Page 100 of Forgotten Romance

“I have to.”

He tugs on the straps of his seat. “Me go too. Van go with Daddy. Van go to work.”

My throat is too clogged up to respond, so I lean over, plant a kiss on his forehead, then close the door on their crying.

Do I feel like the worst dad in the fucking world? You betcha I do.

Mack climbs out, and his eyes are as glassy as mine, but at least he can manage a smile.

“They’ll be okay,” he says.

“Yeah, but will I?” Going to bed with him every night for the last week, getting lost in each other’s bodies, our affection through the day slowly slotting back to what it was … how am I supposed to go from all that to nothing?

“You will.” He tugs me into a hug. “Because you’re amazing, and you always put us first.”

I snort, and he squeezes me harder.

“It will be better this time,” he promises.

I almost tell him, right then, that it really will be, because this isn’t going to last long. The whole time I’m gone, I’ll be searching for any and all leads that have me back home with them.

But I don’t know how long that will take, so I hold off from saying anything. With the lump in my throat, I doubt I’d be able to get the words out anyway.

I just return the force of his hug, like we’re both trying to meld together.

“They’re going to keep you so busy on this new account for the next two weeks that you’ll hardly notice you’re gone. Then you’ll be back home again. It’ll be fine.”

I still can’t answer. Just duck down, pull up the handle on my suitcase, and then, before I can step away, I cup the back of his neck and draw him into one last kiss.

Mack is right. It’s two weeks. And sure, it’s always been hard before but never this hard. Like I’m tearing myself in half.

I blame the long time off. I’ve become too used to having them there at every point of my day. That’s all this is.

I can’t look back at the car as I let him go and head for the rental office.

Eric told me the New York office would be operating on a skeleton staff for the next week. Him, me, and two members of my team hustling to get this massive account up and running. Then next week, I’ll brief the others on what we’ve decided for the campaign, make sure it’s assigned and delegated down to the last detail, and then I’ll be ready to head home again. Mack’s right. It will go quickly. The office always breathes life back into me, but while usually I’m excited to brainstorm with like-minded people, the thrill of a new campaign is dulled by the memory of what actually happens when I’m back home again.

All the late calls.

The constant emails.

The laptop perched on my lap after dinner while I’m supposed to be spending time with the family. During the entire drive, my grip on the steering wheel keeps getting tighter until, when I reach New York, my fingers are cramped, and my knuckles are aching.

Sleeping in an empty, impersonal hotel bed is depressing. Waking up alone, with no Mack and no tiny Van plastered to me, hollows out my chest in a way that’s never happened before.

I’m sluggish as I shower and get dressed in my suit. As I stop by the usual hole-in-the-wall cafe for my morning coffee. As I swipe into the enormous steel-and-glass building where our office is located.

Normally, being back here puts a spring in my step. Reminds me that I’m part of something bigger than me.

I’m just not feeling it.

My swanky new office doesn’t do a damn thing either. And I’m sitting at my desk, waiting for my computer to reload after the long time off, when Eric taps on my open door.

“Davey, welcome back.”

I nod in his direction, then turn back to my screen.

His hesitation bleeds into the room. “Did you get your Christmas bonus?”

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