Chapter 13
Tessa
"So, uh, what's this weekend?" I ask, grateful my voice comes out steadier than I expected it to.
Ruthie reaches across the island and drags her drawing from earlier and the neon yellow pencil case that's sitting on top of it in front of her. "The Gators are playing in Grand Oaks this weekend. It's not far, but they sleep over obviously, and that hotel has the best monkey bread pancakes."
Saliva collects underneath my tongue at just the thought of such a thing. "Wow, I'm in," I deadpan.
Ruthie smiles, unzipping her pouch and pulling out a deep-purple colored pencil. "See… I don't know why Dad's being so weird about baseball this week."
My stomach drops because… I know why. He doesn't trust me enough to let me into such a big part of their lives. Here, at his house or with Ruthie at therapy or running errands, I'm just the babysitter. I'm her person, and he only has to deal with me when he's coming or going.
But that can't be what this position is—or maybe it can be, but that's not how I operate. If a clock-in, clock-out career was what I was looking for, I would have studied business like Margot or physical therapy like Grant's doing right now. But I asked for this.
I want the full investment in their lives and the strange hours working around Liam's schedule.
I want to work with their family, not for their family.
The soccer practices, the appointments—the games where Ruthie can support her dad—I want it all.
Nellie would probably unpack why it's so opposite of how I feel about every other aspect of my life, but that's just how I've always been.
"What are you drawing?" I ask, switching the subject.
Ruthie tilts her head, looking at the outline of the person she's now filling in. "My mom."
My whole body freezes, my face the only part not showing the flood of panic that just rushed through it. "Oh," is all I can manage to force out.
She keeps coloring as casually as if she said a princess or a friend or anything other than the woman I thought barely existed. "Nellie told me I should try drawing what I think she would look like now." She switches the pencil from purple to a bright sky blue. "You know, if I knew her."
A lump forms in my throat that I'm not sure how or even if I should swallow. Something about this feels sacred—and quite frankly, none of my business. But then I remember the points I just made in my mind.
I don't want surface level, I want connection.
And although I would never push Ruthie into a conversation she's not ready or willing to have, if she's offering, it's my job to hear her out and handle that with care.
I decide ignoring this or blowing it off could cause more damage than good, and if Liam disagrees, maybe it's best we find out now.
"Can I see?" I ask.
She spins the paper nonchalantly and rests her elbow on the counter, her chin in her palm.
"She's beautiful."
Ruthie shrugs. "Maybe. Dad said the Montgomery gene is strong, but I think I might have her nose."
I study the sketch another second before handing it back to her, my nerves still uneasy. "Have you ever met her?"
She shakes her head.
"Seen a picture?"
Her face scrunches up slightly. "Dad doesn't have any. He says they didn't really know each other."
The statement surprises me. Not because I find it hard to believe that a grown man ever slept around, but because I can't imagine that the Liam that I know has ever had a one-night-stand or casual relationship. "Does that bother you?" I ask.
Ruthie flips her pencil and taps it against the marble. "Sometimes. Like when the girls at soccer talk about going shopping or getting their nails done with their moms." She stares at the drawing, then shrugs. "But I'm used to it."
I don't respond, not because I don't know what to say, but because I'm not sure she needs me to say anything at all.
I'm sure she's heard everything from I'm sorry, to that stinks, to at least you have a great dad to make up for it.
And I could guess that none of the generic responses that people think are helpful make her feel any better.
I don't know what Ruthie's going through, only having her dad.
Both of my parents were and still are a huge part of my life, and my siblings have nearly suffocated me for as long as I can remember.
But I can imagine that trying to justify it or explain it away doesn't fill any hole or make up for lost time or provide her common ground with the girls on her team.
Maybe she just needs someone to listen. To be here.
"Oh!" Ruthie's head pops up as she turns her colored pencil back around to shade the sky in her drawing. "I talked to Dad about bras."
I nearly snort out a laugh at the way this all flips, but somehow I hide it. "How'd that go?" I ask, packing the leftover chicken and sweet potatoes we had for dinner into a glass container.
"He said I can start with sports bras for now, which works for me since that's really all I need, anyway."
