17. Evan
CHAPTER 17
Evan
T he chief was mid-sentence about the new fire engine we were considering when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I slipped it out enough to see Sam’s name on the screen. "Sorry, Chief, I've got to take this," I said, already thumbing the screen to life.
"Hey, Sam, what’s up?" I stepped away from the chief’s desk, the background noise of the firehouse fading as I focused on the silence on the other end of the line.
"Hey… I—" A sigh. Then nothing.
I frowned. "Sam?"
"Never mind." The words came fast, like she was trying to shove them back in before I could catch them. "I’ll figure something out."
That set off every alarm in my head. "Hold on. What do you need?"
Another pause. I could practically hear her grinding her teeth. "I hate to ask, but I’m stuck at work. Mr. Henley is on some terror about missing books and insisting we track every one down. Is there any way you could pick Sophia up from school?”
“I thought she took the bus?”
“She had a theatre club meeting and didn’t take the bus,” she explained. “If there was anyone else…”
While I didn’t love that I was her last resort, I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to be there for my girl.
I glanced at the clock. "Yeah, of course. I’ll head there now."
Another pause. A quiet exhale. Then, "Are you sure? I don’t want to—"
"Sam." My voice was firm, cutting off whatever excuse she was about to make. "I’ve got it."
Silence stretched for a beat. Then, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it, "Thanks. I’ll send a message to her watch and let her know."
And then the line went dead.
I tossed a quick salute to the chief, who just shook his head with a knowing grin, and made my way to the parking lot.
Pulling up outside the school, I parked under a canopy of trees whose leaves were starting to tinge gold. It was already late September, and summer was giving way to fall. I leaned against the car, trying to seem casual, but my heart ticked up a notch, just like it always did.
"Hey, Sophia." I pushed off from the car and offered her the best smile I could muster, hoping to mask the nerves that seemed out of place on a seasoned firefighter. But then again, this wasn't a fire I was facing—it was something far more unpredictable.
Sophia's backpack bounced against her as she made a beeline for me, a grin spreading across her face that could outshine the sun. "Evan!" she exclaimed.
"Hey there," I replied, scooping her into a hug that lifted her feet clear off the ground. She laughed, and I felt the day's weight lift off my shoulders.
"I was so happy when Mom said you were picking me up!" She wriggled free and skipped ahead to the passenger side of my truck.
I blinked, still standing there for a beat longer than I should have. She was happy I was here. Not just okay with it—happy.
By the time I snapped out of it, she was already yanking the door handle, her energy vibrating in the air around her. I jogged ahead to open it for her, earning a grin that made my chest tighten in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
“Buckle up,” I said, ruffling her hair as she climbed in. As I did, I wondered if her teenage self would bristle at the affection, but her smile only widened.
She did, chattering away as I slid behind the wheel. I caught Sophia's eyes in the rearview mirror.
"Guess what we did in science today?" she asked, her voice buzzing with excitement as we pulled away from the school.
"Tell me," I said, keeping one eye on the road and another on her animated expression.
"We dissected frogs!" Her nose wrinkled in mock disgust, but the gleam in her eye told me she'd loved every second of it.
"Ah, the rite of passage for all young scholars," I quipped. "Did you name yours before or after the... procedure?"
"Before, obviously." She rolled her eyes with perfect teenage dramatic flair. "His name was Prince Charming. Didn't turn into a human, though."
"Maybe he was just waiting for the right princess," I teased, and her laughter filled the car like music.
"Or the right scientist," she countered, always quick on the draw.
The chatter continued as we pulled into Samantha's parking lot, the engine ticking softly in the quiet aftermath of our ride. Sophia was mid-sentence, detailing the latest classroom drama with the enthusiasm of a talk show host.
"…and then Kayla said that she wasn't going to speak to Jess anymore, but by lunchtime, they were sharing chips like nothing happened."
"Ah, the politics of seventh grade," I mused, parking the car and killing the engine.
Sophia giggled, gathering her backpack as I stepped out of the car.
"Thanks for picking me up, Evan," she said, slinging an arm around my waist as we walked toward the apartment.
I rested my hand on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze as we reached the door. "Anytime, kiddo."
She fished her key out of her backpack and worked it into the lock with the confidence of someone who’d done it a hundred times before. As the door swung open, she flicked on the lights and tossed her backpack onto the couch in one fluid motion.
"Are you staying for a bit?" she asked casually, kicking off her shoes and heading toward the kitchen.
I hesitated. I hadn’t planned on it. But something about the way she asked made it impossible to just turn around and leave.
"You good here by yourself?" I asked instead, eyeing the empty apartment.
