Page 3 of Stolen Dreams

Which is why our schedules are the way they are now.

“It’s a shitty question.” And not one I regret asking. “Doesn’t make it any less valid.”

Fists trembling at her sides, she works her jaw back and forth. Any moment, I expect Brianna to swing. To punch or slap me in the face. To scream and tell me to go to hell.

Instead, she spins around and storms to the fridge. She whips the door open, shuffles the contents from one side to the other, grabs a bottle of beer, then lets out a squeal of delight.

I hear the jingle of her keys as she takes a step back. A smile I haven’t seen in far too long lights her face as she closes the fridge door and faces me. It’s the same smile that lured me closer to her. The smile that gives me an ounce of hope.

“Bri…” Her shortened name is soft on my tongue.

“Just let me have tonight,” she pleas, her anger and frustration from a moment ago gone. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”

Tomorrow is one of those rare occasions we both have the day off. It’s the perfect time to sit down, talk about the future, and map out what steps to take next.

“Sure. Yeah.” I glance toward the bedroom door. “Maybe lunch at the park with Tucker.”

Her smile grows impossibly brighter. “Sounds like a wonderful idea.” Stepping into me, she wraps her arms around my middle. “Sorry for yelling. It’s not fair to dump on you like that.”

The swift change in her demeanor is pleasant yet unsettling.

I hug her tighter to my chest. “Your stress is mine too. We need to be able to talk about what’s bothering us. It’s the only way we’ll get through this together.”

She releases me and takes a step back. “Still, I said some pretty shitty things.”

Yes, she did. But I wasn’t nice either.

Lifting a hand to her cheek, I brush the hair out of her face. “Tomorrow, everything will be better.” As the words leave my lips, I will them into existence.

Brianna nods, pushes up on her toes, and kisses my cheek. Then she turns for the door, swipes up her purse, drops the beer inside, and reaches for the dead bolt. “Shouldn’t be long. Don’t wait up.”

Something about those last three words and her tone twists my insides. But I shove it down, remind myself she is the mother of my child and I need to trust her, then promise myself to address it in the morning.

“Be safe, Bri.”

Her dark hair swishes as she peeks over her shoulder, that radiant smile on her lips. “I will.” Then she’s out the door.

Over the next hour, I tidy up the mess she made throughout the apartment. I turn off the light in the living room and kitchen but leave the hood light over the stove on.

When my head hits the pillow, the weight of the evening crashes down on me hard. But I don’t mull over it. Instead, I tell myself we will clear things up tomorrow. One more sleep, then Brianna and I will sort out the future.

With that final thought, I let go of my worries and pass out.

Sunlight peeks through the blinds as I wake the next morning.

I tilt my head left then right, cracking my neck. Twist in place, waking my muscles. Stretch an arm and find the spot next to me in bed empty and cold.

After last night, it honestly wouldn’t surprise me if Brianna slept on the couch. When things get heated or she stays out past midnight, her crashing on the couch isn’t abnormal.

Tonight will be different. Once we air our concerns and come up with a resolution, we will start anew.

Pulling back the covers, I swing my legs off the bed and sit up. As it does every morning, my gaze automatically goes to Tucker’s bed.

Empty.

I glance at the alarm clock—a little after eight. Usually I’m up with him around seven, but I must’ve been so exhausted that I slept through his morning routine of waking me up. He’s probably on the couch with Brianna, watching his favorite show on the tablet.

After I use the bathroom and brush my teeth, I slip on a pair of sweatpants and head for the living room.

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