Page 71 of When We Were More
“Don’t forget to toss the asshole’s sweatshirt.”
I give him my best eye roll, and he continues to the car. I find myself wishing I had indulged in the hug. It would have been harmless, right?
CHAPTER 26
Henry
It’s a little past the girls’ bedtimes when I get them home, their faces washed and tucked into bed. Both of them crashed in the car within five minutes of leaving Matilda’s house. I swear, Layla was talking my ear off about how much fun she had one minute, and the next she was snoring. Hence, we skipped their baths tonight. It won’t win me anyDad of the Yearawards, but skipping one bath isn’t the end of the world.
After I finish, I light a fire in the fireplace, pour myself a glass of whiskey, and sit in my favorite chair. I pull out my phone.
Whiskey and a fire tonight, if you’re interested. You know where to find me.
I put the phone on the end table, not even bothering to care whether a response comes through. The first sip of the whiskey burns a little, but after that, I relish how smooth it is.
Tonight was… confusing. I had a fantastic time. My girls clearly had a blast. The moments when their toys or coloring kept them occupied, the conversation with Matilda was light andenjoyable. The only part of the evening that has me stressed is thinking about Layla, and my worry that she’s going to be heartbroken if anything happens and Matilda isn’t in her life anymore. Plus, I’m bothered that her reaction to the table damage was intense and had undertones of residual pain from Jeana’s abandonment. It was clear her response wasn’t only out of fear that she’d be in trouble with me, but that it would affect her relationship with Matilda.
I need to make an appointment to talk with Layla’s counselor. I wonder if we need to increase her number of therapy sessions for a while. She’s been seeing a counselor since Jeana left and is doing so well that she’s down to monthly sessions to check in.
I also don’t like that Matilda didn’t want to hug me. That seems petty in light of my little girl’s struggle. Matilda wasn’t wrong in her reasoning, and she was only sticking to the rules we agreed upon, especially in front of the kids. Yet, I hate it. I want to hug her whenever I please. To kiss her lips until any sassiness she throws my way disappears. I yearn to put my hands on the parts of her I love—the PG parts, anyway—to remind her how desirable she is, no matter who’s around. I want to show her that a man can treat a woman well, to erase the pain from the assholes who have hurt her.
Fuck. I can’t keep denying it. For the first time in my life, I have deepfeelingsfor a woman. How did I let this happen?
The beeping of my door keypad distracts me from my thoughts, and when Harrison walks in, I swallow the rest of my whiskey and pour us both a glass—my second, his first. Yeah, for me it’s a multiple glass night. When Harrison sits down, we’re quiet for several minutes, sipping our drinks. Harrison breaks the silence first.
“What are we drinking to tonight? Anything special?”
I glance over at him, and he’s focused on the fire. There are no pointed looks to pressure me to talk.
“I think I accidentally got feelings for a woman. I’m pretty sure that’s what this is, anyway.”
He laughs. “You think?” His sarcasm is evident.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Harrison turns his gaze away from the fire to look me in the eye. “Seriously, Henry? This isn’t news. You’ve been ‘feeling’ something for Matilda since nearly the start of the project. You ignored it. But it was there.”
Annoyance at his perceptiveness flares in me.
“First, I didn’t say it was her. Second, why the hell didn’t you stop me if you saw it happening? Jesus. Way to have my back.”
He huffs at me. “I know it’s her because you weren’t exactly secretive about where and with whom you were spending time. Besides that, it’s you falling for a woman. It’s not like you were stepping in front of a bus and I didn’t stop you.”
“Might as well have been.” I throw my head back and rest it on the top of my chair, staring at the ceiling.
“Way to be dramatic.” He’s not showing me any sympathy here.
“I didn’t want this, Harrison.” I huff and grip my hair with my hands in frustration.
“Yes, you did.” I whip my head to the side to glare at him. “You did, Henry. Once you met her, whether you realized it or not, it was game over for you. If you didn’t want it, you could have—should have—stayed away from her. But you didn’t because, deep down, a part of you recognized something in her that you wanted in your life.”
I grab my glass and take another sip of my whiskey.
“I don’t ever want to end up like Mom did. How do I stop it, make it go away?”
“You can’t. It’s already there.” He taps his chest over his heart. “Now, you decide what to do about it. Then, depending on what you want, you tell her how you feel. After that, it’s out of your hands.”
“I should pretend I don’t feel anything. Let it fade.”