Sophia rolled her eyes as if I’d just asked if she still believed in Santa. "Mom lets me stay alone for a couple hours sometimes. It’s not a big deal."
That didn’t sit right with me. Sure, she was responsible, but she was still a kid. A kid who was alone in an apartment complex where I didn’t know all the neighbors or what kind of people lurked around.
I ran a hand over my jaw, debating. "When's your mom getting home?"
She shrugged, already pulling open the fridge and grabbing a juice box. "I dunno. She just said she’d be late."
Late. That could mean an hour. It could mean three.
I exhaled, leaning against the counter. "Tell you what, I’ll stick around until she gets back."
Sophia’s face lit up like I’d just offered her front-row seats to a Taylor Swift concert. "Really? Awesome!"
I checked the time on my phone. Nearly five. Samantha hadn’t given me an exact ETA, but I figured she’d be home soon. And as much as Sophia seemed happy lounging on the couch, my firefighter instincts told me she probably needed more than a juice box for dinner.
I pushed off from the counter, stretching my arms. "Well, how about we get dinner started? That way, when she gets home, dinner will be waiting for her."
Sophia grinned. "You cook?"
I smirked. "I can handle the basics. Let’s see what we’ve got."
We headed into the kitchen, and I opened the fridge, scanning the shelves. Some ground beef already thawed was a good start. My eyes drifted to the pantry—taco shells. Perfect.
"Tacos it is," I announced, pulling out the ingredients and setting them on the counter.
"Yes!" Sophia fist-pumped. "Mom makes tacos all the time. But she always says it's more fun when we cook together."
Something about that made my chest tighten, like I was stepping into a space I had no real claim to. But Sophia was already grabbing a pan, her enthusiasm contagious, and I couldn't bring myself to take a step back.
"Alright, chef," I said, ruffling her hair. "You handle the toppings, and I'll cook the meat. Deal?"
"Deal," she said, pulling out a cutting board.
As I browned the beef, Sophia chopped the lettuce with a little too much confidence for my liking, her tongue poking out in concentration. I stayed close, ready to step in if necessary, but she managed just fine.
"Mom’s gonna be so surprised," she said, grinning.
I glanced at her, the warmth in her eyes making something settle deep in my chest.
"Yeah," I murmured. "I think she will be." I wasn’t sure Sam would think it was a good surprise though.
The sound of a key in the lock made my stomach tighten. Sophia, completely oblivious to my hesitation, bounced on her heels.
"Mom's home!" she announced, grinning as the door swung open.
Samantha stepped inside, looking exhausted but instantly alert when she saw me standing in her kitchen. Her eyes flicked between me and Sophia, then to the counter full of taco fixings.
"You made it," I said, watching her reaction carefully.
She dropped her bag by the door and toed off her shoes. "And you’re… making dinner?" Her gaze narrowed slightly, like she couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or annoyed.
I cleared my throat, wiping my hands on a dish towel. "Figured we’d get a head start. Didn’t seem right leaving Sophia to fend for herself."
Sam exhaled, tension still clinging to her shoulders. "I was only running a little late."
"I know." I held up my hands in surrender. "Just seemed like a good way to help."
Sophia rushed over, grabbing her mom’s hand. "It was Evan’s idea! And we’re having tacos!"
Sam’s gaze softened at her daughter’s excitement, but when she looked at me again, there was something guarded there.
"I appreciate it," she said finally, walking toward the sink to wash her hands. "I just… wasn’t expecting you to stay."
I wasn’t sure if that was an invitation to leave, but before I could say anything, Sophia was dragging her to the counter, pointing out every detail of our handiwork.
“Can Dad stay for dinner, please, pretty please?”
My eyes widened, and I barely stopped myself from choking on air. Dad?
Sam froze. Her back was to me, but I saw the way her shoulders tensed, her hands gripping the edge of the counter like she needed something solid to hold onto.
Sophia, oblivious to the sudden shift in the air, rocked on her heels, looking between us with hopeful eyes.
I didn’t know what to say. My heart pounded in my chest, but I couldn’t let it show. Couldn’t let Sophia see just how much those words had cracked something open inside me.
Sam turned around slowly, her expression carefully neutral, but I caught the flicker of panic in her eyes before she smoothed it away.
“Your dad would love to stay,” I offered hesitantly, “but I actually should be going. I’m supposed to meet up with some of the guys from church for a Bible study tonight.”
Sophia frowned, crossing her arms. “I don’t want you to go.”
