, one hand resting flat against the polished surface, the other tapping once, then stilling when I catch it.
I don’t like the movement.
I don’t like what it says.
So I stop it.
Across from me, Enzo leans back in his chair like none of this touches him, one ankle hooked over the other knee, a file open in his hands that he hasn’t looked at in the last five minutes.
He’s watching me.
But I don’t look up.
“She’s taking her time,” he starts eventually, like it’s a casual observation.
I don’t respond.
Because I’ve already clocked it.
Every minute.
Every second past what I expected.
Atelia doesn’t drag her feet unless there’s a reason.
My teeth clench slightly, my gaze tilting to the clock on the wall, then away again before I can start counting.
“She’ll come back with something,” Enzo adds.
That gets me.
My eyes lift, landing on him with just enough weight to make the point clear.
“I didn’t ask,” I bite out.
“You didn’t have to.”
I hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary, then look away again, pushing back slightly in the chair.
“She better,” I mutter.
“Why did you let her handle this?” There’s something in the way he asks it.
I lean back, dragging a hand over my jaw, the tension brimming under my skin.
“She said it needed a woman’s touch.” My words come out flatter than they should.
Enzo huffs out something that almost sounds like a laugh.
“Right.”
“You got something to say?” I glance at him again.
“Plenty,” he replies easily. “Just deciding which one won’t get me thrown out of this office.”
“Try me.”
“You sure you’re ready for this?” He studies me for a second, like he’s weighing it.
“Ready for what?”
“For her,” he answers simply. “For the kid. For everything that comes with it.”
I don’t answer immediately. Because I already know what he’s doing. He's pulling at the thread, trying to see where it breaks.
“I didn’t say they're moving in or something,” I reply, my voice bristling with enough bite.
“But you’re not keeping your distance again,” he reiterates, like he’s testing the word for cracks.
“It’s not necessary.” I shrug.
“Are you sure?” His brow lifts.
“You think this is a joke?” My fingers curl slightly against the desk.
“No.” He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. “I think you’re playing this wrong.”
“It’s not a game, Enzo.” I let out a short breath through my nose. “I’m not playing anything. This is my child we're talking about.”
“That’s exactly why you need to play this right so she doesn't get hurt.”
“I’m not doing this with you,” I mutter, pushing out of the chair, pacing once behind the desk before stopping again.
“Doing what?”
“This…” I gesture vaguely, irritation weaving through the motion. “This… talk.”
“Sure.” He watches me, unbothered. “Jump right in without an actual plan as to what comes next.”
“Enzo…”
“After the cookout, what next?” he cuts in, like he hasn’t been circling this the entire time.
“Don’t ask me that,” I clip, my voice dropping.
“It’s a valid question.” He lifts his hands slightly, defensive.
“It’s an annoying one.”
“Same thing sometimes.”
I exhale slowly, leaning back against the desk, my arms crossing over my chest.
“Look, I know it’s dangerous to have me as a father,” I start, the words gauged. “I’m not delusional, but being an absent father is worse for the child.”
“I hope you know what you're doing.” He exhales, leaning back further into his chair. “But whatever you do, you have my support.”
“I know.” I push off the desk, pacing once more before stopping at the window, my gaze dropping to the city below.
The movement outside seems predictable.
Unlike this.
“You’re a father again.” He smiles, pleased with the thought. “Lucky bastard.”
Before I can answer him, the door opens without a knock.
Atelia steps, her heels clicking once, twice against the floor before she slows, her gaze moving between Enzo and me like she’s walking into something she expected
“Well.” She draws the word out. “If it isn’t tension and bad decisions.”
Enzo huffs.
“Which one of us is which?” He asks.
“Why so thirsty?” She rolls her eyes at him.
“Not now, both of you.” I push off the window. “Talk.” I snap my fingers at her.
She exhales like she expected that too, slipping her hands into the pockets of her pants, taking her time in a way that already irritates me.
“She said no.”
Something pierces through my heart, it feels like I’d been holding space for something else without admitting it.
“How no?” Enzo asks, leaning forward slightly.
Atelia glances at him briefly, then back at me.
“The kind that leaves no room for consideration,” she shrugs. “The kind that’s already made up its mind before you even finish the sentence.”
My jaw ticks.
“She’s taking the kid to her foster mom,” she adds. “Plans to stay there for a while.”
