Page 44 of Erik

I seize the opportunity Liam has tossed my way without knowing. I slant my head toward the kitchen. “Don’t have time to follow you down the rabbit hole you’ve crawled out of. Dex will take you to the hotel, or Sausalito. I don’t care. You do what you’ve got to do.”

“This isn’t over, Erik. I want my son back.”

When she raises to her feet, I head to the kitchen, without a glance back. She’s delusional if she thinks I’ll let her take Liam from me.

I plop on the stool next to Liam, bump his shoulder with mine. He burst out laughing. My heart swells as we devour our snacks. When we’re done, I hoist him into my arms and glance about. Meg sits on the edge of her chair, her gaze trained on Liam.

I nod. “I’ve got this. Goodnight, ladies.” I greet both Giry women.

The cook smiles at me and ruffles my son’s hair. “Night night, sweet boy.”

Meg kisses Liam’s cheek. “Sleep tight, little man.”

He hugs her. “Will do.”

I take him to his bedroom. Once there, I step toward his rocket-shaped bed, but he points to the kid-size table with four chairs on the opposite side.

Stretching his little fingers as if reaching for the paper, he pleads, “Please, Daddy. I haven’t finished my drawing.”

From previous experience, I know I can’t cram my body into those tiny chairs. I plump myself on the floor, cross-legged, with Liam on my lap. I smooth his hair, as he grabs his paper and crayons. This right here is one of my favorite things we do together. I smile as he doodles away to his little heart’s content.

Although I can make out a house by the sea and trees, I prompt him, “Hey, buddy. What are you driving at?”

He snaps his head around with a deep crease between his brows, “I’m not driving, Dad. I’m drawing.”

His naivete restores part of my faith in mankind.

I hug him, smacking my lips on his cheek. “I stand corrected, sir.”

He returns his focus to his creation, sticking his tongue out, twitching it as he fights with the crayon. Crooked fingers make it that much harder for him to draw. Another way I’ve made his life more complicated. Yet he persists.

“Look, Dad!” He points to the drawing. He’s added a man holding a guitar on one hand and a little boy’s hand on the other. It doesn’t get much clearer than this. In his understanding, it’s the two of us against the world.

I tousle his hair. “Awesome job, bud. Now, let’s get this tush under that blanket.”

Despite what Dr. Daroga says, Liam is my one shot at happiness. He’s the only human being who loves me, and accepts me the way I am, flaws and all.

I tuck him in, sit on the floor, and read from the book he’s selected. He drifts off halfway through the story about talking shoes and tired feet. I kiss his forehead, turn off the light, and sneak out to my room.

After a quick shower, I slide under the covers, but sleep eludes me. I bury my head under the pillow trying to escape the pang in my chest at the memory of Christine panicking in the playroom. My old fool of a heart shatters when I remember her rejection at the office. I flop onto my back and hide my face under a crooked arm. Liam’s drawing is etched behind my closed eyelids. My stomach churns at the realization he rarely draws female figures. When he does, it’s either Meg or Mrs. Giry.

If Carlotta really wants to spend more time with Liam, that will benefit my son. He’d have a female role, an essential piece that’s missing in his life. On the other hand, I’m aware she worships at the altar of the almighty dollar sign. It doesn’t trouble me. As long as I pay the bills, she won’t create problems for me.

Time to face the facts and pull on some big-boy pants, instead of holding on to illusions of rainbows, and happy-endings.

17

Christine

Six Months Later

Ipace the length of my desk, waving my hands for emphasis as I talk to the laptop camera about last year’s innovations researched, new products launched, and new customers onboarded. On the call, the directors of each of our seventy-three subsidiaries follow my movements. My heart pumps more adrenaline into my veins, as I wrap up our annual conference, which we started conducting over the internet years before video calls became a thing.

I stop in front of the laptop, resting both palms on the polished wood. “Folks, as the numbers demonstrate, our team did an excellent job this past year.” I jab a thumb over my shoulder toward my partner standing a foot behind me. “Hadley and I appreciate you for your efforts beyond words. As you’ll find out when you receive your bonuses today, we do prefer numbers. Big numbers with at least six digits.” We guffaw, and my heart soars.

God, I’ve missed feeling this kind of high spirts.

Zeroing in on the camera, I arch an eyebrow and add, “This year, we’ll blast those numbers into oblivion. Am I right?”

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