The words hit me square in the chest, far heavier than a seventh grader’s plea should’ve been. I glanced at Sam, half-expecting her to step in, to tell Sophia not to put me on the spot like that. But she didn’t. She just stood there, her expression unreadable, waiting. Maybe testing me.
I cleared my throat, rubbing the back of my neck. "Soph, I—"
"You made tacos," she interrupted, her voice taking on that stubborn edge I'd already started to recognize. "And we’re all here. You can go to Bible study next time."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "That’s not how commitments work, kiddo."
"But you’re committed to us, too," she countered.
I didn’t know what to say to that. Not when she was right.
Samantha finally spoke up. “Soph, that’s not fair to Evan. He did us a big favor tonight by picking you up. But we can’t ask him to give up his whole evening on short notice.”
Sophia’s face fell, her lower lip jutting out just slightly. “I know,” she mumbled, poking at a stray shred of cheese on the counter. “I just… I like when he’s here.”
My chest tightened. I wasn’t sure I had the right to feel the warmth that spread through me at her words, but I did.
“I like it when I’m here, too,” I admitted.
Sam let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of her neck. She looked exhausted, the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders. For a moment, I thought she was going to shut this whole thing down, send me on my way with a polite nod and a grateful smile. But instead, she met my eyes, something unreadable flickering across her face before she sighed.
“Stay,” she said, pleading. “Just for dinner?”
I hesitated, but then Sophia brightened again, grabbing plates and setting them on the table like my staying was a foregone conclusion.
"Okay," I said finally, unable to fight the pull of this little family that wasn’t quite mine but felt dangerously close to becoming so. "Just for dinner."
Sophia grabbed my hand. “Come on, I want you to try Mom’s homemade salsa. It’s the best.”
I let myself be pulled along, but my eyes stayed on Sam.
She didn’t look away.
After dinner, Sophia stretched her arms overhead and yawned dramatically. "Ugh, I have so much homework." My gaze followed her arms as she absently touched a necklace at her throat.
My chest tightened. “What do you have there?” I gestured toward her fingers, my voice coming out rough.
Sophia lifted the charm. “Oh, just my necklace. It was my mom’s, but she said I could have it.”
The silver heart caught the light, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
“It’s very pretty,” I said, my voice low, unsteady. My eyes locked onto Samantha’s, and the past crashed into me.
I held the necklace out to her as we shared a blanket on the beach. “This is for you. It’s not much, but it’s a promise. I’ll get you a ring when we get back to Chicago.”
She had kept it.
Sam cleared her throat, breaking our eye contact. "Time for that homework, right?"
Sophia groaned but grabbed her plate and carried it to the sink. "Fine," she relented, dragging her feet toward her backpack. "But if I need help, I’m asking Evan." She shot me a pointed look, daring me to refuse.
I smirked. "I’ll be right here."
Satisfied, she trudged down the hall to her room, leaving me alone with Sam in the quiet of the apartment.
She turned to the sink, rinsing off a plate, and I took the towel beside her without a word. We worked in silence for a few minutes.
But I felt her.
Felt the warmth of her body just inches from mine. Caught the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, exposing the graceful curve of her neck. Noticed the tension in her shoulders, like she was bracing for something.
I was bracing too. I stepped behind her, caging her with my arms on either side.
“You kept it,” I said quietly.
“For her,” she insisted, her breath shaky.
“I don’t believe you,” I replied in a whisper, my lips just centimeters away from her neck.
She shivered but didn’t try to move away. I could hear her breathing, feel the heat radiating off her skin. My fingers curled against the surface beside her, itching to touch her—to trace the delicate line of her throat, to remind her of everything we’d once been.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “It doesn’t matter what you believe.”
But it did. It mattered more than I wanted to admit.
I lowered my head slightly, close enough that I could catch the faint scent of her shampoo—something light and familiar, something that sent me spiraling straight back to spring break, to stolen kisses and whispered promises.
“Samantha.” Her name was rough on my tongue, filled with everything I couldn’t say.
She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “Don’t.”
With one more shaky inhale of her scent, I stepped away, recreating the distance between us.
The past few weeks had been a slow burn, a constant push and pull between us. Some days, it felt like we were slipping into something easy, natural. Other days, the walls between us shot back up, a stark reminder that too much had been left unsaid.
And then there were nights like this.
Nights where the air felt heavier, thick with something neither of us seemed ready to name.
I wanted to ask her.
I wanted to say something—anything—to get a read on what she was thinking. Did she feel the same pull I did? Did she notice the way we kept orbiting each other, caught in some gravitational force we couldn’t seem to escape?
But I didn’t.
Instead, I cleared my throat and reached for the next dish. "You really do make a mean salsa."
