Piece by Piece
EASTON
The house is quiet again.
The guys left an hour ago. The kitchen is mostly clean because Riley insisted, and I let her, because arguing with Riley about dishes is a battle I’ve learned to stop fighting.
The leftover chicken is wrapped in the fridge.
The grocery store cake is down to one sad slice that neither of us wanted, but neither of us threw away.
It was a good day. Better than good.
And the highlight of my day? Walking into the kitchen to see her waiting to surprise me…
God… if I didn’t already love her, this would have changed everything.
Might as well specially celebrate the day she got into my car at that red light.
We’re in bed. She’s on her side, facing me, half asleep already, her hand resting flat on my chest. The lamp on her side is still on, throwing a low, warm light across the room.
My phone is still lit from a video call with my mother.
Caroline had cried a little when she saw Riley on the screen. She was too excited to see her in my bed, so excited that she couldn’t keep her thoughts down.
‘Oh, I love this! I love her, Easton. You better not fumble this.’ Her exact words.
Riley had laughed so hard she snorted.
My arm around her pulls her closer, and I kiss her temple. I’m ready to call it a night when my phone screen lights up.
I look at the screen.
Donovan Blake.
I haven’t spoken to my father in four months. The last time was a brief, functional call about paperwork related to the divorce settlement, and even that had felt like being taxed.
It’s my birthday. He probably knows the same way he knows everything in my life, from watching from the sidelines. I’m about to send it to voicemail when Riley shifts against me and looks at the screen.
“Your dad?”
“Yeah.”
“You should answer. It’s your birthday.”
I look at her for a second. Then I answer.
“Easton.” His voice is the same as it’s always been. That quiet voice that knew the right things to say to get what he needed and the reaction he wanted. The voice that craved and commanded control. “Happy birthday, son.”
“Thanks.”
The line goes quiet for a few seconds, but I hear his breathing.
“I saw the news.” Of course he did. “I wanted to reach out.”
I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. He’s already cooked up his opinions and will share them regardless.
“I’m going to be direct with you, because you’re young, and I understand you may not see it.
This girl isn’t what she looks like. The Sinclair girl.
Women like that, they move from one meal ticket to the next.
And I know she’s from a wealthy home. The more reason to be wary.
Preston Sinclair was a very wealthy man.
Now she’s found a professional athlete with a healthy contract.
You’re smart enough to see the pattern.”
My arm instinctively tightens around Riley. Her eyes shoot up to see mine, and for a second, I’m glad she can’t hear the nonsense he’s spewing.
“I know how it feels. She’s probably very good at making you feel like an exception.
” A short pause. “Caroline was the same way, in the beginning. I almost didn’t have the sense to protect myself.
Thank God for the prenup. Thirty-two years, and she still would’ve walked away with half of everything I built.
That’s who these women are, Easton. They’re patient. ”
There it is.
Thirty-two years of marriage to the woman who raised me, summarized as a failed extraction attempt.
Usually, these words would get to me. Rile me up, and we’d end up in a verbal outrage, but not anymore.
It’s reassuring to know my mom is doing fine, far away from this lunatic.
“Think about it while you still have time, my boy.”
“Goodnight, Dad.”
I hang up.
Riley is watching me. She hasn’t moved. The lamp is still on, and she’s propped up slightly on her elbow now, reading my face.
“You okay?”
I set the phone face down. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” She leans down and seals her lips to mine.
I kiss them. Softly and passionately like it’s all I want to do for the rest of the night, because it is. The awkward conversation with my dad is forgotten in a second, and I just lie there, kissing her.
When she pulls back, I lift her until she’s straddling me, palms splayed on my chest.
She’s wearing another one of my shirts, and I love how they swallow her. She looks super cute, I can’t look away. My arms wander of their own free will, landing on her thighs, fingers slowly gliding higher to her waist, and I stop there for a moment.
And maybe it’s the call, or the need to share my world with her, or maybe it’s just the fact that I’ve been carrying this particular weight for twenty years, but I start talking.
“My father is a very controlling man,” I say. “Donovan Blake never raised his voice in my entire childhood. Not once. He didn’t need to. He had other ways.”
Riley is still, listening.
“My mother would suggest something, and he’d listen.
Then he’d explain, very calmly and very reasonably, why it wasn’t a good idea.
And he’d do it in a way that made her feel like she’d thought of something small and insignificant.
By the time I was twelve, I’d watched her stop living.
It was like she hit a pause button and decided to let him fully take the reins for her life. Keep her small.”
I look at the ceiling.
“She used to paint. Did she tell you that?”
“No,” Riley says quietly.
“She painted for years. Landscapes, mostly. She was good. She had a whole corner of the house set up with her supplies. And then one year, my father mentioned, very offhandedly, that it was a messy hobby and the smell of the paint was getting into his study. He didn’t tell her to stop.
