Page 72 of Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend

The message shuts off, and I just stare at Jordan. I can’t speak, can’t swallow. I’m drowning with a lack of breath to my lungs.

Because Jordan might legitimately lose Ryder, and it’s all my fault.

twenty-three

JORDAN

It’s been the longest day of my life.

I pull into my driveway beside Marilee’s car, cut the truck’s ignition, and just sit there slumped at the wheel, staring at the front of my house. The dull front sconces need a bulb change. The grass is overgrown, weeds and leaves overtake the yard, and the storm from Friday night broke a few large branches off the tree.

My property here is in a similar state as my work email, which has piled up over my long weekend away. Since it’s President’s Day and Ryder had the day off preschool, I was already planning to be home from work, simply looking over emails while he played and Marilee took a shift at the bakery. Instead, Mare had to call off work to stay home with Ryder, and I had to spend the day at Sam’s office, trying to figure a way out of this mess I made of the custody battle.

I still don’t have an answer. But I know one thing—telling Marilee about it will at least soothe the ache. She’s always been good at calming me down, helping me breathe easier. Climbing from the truck, I head through the unlocked front door, and my heart squeezes at the sight in front of me.

The kitchen’s seen a hurricane—a Cat 4, at least—with flour, sugar, and butter sprinkled all over the counters and dirty bowls and other dishes in and beside the sink. But in the middle of the counter is the world’s coolest two-tiered cake resembling the outside of the Avengers Compound, with various Avengers action figures placed strategically along the top, and the wordsDaddy, you’re my herowritten in Marilee’s perfect print along the bottom.

But that’s not the part that has my heart in a vice. No, it’s seeing my son curled up on Marilee’s lap asleep, a book lying beside them on the couch. He’s tucked against her, and she’s got her head down too, clinging to him like she’s never letting go.

I set my wallet and keys on the counter. Her head pops up, and I can see she’s been crying—her mascara smudged, her eyes red. I don’t wait another moment before moving the book and joining them on the couch. Then I hold them both while she holds Ryder, my fingers smoothing through his thick red hair that’s sprinkled with flour.

“He wanted to help make your cake.”

“It’s amazing.” I lean in, kiss the side of her head, breathe in the sweetness of her. “You’re amazing.”

“Jay.” She sighs. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you all about the attorney’s office. Just let me get this guy to bed.”

Her face is stone, unreadable and strange, but she nods. I lift Ryder from her lap and walk him back to his bedroom, tucking him under his Captain America sheets and giving him one last glance before I turn out his light and close the door. Then I follow the hallway back to the living room, where Marilee is no longer sitting on the couch, but standing by the Christmas tree.

She’s taking down ornaments one by one, rewrapping them in tissue paper and placing them in the tub I keep in the garage with holiday decorations. And she’s crying, again.

“Hey, hey, hey.” I gently take her shoulders, turn her to me. “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just a waterworks festival lately.” She gives me a brave smile and pivots back to the tree, continuing to remove hooks off the artificial branches. “What did Mr. Granger say?”

“He confirmed what we suspected. Some old biddy that’s a friend of Constance’s heard you talking with your friends at Bowl O’Rama?—”

“I’m so, so sorry.” Her hands go faster, removing the ornaments at lightning speed. “I should have kept my stupid mouth shut, especially knowing we were in her town.”

“Lee—”

“Don’t try to tell me it’s not my fault. It is.” She stops for a moment, glances over at me. “And what about the supposed written evidence?”

“Apparently Constance found a copy of our contract. The rules we wrote up.”

She gasps. “What? How?”

“That one’s on me, I’m afraid. Ryder asked me a week or so ago for some paper to color on, and I told him there was some in the printer in my bedroom…”

“Let me guess. You had just printed the rules out?” Ornaments fly again, one at a time, from her hand into the box.

I cringe watching them go, but nothing breaks. “Yep, it was an earlier version of the contract I printed here—the final one that we signed was printed at my office. But after printing that earlier version, I got distracted and forgot to grab it off the printer. When I finally remembered, it wasn’t there, but I just figured my computer had malfunctioned or I hadn’t hit the Print button like I thought.”

“So Ryder used the contract as a coloring sheet…”

“And it was in his backpack when he was playing at their house last week. Yes.”

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