Sam seemed grateful for the offering of a distraction. "Is that your way of saying you want to take some leftovers home?"
"Maybe," I admitted, my grin easy, despite the tension in my chest.
She shook her head, drying her hands. "I can pack some up for you."
I watched her move, tucking away leftovers, and it hit me—this was what home looked like. Not the Mercer estate with its cavernous rooms and cold perfection. Not the bachelor apartment I’d barely made my own.
This.
This simple, quiet moment in a tiny kitchen with dishes in the sink and a woman I couldn’t stop thinking about. I wanted to step up behind her again and wrap my arms around her waist. I wanted to run my nose along the long line of her neck and feel her relax into my embrace.
I exhaled, forcing myself to look away.
I wasn’t here to stir things up, not when Sam was still figuring out how to let me in. Not when Sophia was the important thing. Not when I was still the guy who’d abandoned her after a quick romp that left her a single mother.
Not when I was still figuring out if I had the right to hope for more.
Sam turned, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Sophia should probably say good night before you go.”
I nodded, grateful for the excuse to see my daughter once more before leaving. “I’ll go find her.”
I found Sophia at the small desk in her room, her head propped on one hand as she stared at her math worksheet like it had personally offended her.
"Giving you trouble?" I asked, leaning against the doorframe.
She looked up and sighed. "It’s boring."
I chuckled. "I can’t argue with that. But you’re smart—you’ll knock it out in no time."
She straightened a little at the compliment, then frowned. “Are you leaving?”
I stepped inside, ruffling her hair. “Yeah, kiddo. It’s getting late.”
Her expression dimmed, but she nodded. "Okay… Can I walk you out?"
I hesitated, glancing toward the kitchen where Sam was tidying up. "You sure? It’s dark out."
She rolled her eyes. "I’m not scared of the dark."
"Of course not," I said, amused.
She grabbed a hoodie off the back of her chair and slipped it on before bounding past me into the hallway. "Mom, I’m walking Dad out!"
"Don’t take too long," Sam called back.
Sophia grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the door. "Come on."
We stepped outside, the night air cool and still.
Sophia swung our joined hands between us. "Are you coming over tomorrow?"
I glanced down at her, my chest tightening. "I don’t know. Would you want me to?"
She gave me an exasperated look. "Obviously."
I swallowed, nodding. "Then I’ll try."
She turned to me suddenly, her brown eyes wide and searching. "Why aren't you and Mom together?" The question hung between us, innocent and heavy all at once.
I paused, the words stalling in my throat as I searched for the right way to explain the complexities of adult relationships to a young heart. The crickets chirped their nightly serenade, providing a gentle soundtrack to my internal struggle.
"Life's... complicated, Soph," I began slowly, choosing each word with care. "Sometimes people need different things, or they change, and it doesn’t mean they don’t care about each other, or about you."
Sophia pondered that, her brows furrowing as she considered my words. "But you're still friends, right?"
"Absolutely," I assured her, my heart swelling at her hopeful expression. "And no matter what happens between your mom and me, I'm always going to be here for you. That's a promise."
Her smile was all the reward I needed, and she threw her arms around my neck in a hug that squeezed the breath from my lungs. The simple joy of her embrace grounded me, solidifying my commitment to her and the complicated dance of co-parenting with Samantha.
"Thanks, Dad," she whispered, and it was like music to my ears.
"Anytime, baby girl." My words were barely audible, whispered into the dusk. I wanted to tell her everything, to pour out the torrent of feelings for her mother that I kept dammed up behind a carefully constructed wall. But fear held me back—the fear of reaching out only to have those feelings slip through my fingers like smoke. And the knowledge that Sophia couldn’t be the one I shared those feelings with.
That answer seemed to satisfy her, because she gave my hand one last squeeze before letting go. "Good night."
"Good night, kiddo."
She waited until I was at my apartment door before giving a little wave and heading back inside. I stood there for a moment, watching until the door shut behind her.
Then, with a deep breath, I let myself in, shutting the door on the part of me that ached to turn back. I let out a deep sigh, allowing myself that moment to soak in the quiet calm of the evening. My thoughts drifted to Samantha—the way her eyes crinkled when she truly smiled, how she could communicate with Sophia without a single word. My chest ached with the longing to reconnect, to somehow mend what had frayed between us.
I had to have patience, though.
There was something freeing in acknowledging the slow pace of healing, of rebuilding trust. I knew it wasn’t about grand gestures or sweeping declarations—it was the daily effort, the small moments that wove together to create something stronger. That was the kind of dad I was going to be.