I turn away before it shows, moving back toward the desk, my hand brushing over the surface once before I reach for my keys.
“Robert, don't…” Enzo starts.
“She didn't seem fazed about blocking your number too, by the way,” Atelia adds, almost casually, like she’s dropping something small instead of something that locks a door I didn’t realize I needed open.
That does it.
I grab the keys fully this time, the metal biting into my palm as I turn toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Enzo asks.
I move past him, past Atelia, the decision resolving into my body faster than it does into words.
“Robert,” he calls again, louder this time.
“I need to do this myself,” I throw over my shoulder.
“She already said no,” Atelia hollers behind me.
“I didn’t hear it from her,” I reply, not slowing down as I throw on my jacket.
“And if she says it again?”
I pause for half a second. Enough to think it through without deciding on what to do from there or with her rejection.
“I’ll deal with it.” I don’t wait for anything else.
I’ve had days.
Days of sitting with a decision that felt right when I said it and wrong the second I walked away.
Days of telling myself distance was better. That staying away meant safety.
That it was enough.
It’s not.
Not like this. Not without trying.
I push the door open and step out, everything’s already moving faster than it was a second ago.
Behind me, I hear Enzo curse under his breath. Then footsteps.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he calls after me.
I don’t look back.
Because I already am.
I pull up in front of her office, just in time for the office door to open.
Christine steps out.
For a second, everything halts, except her.
She pushes the door closed behind her, her bag slung over her shoulder, her face set in a frown.
She sees me.
I know she does because there’s a flicker.
She mutters something under her breath, then turns and walks straight to the van.
She opens the door and gets in. The engine revs slightly, and she drives off.
Just like that.
“Fuck.” The word leaves my mouth as I throw the car into gear, tires biting against the asphalt as I pull out after her.
She doesn’t slow down.
We hit the main road fast, the city thinning the further we go, buildings giving way to quieter streets, fewer cars, and longer gaps.
She pushes it.
So do I.
The distance between us expands.
Then shrinks.
Then expands again.
She takes a quick turn. And I follow. She takes another, and I’m right beside her now.
Close enough to see the tension in the way she grips the wheel, the slight sway of the van when she pushes the speed higher than it should go.
“Christine…” I call out like she can hear me.
But she doesn’t stop.
So I make her.
I pull out, engine roaring as I surge forward, cutting past her in one move before swinging the wheel hard.
The car angles in front of her and her brakes slam.
The sound tears through the air, rubber screaming against asphalt as the van jerks to a violent stop, smoke curling up from the tires.
I stop just ahead of her.
For half a second, nothing moves. Then her door flies open.
She’s out before I even fully step out of the car.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” She screams, the sound thundering through the empty road as she rushes toward the front of the van, her eyes scanning it like she expects to see damage bloom under her hands. “Are you insane?”
I step toward her.
“Are you…” She turns on me mid-sentence, fury blazing, her chest rising fast. “You could have wrecked my van!”
“I’ll buy you another one.” The words are out before I think and stop them.
It sounds wrong.
“Fuck off!” She shoves me, her palms hitting my chest with enough force to make me take a step back.
“Christine…”
“That’s exactly the problem.” She snaps. “You don’t ruin things and then throw money at them like that fixes anything.”
My hands come up before I think about it, closing the distance again, catching her face between my palms before she can step away.
“Christine…”
“Don’t…” She tries to pull back.
“I’m sorry.” I breathe against her face, the words urgent and raw. “I’m sorry.”
Her body goes still under my hands.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I continue, my thumbs brushing lightly against her cheeks, grounding myself in the contact. “I shouldn’t have walked away. I had my reasons, my fears, but…”
I exhale deeply.
“But the longer I stay away…” My voice stutters. “The more I can’t.”
Her eyes search mine, anger and confusion fusing into frustration.
“I’m not good at this,” I admit, softer now. “Not anymore.”
I close the distance, slowly at first. Careful, like I'm giving her a second to stop me.
“Please?” My mouth finds hers, hovering. “Say something.” I press my lips against hers.
It is brief. Testing.
“Talk to me.” I press my lips harder against hers.
She sucks in a breath, but instead of pulling away, she leans into it.
That’s all I need.
I take it as my cue, deepening the kiss. The moment my lips part, hers meet them halfway.
I kiss her like I’m trying to get through to something she’s holding back, like there are words that won’t come out any other way.
The kiss escalates.