Page 102 of A Temporary Forever

The words sound like a repeated mantra I subscribed to a while ago, but they feel outdated now.

Music seeps into the darkness, pulling my mind into painful reality. I squint at my watch. Ten o’clock.

I sit up, my dark silky cover sliding to the floor. I haven’t slept this long in weeks. Also, I haven’t been this hungover in… months. When did I stop partying?

The bonding with my partners last night didn’t go as expected. I thought I’d have one obligatory drink. Instead, I came home at three in the morning after drinking gallons and playing pool.

Even Declan loosened up, and he’s definitely the most reserved of us. It was a much-needed team-building exercise, but I’m fucking paying the price now.

I get up, pull on a T-shirt and take two Tylenol in the bathroom before I wander out of my bedroom.

The music is coming from the room across the landing. Celeste must be practicing. As I approach, giggles surprise me. Shit, I forgot this is Mia’s weekend.

Squinting to subdue the headache pounding behind my eyes, I peek in, and Mia freezes partway through a move.

“I forgot you were here today,” I growl, the headache talking.

Mia flinches.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Good morning to you too, Mr. Grouch.” Celeste glares at me.

And just like that, I won the biggest asshole award. “I didn’t mean—” I step inside, and Mia instinctively steps back.

Her reaction is like a punch to my gut. What was Iexpecting? That I lash out and don’t get what I deserve? But she doesn’t deserve any of this.

I run my hand over my face, hoping to wipe away my hangover. “Sorry, let’s start again. I’m going to have a shower and find my personality, and then we can go for brunch. Okay?”

They both glare at me, Celeste probably considering how to claw my eyes out, and Mia hoping to be anywhere else but in a room with me.

I don’t know if I look as bad as I feel, but my look must be pity-inducing enough that Mia finally nods.

Well, good morning, everyone.

I trudge back to my room. The painkillers kick in by the time I finish showering, and I feel marginally better.

I don’t find them in the studio, so I knock gently on Mia’s door. Soft voices direct me toward Celeste’s room.

Since her door is slightly ajar, I see them in front of the vanity mirror. Celeste is braiding Mia’s hair. My wife is taking care of my daughter.

The image hits me with a feeling that is warm and sappy, but not unwelcome. I stop to watch them for a beat.

“You have a great sense of rhythm, and with a little practice, you’d be really good. You already are, butpractice makes perfect.” Celeste squeezes Mia’s shoulders.

“Do you think Cal is upset I paid for my dancing classes and rejoined the crew?”

What? Fuck. A part of me understands this is a private moment between them, but I can’t walk away now. Neither can I step in and tell her I don’t mind at all.

And then an irrational sensation crawls up my spine, akin to envy or jealousy. The two of them have grown closer, while I’m standing on the sidelines, avoiding this kind of intimate moment.

With my wife. Or with my daughter.

What’s the worst that could happen?

“Of course not, Mia.” Celeste shakes her head.

“Just… he hasn’t been around much, so I thought he was mad at me.”

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