Chapter 45
Forty-Five
B utch sends me two dozen roses at work Monday. They’re a bright, rich yellow (still his favorite color), long-stemmed, and positively stunning. The card brings a sappy smile to my face and tugs on emotions I’m struggling to deny.
There’s a reason Butch & Sundance are so good together. Give us a chance.
Butch
P.S. Do you know how to swim?
“Oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit,” I murmur under my breath, channeling Robert Redford from the movie. But seriously, oh shit . This scene does kind of mirror my current reality. Do I need to jump off a cliff to save myself, even if I don’t know how to swim?
Butch must intuit I’m waffling on how to proceed, but he doesn’t know why.
Not really. My head tells me I have no business screwing up their family dynamic with my ineptitude, inexperience, and lack of maternal DNA.
My heart…well, that organ’s always beat whatever direction it wants without a shred of sense, and it thumps to life whenever Butch materializes in any form: on the telephone, in bed, or via lovely flowers I can’t stop admiring.
On impulse, I make the call. It’s only a short wait before Butch’s voice reaches through the line, his familiar, deep tonality like a caress.
“It’s me.”
“Hey, you.”
“Thank you for the roses, Butch. They’re gorgeous.”
“ You’re gorgeous. Did you see the note?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“You know how to swim, baby?”
“I do,” I whisper.
“Are we going to sink or swim together? Because I’m ready to jump off that cliff with you, Sundance.”
He’s so fucking sure. It makes all this worse. “I…like hearing that.” And I had the same thought less than three minutes ago.
“I’m sensing a ‘but’…”
“I have zero privacy here at work. Can we continue this tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for making my day,” I murmur.
“You make mine every day.”
“You’re going to make this tough, aren’t you?”
“Impossible.”
We hang up, and my eyes flick from the phone to the roses. He’s fighting for me. For us.
Butch calls after putting Emmy to bed, and it dawns on me that’s why we always talk after 9 p.m. I’m perched on the couch with a hot cup of tea. There’s a knot behind my sternum—and no question I’m dreading this conversation. The likelihood we can swim vs. sink seems unimaginable.
“Do you have a bedtime routine?” I ask. Delay. Delay. Delay.
“I read her a book or two, tuck her in, kiss her goodnight. And I keep her door cracked…we joke it’s to let the monsters roam freely instead of camping out under her bed.”
A choked chuckle escapes. “My dad read to me when I was little. Unforgettable stories like Treasure Island , Wind in the Willows, The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh, and Charlotte’s Web . It’s probably why I’m a reader to this day.”
“My mom did too…in our early years, and I remember it fondly. It’s damn cool to be the guy reading to my daughter now, a tradition getting passed down the generations, you know?”
The knot tightens, turns heavy, like a boulder pinning my chest. I manage a humming noise.
A thick pause hangs between us. “You liked the roses?”
My gaze fastens to where they sit on the coffee table. “I love them. Staring at them right now.”
He makes a satisfied grunt. Then pauses, as if gearing up to ask The Tough Questions. “Put me out of my misery, Jacqui. Tell me what’s on your mind. I’m going fucking crazy since you left.”
“That’s fair.” My knuckles rub circles on my upper chest. “Yesterday was…shocking, realizing you had a daughter. It blindsided me. And I admit my initial reaction was terrible. I jumped to conclusions, couldn’t handle all the emotions, went into freakout mode.
But when you asked me to stay, and explained…
shared everything, it helped. I’m sure reliving that was difficult. ”
Butch acknowledges this with a throaty sound.
“Watching you with Emmy, being there with you both, was good for me. ”
“Okay,” he says, exhaling a sharp breath. “I sense that almighty ‘but.’”
My lips don’t want to move. “ But … I don’t see how this can work,” I admit. “Knowing you’re a father and that your life revolves around raising and protecting Emmy, I don’t think my presence is in her best interest.”
“Why?”
“Because I lacked a mother most of my life. Mine is a drug-addled, absentee figurehead. My father is only slightly better. He provided the essentials but failed at any emotional connection. Jesus, you showed in me in one afternoon how a father should treat his daughter—more in one day than I’ve experienced in a lifetime.
So, it’s doubtful I possess any attributes along these lines aside from knowing what not to do, which means I have no business being around any kid, especially one who is your whole world.
