Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“She was fussy and tugging at her ear. I think it’s teething, and she doesn’t have a fever.” I nod toward the drying spoons. “I gave her Tylenol. She’s sleeping now.”
He nods, shoulders easing an inch. “Okay. Good.” He hesitates. “Do we need to call the pediatrician in the morning?”
“We don’t have one yet. It’s on my list to handle first thing.”
“I can help with that—”
“I’ve got it,” I cut in, unable to assuage the anger bubbling in me. All because he’s two hours late to a job that I told him he wasn’t needed for.
Why am I being like this?
Atlas studies me for a long moment. “You’ve been up this whole time?”
“On and off,” I say. “You know. Doing the thing we signed up for.”
His nostrils flare, much the way a dragon would before blowing fire. “I’m a little confused as to where this anger is coming from. You told me you didn’t need my help. It’s clear you don’t want it. It’s also clear that you were completely capable of watching Grayce tonight on your own. So, for the life of me, I don’t understand why you’re so pissed at me right now.”
“Because I knew you weren’t cut out for this and yet you insisted on doing it,” I snap.
“Why am I not cut out for this?” he demands.
“Because it’s 2:08 a.m. and you’ve been out drinking all night. Is this what I can expect from now on in the co-parenting department?”
“For fuck’s sake,” he growls in a low tone. “I had two beers. I was DD tonight for Kace and drove him home.”
I let out a laugh I don’t feel. “Congratulations.”
His eyes flash. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve heard this song before.” I set the mug down with a click. “Just two beers. It’s no big deal. There’s always a reason, always a buddy to drive home, always a celebration, always—”
“Stop,” he says quietly, and it hits harder than if he’d shouted. “You told me you didn’t need me home tonight.”
I hate that he’s right. “I meant it,” I say stiffly. “And I still handled everything.”
“Of course you did,” he snaps back, temper sparking. “You always will, because you refuse to let anyone else touch anything. But you don’t get to tell me I’m not needed and then crucify me for not being here. If you weren’t so damn narrow-minded and stuck on yourself, you’d know that.”
My hand curls around the mug until I feel the heat through my skin. “I can already tell what kind of parent you’re going to be.”
His eyes narrow to slits. “Say that again.”
“You’ll always have an excuse,” I say, the words coming out like broken glass. “The game, the guys, the pressure, the—whatever. You’ll choose that. And I’ll be here, doing the real work, because that’s what people like me do. We pick up what other people drop.”
He stares at me, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “So going out for a few hours means I’ve failed as a father?”
“It’s a start,” I say, and immediately want to swallow it back, because it’s ugly and it’s mine and I don’t want him to see it. In this moment, I actually hate myself.
He steps closer. “This seems awful personal to you, Maddie.”
Heat surges up my throat. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then enlighten me,” he fires back. “Because from where I’m standing, I’m trying. I rearranged my life, I brought you here, I’m in it. And every time I take a step, you move the goalposts.”
“That analogy is lost on me,” I reply, not because I don’t understand, but because I’m embarrassed that my insecurities have taken me hostage.
He barks a humorless laugh. “Then let me spell it out. You’re being incredibly unfair. You said you didn’t need me. I went out. Now I’m the bad guy because it fits some story in your head.”
I feel the floor tilt, shame rising within me unchecked and I have no choice but to lash out. “It’s not a story,” I say, my voice going low and dangerous. “It’s a pattern. Parents who always choose themselves over their kids. Parents who promise they’ll show up and don’t. Who swear they only had a couple beers, or snorted a few lines, and who swear it’s just this once, who swear and swear until swearing is all there is.” My throat tightens. “I know exactly how that ends.”
Then the worst thing happens. Empathy fills his expression. “You’re talking about your life,” he guesses. “This isn’t about what you see in social work but rather what you’ve lived.”
My gaze drops to the table, ashamed I let that much out. I’ve never spoken of my parents to anyone except Gray.
Atlas’s voice is rough. “Drugs? Alcohol?”
“Both,” I mutter, unable to put my walls up fast enough to keep that a continued secret.