I smile, placing the last cutlet into the container and picking up the clear lid. "Well, there you go then."
She switches out the blue in her hand for a brown that matches the color of her hair.
"Thanks," she says, outlining the long ponytail of the woman in her picture.
It's not lost on me that she assumes her mom would look just like her, when in reality, her brunette locks and natural caramel highlights are identical to her father's.
"For what?" I ask, snapping the lid tight.
She glances up at me and flashes me a knowing grin. "I know you talked to him."
I throw my hands up quickly. "I just told him we passed a—"
"I know," she says reassuringly. She goes back to shading, and I turn around slowly toward the fridge, taking a deep breath in an attempt to reset the emotions I've already run through during this conversation.
"I'm glad Dad hired you," Ruthie adds suddenly. Her tone is nonchalant, and she never stops moving her pencil, but I still freeze all the same.
Somehow, with my hand wrapped around the long handle of the refrigerator, my heart glows and my stomach sinks simultaneously. Ruthie's glad I'm here, and that means everything. But judging by his latest quick escape, Liam's still unsure.
My mind once again drifts back to the conversation I had with myself earlier about all of this being about her. Every day we grow closer, and every day I'm reminded of why I'm here. What I'm good at. My purpose.
"Me too," I toss back over my shoulder. Ruthie smiles to herself as she continues coloring, and I do too as I set the food on the shelf.
Now if we could just get Liam to agree.
"Surprise!" I pop into Trevor's open office, and his eyes dart to mine.
"Tess," he says, confused, glancing around at the other work spaces. "What are you doing here?"
I step in further, dropping the brown paper bag in my hand onto his desk. "I brought lunch."
He eyes the bag from the taco truck we love, then looks at me. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"
I slide the food over and prop myself on the edge of his desk. "Liam has an off day today before they travel, remember? I texted you. He's having Brooke watch Ruthie at his team meeting this morning, then the two of them have a little meeting of their own."
He looks at me blankly as if he doesn't watch his phone for countless hours of the day.
"Birthday party plans," I continue anyway.
Trevor tips his chin up, then shakes his head, confusion on his face. "Wait, why is she with Brooke? Isn't that your job?"
His words sting. Maybe it's because I've thought the same thing or maybe it's that I'm genuinely trying here, and he seems nothing but irritated.
I shrug. "Technically, I guess—it could be, yeah. But Ruthie hung out with Brooke a lot before he hired me, so maybe she just missed it. Or maybe he wanted to give me the day off too… I don't know."
He raises his brows, looking down at his computer screen and tapping on his keyboard.
"Whatever, I thought it would be a good chance to have lunch," I add brightly, though it feels forced.
He stares for an extra beat at his monitor, then glances over at the tacos. Finally, he peers up at me before his face finally settles into a grin. "Yeah, alright. That's cool." I smile, relieved. "Let's just take this outside. The last thing I need is to be the guy who stunk up the office."
Heat rushes up my neck. "Sorry, didn't think about that."
Trevor stands, picks up the bag, and tosses his arm over my shoulder. "Don't be, babe. It's all good." I sink into him slightly as we walk through the office, his hand sliding down my spine until it rests on my much lower back.
We pass several people in their cubicles as Trevor guides us toward the back door of the building—one woman in particular who seems to notice. I walk beside him, very aware that his hand slides slightly off my ass cheek as he goes out of his way to greet her.
"I didn't realize you were so friendly with the people in your office."
Trevor drops his hand and pushes open the exit door that leads out to a small but beautiful courtyard lined with what seems like ten different colored pansies.
I walk through to find there are a handful of metal outdoor tables, some long rectangles, some more intimate circles, and a couple of short stone pillars that could be either decor or alternative seating.
"Close enough." He brushes past my comment, dropping the bag of food at one of the round tables and plopping onto a wrought-iron chair. "So, you really have off today?"
I laugh awkwardly, taking the seat across from him. "I really do."
"You sure you didn't get canned again?" he teases, reaching into the bag.
I glare at him as I lean my forearms on the table. "Very funny."