Regardless of how much we want to be together, this obviously changes things. ”
Butch heaves out a breath. “I’m trying to understand your thought process but I’m not buying it.
You think any of us have a clue what we’re doing before we become parents?
There’s no manual—it’s on-the-job training.
And yeah, some are better at it than others.
I go day to day just attempting—hoping—not to fuck it up, knowing all the while I probably am .
And I’m clueless about where nurturing comes from, if it’s DNA, innate to your personality, or what you learn watching your own mom and dad.
Likely a combination. There’s no way of predicting the type of parent you’ll be, and you’re selling yourself short by speculating and assuming.
You could be the best mother on the planet. ”
“Or the worst.”
He scoffs. “You’re kind, empathetic, and not afraid to dish things straight.
You’re way ahead with those skills. But I get it if this is too much for you.
You’re twenty-four years old and maybe don’t want anything to do with a kid at this stage of your life.
You’re not looking for a package deal. And I’m absolutely a package deal.
I have responsibilities, and a young girl to rear by myself. ”
“That part doesn’t scare me.” A surprising realization. “Just all the rest. What if Emmy doesn’t like me? Resents me? Or gets mad at you for bringing me into your lives? What if I screw it up? What if she thinks I’m a poor substitute for a mother?”
“Pump the brakes for a minute. I’m not asking you to be her mother or parent. Right now, you’re just Jacqui, my girlfriend.”
My girlfriend. Damn my fool heart for skipping.
“Think of this as an opportunity to get to know each other. If we decide to go the distance, let me assure you that you’re going to fuck some part of this up…
we all do. Because we’re screwed up, imperfect humans with shortcomings.
At some point, your crap will impact your kid and there’s nothing you can do except fail better.
It’s committing to doing the best you can, like any relationship. ”
“It still sounds like an experiment…and you know how bad I was at science.”
Butch huffs out a laugh. “It is , Sundance—one I’m willing to collaborate on with you. All I’m asking for is a chance. Let this ride, see where it takes us. We’ll still go slow, but also forward. I understand it’s overwhelming, so…baby steps.”
“Baby steps,” I repeat.
“Is that a yes?”
It can’t hurt to try, right? We can break up at any time if it’s not working. Except, that’s a whole other problem. “I don’t want to hurt you or Emmy.” Or myself. “And you said yourself that’s why you’ve avoided relationships.”
“That’s true. But what’s happening between us is worth the risk. You’re worth it , Jacqui. Is it scary? Hell yeah. But I’ve never felt as fucking alive as I do when I’m with you… so say yes, goddamn it. ”
This man. My heart thumps wildly as I search one last time for a reason to say no. He’s making this easy…and difficult.
“Good,” he says, even though I haven’t uttered a word.
My husky chuckle causes him to expel what sounds like a relieved breath.
“I’ll need guidance. Maybe a little hand holding.” My voice is quiet, hesitant.
“It will be my pleasure to hold your hand, and every other part of you, gorgeous.”
My chest loosens. I’m still overwhelmed, but there’s a lot to be said for Butch’s enthusiasm, support, and how much he wants me, us, this.
“Hey,” he adds softly. “I didn’t ask you about Thanksgiving for obvious reasons and I’ve felt like a complete asshole about it. Here you are, separated from family and everyone you know, and if it’s not too late, I’d love for you to join us. So would my folks.”
I’m taken aback. “Your parents know about us?”
“Mm-hmm. They’re quite taken with you. My mother hasn’t shut up since you were here for lunch. And then you really blew things up by making homemade soup and cookies, which we all loved, by the way. My parents genuinely appreciated the gesture. It ratcheted you up to all-star status.”
I let out a surprised snort. “Wait. Back up a minute. Explain that first part about your mom.”
“She sensed there’s something between us—or could be—and she’s been bugging the fuck out of me about it.”
My unfiltered laugh rings out. “Wow, seriously?”
He pauses again. “It’s been a long time since she’s seen me…interested in a woman.” He groans like it’s painful, but I’m coated in warmth.
“Your situation was probably hard on your mom. She only wishes for your happiness and would have wanted your marriage to be lasting and fulfilling with your family intact. It must have been agonizing for her to see you hurting.”
He hums, almost smug. “Damn, Sundance. Sounds a lot like something a mother would say.”
I’m dead silent, mulling over my last words.
Because he’s right.