He just said that. And within two months, the corner was gone.
The supplies were in a box in the garage. She never took them out again.”
Her hands on my chest travel higher, till her fingers are buried in my hair. I drag in a deep breath and close my eyes for a second.
I needed that.
“I learned to read rooms because of him. I had to know what mood he was in before I said anything, before I brought home a grade or asked to go somewhere or existed too loudly in his space. I got very good at it.”
The memories of my childhood I’ve worked hard to lock away pour in. I keep talking, letting it all flow out.
“Physically, he’s never done anything you could point to. He’s never hit anyone. He’s never yelled. He goes to church. He gives to charity. By every external measure, he’s a decent man. And he spent thirty-two years making my mother smaller in ways that left no evidence.”
Riley’s hands return to my chest. She leans down and kisses my temple.
“When you got in my car, and you told me about Preston. The way you described him. The way he made your friends into problems, and always explained your own feelings back to you until you doubted them… I knew exactly what you were describing. I grew up in it.”
By now, her fingers are somehow laced to mine, and I can’t recall when it happened. I lift our joined hands to my lips and kiss them.
“That’s why I drove. I understood what you were running from because I’d spent my whole life trying to figure out how to run from the same thing, and getting my mom out of it was the best thing I’ve ever done.”
The lamp flickers slightly.
Then she says, “Does he know? What she gave up?”
“No.” I scoff. “He genuinely doesn’t. That’s the worst part. He’s not performing. He actually believes it.”
“Your mom is one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” she says. “Well, if the one time we had breakfast counts…”
That makes me laugh, and for the first time since I moved Caroline from Donovan’s home, I feel lighter about it. Like I’ve dropped the weight.
My hands snake around her sides, and I tickle her. She falls apart in my arms, giggling. I flip us over until she’s on the bed, hands pushing at my shoulders while I’m hovering over her, staring at her beautiful face.
My gorgeous girl.
“You both are the strongest women I know.”
I kiss her.
***
The rest of the week went by in a blur. No games. Practice comes and goes, and I get Riley all to myself on the days I can before the season gets tougher.
She’s finally making moves to reconcile with her friends. And sets up a meeting with Rachel.
“I’m going to see Rachel!” she announces, barreling into the kitchen with her phone raised high and a huge smile on her face.
I chuckle and pour her coffee. She hops on the stool beside mine.
“A little coffee date next weekend. Downtown.”
“That’s lovely.”
“I know, right?”
I give her a side eye.
“Ain’t you forgetting something, little lady?”
Her brows crinkle.
“You owe me. I told you to reach out.” I wiggle my brows, and she laughs.
She turns to face me fully, her body now in my view.
“Payment in kind, but on the condition you’ll be my chauffeur?”
I place my palm flat on my chest in a pledge.
“Always, my lady. And I’ll be catching that cheque, later,” I wink.
The weekend arrives quickly, much to Riley’s excitement. Her date is for four in the afternoon, and I drive her. Golden Hour Cafe is quiet with only a few customers when we walk in.
Riley spots her friend right at the door, and in a minute, she’s gone, beside the table by the window where two women in their mid-twenties are seated.
Rachel, the blonde, from Riley’s descriptions over the week, and the other is Madison, another mutual friend of theirs who was in town, and opted to join them, after Rachel informed Riley of her presence.
I stay by the door for a minute just to watch the sheer joy on their faces, and their little reunion and chirpy voices have eyes turning their way. Eventually, they calm down enough to take their seats. Riley waves me over, and I approach.
“Hello, ladies.”
“Ohhh… sounds better than I ever daydreamed,” Madison moons, palm to her chest, and they laugh again.
“I like this one,” Rachel chimes in, and we all laugh.
“I’ll leave you ladies to enjoy your date.” I lean down to quickly kiss Riley on the lips. “Text me when you’re done, baby.”
I stroll to a vacant table and take a seat, just across from them. Close enough to have her in my sight, and also far enough for her to be comfortable with her friends.
Minutes later, they get their orders from the barista. Two iced vanilla lattes, one matcha latte with oat milk, and almond croissants. I get a protein smoothie while I wait for my woman.
I’m mildly out of my depth for most of the afternoon. I occasionally watch her whenever I raise my head from scrolling through sports headlines on my phone.
She’s different with them. Louder. Carefree.
Preston spent six years making her smaller. These two women have known her since before that, and in their presence, she’s just Riley. The version of herself she’s been slowly reconstructing.
I get up at one point to get more protein smoothie. Her eyes catch mine, and they’re apologetic, but I wave it off.
By evening, she’s in high spirits.
The drive home is filled with laughter and her rambling about seeing Rachel and Madison again. I soak it all up because every smile, every laugh, every friendship she finds again is another piece of herself falling back into place.
Piece by piece, she's becoming Riley again.