Page 91 of Broken Halo

“I didn’t just pass it, I fucking killed it. Twice—in California and here in Texas.”

She tries to hide her smile and slaps me in the chest.

“I can show you my résumé if you’re curious. I mean, I don’t want to come across conceited or anything, but I’ve won some pretty big cases and I am the youngest lead counsel for any corporation—”

“Fine, I get it.” Her expression has completely transformed her beautiful face to one of pure delight compared to her life-is-going-to-end mentality from just a few minutes ago. “Change his diaper, put him to bed, figure it all out on your own. I’m sure your experience in the courtroom has prepared you for dealing with a sleepy almost-one-year-old.”

“I’m already covered in cookie shit and the world is still spinning. What more can happen?”

Her smile shrinks and she leans in to kiss me. “With everything we’ve gone through, I’m afraid to answer that question.”

I drop my hands to cup her ass as I take her mouth and wish we could fuck the day away while Griffin takes a nap but I have a meeting soon I need to call in for. “Do your thing and I’ll take care of him.”

“Good luck,” she murmurs against my mouth and it doesn’t come across with an ounce of sarcasm—she really means it. When she follows it with a breathy, “Thank you,” I know it’s not just about dealing with Griffin so she can sort out her work. It’s about a hell of a lot more—something I’ve tried not to fixate on and just ride whatever wave we’re on to get back to where we should’ve been. To be who we should’ve been together.

25

It’s Always Been You

When you lose something precious and find it again, hold on so tight it’ll never fall from your grasp.

Ellie

Trig kept his word, just like he’s done ever since the day he walked back into my life, and figured out how to put my son down for a nap. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t a challenge and I got to watch and listen to the entire fiasco over the baby monitor. Trig might be skilled in the courtroom but today proved no one can walk into a diaper change of a wiggly baby who moves at the speed of light unprepared for the task.

When Trig couldn’t keep Griffin from rolling on the changing table, he moved to the floor, which wasn’t his best decision. That meant Griffin had more room to move and my son is strong. I watched as Griffin escaped from his captor, time after time, and belly laughed in Trig’s face while doing so.

“You’re a little escape artist, aren’t you?” Trig would grab him by the ankle, drag him back, roll him over, and start all over again. There were some muttered fuck me’s, what the hell’s, and even one dammit, she was right, which shouldn’t have made me smile but it did. He finally yanked the fob to his Mercedes out of his pocket and handed it to Griffin and that did the trick. Griff examined his new toy with such scrutiny, I could see the frown of concentration on his sweet face. When he started chewing on it, I cringed but stayed where I was as Trig was about to figure out the diaper and I was too caught up in the show to worry about germs.

Trig had just tossed the wet diaper to the side without wrapping it up, when Griffin pushed enough buttons on the fob that the Mercedes alarm sang loud and clear in my driveway. Trig was trying to wrestle the fob away from Griffin when it happened.

Trig was officially baptized—his expensive, professionally-tailored dress shirt that was already soiled with dried, mushed cookies got a streak of pee up the front.

I almost ran to his rescue but I was stopped in my tracks when Trig froze right before he smirked at my son. “You might think you’ve won, kid, but I’m the only one who’ll feed you french fries and nuggets in this house. You’ll learn that eventually and cooperate.”

Trig finally won the war—generally speaking. Griffin’s diaper was crooked and I’m not sure it’ll do its job. But Trig didn’t care and unbuttoned his dress shirt, tossing it toward the dirty diaper that lay open on the floor. When he sat back on his ass, he looked a little worse for wear as he stretched out his long legs and leaned against the crib.

That’s where he sits, his head back, and eyes closed in frustration or exhaustion—maybe both. I cringe, regretting my decision to let him go at it alone. My stomach twists and sours with the thought that Griffin and I are too much. The word effort, when it comes to us, isn’t a strong enough term. Not to a man who’s never had to deal with a baby, especially another man’s—a horrible man who’s not even walking the earth anymore, even though that’s a good thing.

And don’t even get me started on my shit. Trig has done nothing but fix my problems since the day he buried his mother.

Griffin scoots around the room in his T-shirt and diaper as Trig sits there, probably meditating my troubles away. My regret brims and it’s too much. I grab the monitor and move on my bare feet up the stairs when I see Griffin reach through the bars of his crib to nab his pacifier and favorite, floppy, well-loved frog.

But I stop in my tracks when Griffin climbs up Trig’s large frame, getting his attention. When my man looks down at my son before hauling him up his big chest where Griffin settles on his shoulder, my worlds crash together in a way that’s both beautiful and painful. The sight of the man my heart has never stopped beating for, loving on the small human I’d lay my life down for, is too much. I sit at the top of the staircase and can’t stop my tears. It’s a shock to my once lonely and broken, mangled soul.

Many minutes pass and I’m pretty sure Trig has a meeting he’s missing but he doesn’t budge. He sits there with his eyes closed as my son falls asleep on his wide chest and shoulder, so deeply, his pacifier goes slack.

I stare at them through my tears and try not to blink. I don’t want to miss even a nanosecond of the tiny picture playing out live in front of me.

Finally, Trig holds my sleeping Griffin with ease, stands, and tucks him in his crib as if he were priceless, reminding me how it felt when he treated me as if I were breakable and the most precious thing in his world when I was seventeen and I gave him my virginity.

Even though I’m watching it on the screen like the most suspenseful motion picture ever, Griffin’s door clicking shut surprises me and I jerk, turning to see Trig standing in the hallway.

He’s holding the dirty diaper and his dirtier dress shirt in one hand when he looks to me and lies, “That was easy.”

I ignore his sarcasm as a place down deep that’s been iced over for ten long years begins to warm.

I set the monitor down and climb to my feet. When I get to him, I rip the diaper and shirt from his hand and let them fall to the carpet. Gripping his belt and waistband, I lift high on my toes and have to reach for his mouth because of the space that separates us. He must feel my need—my desperation—because he cups the back of my head and when I let go of his mouth, I breathe, “I love you.”

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