Page 18 of The Sleight Before Christmas

This is karma, Thatch.Pure and simple. This is also the chaos that comes with the girl.

“No, Thatch,” Serena’s eyes search me frantically with concern. “Oh, my God.”

You wanted the girl. You got the girl. You got the life you asked for. You made a promise.

“Baby, look at me,” I coax as she exits her SUV and Peyton screams for her in a way that neither of us can hear one another. I grip my wheel, knuckles whitening as I resist the urge to lash out, knowing the easier thing to do would be to pass him off to her. But I’m done with easy, if that even fucking exists. God knows that everything, when it comes to them lately, seems so damned hard-won.

“Quiet, Son,” she snaps at him. “Your daddy and I are talking.”

“But Mommy—”

“Peyton,” she uses in her sharpest tone, “one more word, and you’re in big trouble.” Turning back, her eyes soften on me. “What did Ms. May say?”

“The usual, but I told her we’re working on it. Left the game plan out. How did it go at the OB?”

She bites her lip, and I tense at her hesitation before she speaks. “I-it’s okay, I got a boob smash.”

“Ouch, want me to kiss and make them better?”

She ignores my blatant attempt to keep things light. “Thatch, are you okay?”

“No,” I admit honestly. “Not. At. All.”

“What are we going to—”

“What we’re doing,” I cut her short. “I’ve got to go get her.”

“Okay,” her eyes shine with concern for me.

“I’ll deal, just ... give me a shot of those lips,” I demand. “Give me a reason to come back.” She grins at the arrival of the same line I used when we were kids. Stepping up on my running board, she leans in through the window and kisses me chastely.

“Nope,” I pop the P, and she shakes her head.

“Thatch, you’re acting a little crazy.”

“I’m going a little fucking crazy,” I admit, keeping my voice low enough so Peyton can’t hear me curse. Though I curse a lot, I try to muffle myself as often as possible—even though they know better. “Want to come with me to no fucks given land? I hear the weather is nice there.”

“Already packed my bags,” she promises. “Before we go, did you deposit the check?”

I tense, eyeing the clock. Due to my aggravation with Peyton and, just after, reminiscing because of the song, I’d steered home to Serena, failing to run the one fucking errand that mattered today.

“Jesus,” I glance at my dash clock, “twelve minutes.”

“Give it to me, babe. I can make it to the bank in five.”

When I hand it over, she steps down.

“Nope, get back here,” I insist.

“What?” she searches the cab for something obvious, “is there another?”

“It’s a matter of incentive,” I drawl.

“Thatch, we don’t have time.”

“I think that is what got us into this mess,” I murmur. “We’re going to make that time, steal it if we have to, and babe, I need it,” I declare a breath before she steps back up on my running board and lays one on me. I deepen it briefly before releasing her. As she steps down, I’m rewarded with the same dazed expression I got this morning.

“Good enough?” She taunts, catching on.

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