"I'm kidding." He smiles and hands me a taco wrapped in white to-go paper. "But I did think it was funny."
I raise my brows, unrolling the paper, and attempting to find anything to talk about that's not my recent job history. "There was talk about me going with them on their away trip this weekend."
He pauses, his taco mid-trek toward his mouth. "Why would you go with the Gators to Grand Oaks?"
I part my lips, staring at him. "Seriously?"
He glances around the open courtyard, then back at me. "What? For the kid? I thought she wasn't a baby." He lowers his voice, the rest of his argument trailing off into a mumble. "You made that very clear at the store the other night…"
I roll my eyes quickly enough that he doesn't notice. "She's eleven, and her dad is working all weekend."
He drops his chin. "He's playing baseball."
My eyes grow wide as I set my food down. "Yeah, the same game you've been obsessing over for weeks."
Trevor's eyes flick to mine. "What does that have to do with it?"
I shake my head, clearly in a mood, and calm my voice. "Nothing, I'm just saying. It's still work for him, and it's still my job to help with Ruthie."
Trevor takes a bite of his taco, avoiding my gaze. "Just not now, apparently," he mutters under his breath.
I blow past it. "He avoided it anyway, so I probably won—"
"Well, good," he mutters between chews. "Because you can't. We have my work trip this weekend."
I lean back in my chair, the cool metal a much-needed reprieve from the sudden warmth radiating through me. I stare at him, undeniably thrown, that annoyance creeping back in subtly.
He scoffs, dropping his taco onto the open paper in front of him. "You forgot, didn't you."
I sit forward hesitantly. "I did not… remember." Trevor's mouth drops open. "But things have been crazy," I add quickly. "With the new job and my siblings blowing me up all week…"
"Come on, Tess. How am I supposed to golf with Charlie and convince him that I'm good for this promotion if you're not there to make sure his wife's at the hotel three cosmos deep and waiting for him?"
I laugh out of frustration. "Wow, really? That's why you don't want me to miss it?"
He looks at me like he has no idea why that'd be offensive and the lingering annoyance turns full on irritation. If this is a mood, that mood's name is Trevor, and if you ask me, it's been a long time coming.
"Well," I say, pushing my food away from me. "I'm sorry I wouldn't be able to babysit your boss's wife, Trev. But I'd have an actual child to watch."
"Yeah, sounds about right. You always have someone else to take care of—your brothers or sisters or someone else's kid. What about me, Tess?" His voice softens, his jaw tight. "What about us?"
There's no real strength behind those last three words. Just that quiet resignation we've both been pretending not to notice.
I exhale a breath it feels like I've been holding for weeks. “What about us, Trevor? Really? You say that, but then I show up here to spend time with you, and you act like… like…”
"Like what, Tessa?"
My eyes grow. "Like this."
His shoulders reach his ears. "It caught me off guard."
"But it shouldn't have! You shouldn't have been taken aback that I would want to eat lunch with you, and I shouldn't have had to hype myself up just to come here."
He stares up at me like he’s surprised, but we both know he isn’t. This isn’t new—it's just the first time either of us has said any of it out loud.
I push my chair back, metal scraping harshly against the stone floor.
"Tessa, I—"
"Don't." My voice cracks, but not with sadness—with exhaustion. "I think we both knew this wasn't going anywhere."
He scoffs, crossing his arms. "Then why did we move in together?"
"We didn't," I snap.
He frowns. "Well, yeah, not officially until next month, but that's because—"
"My lease ended last month," I interrupt, already knowing where he's headed. "But I've been storing my stuff at Drew's old place."
His mouth drops open, but he doesn't argue or deny. He just asks, "Who?"
I chuckle under my breath. "It doesn't matter. I moved in because you asked me to… relentlessly. But we both knew this wasn't forever."
Trevor stares at the table, his silence his agreement.
I stand. "I'll own my part in this, but maybe someday you’ll see just how much of us was always about you, Trev."
I turn toward the door, then glance back one last time, meeting his eyes.
"So… will you be home later?" he asks.
I close my eyes, biting back a sad laugh. Even now, he doesn't see it. "No," I sigh. "And that's one bet you can count on."