Page 13 of Better Daddy
The wanker was in our class at Columbia, and he had his eye on my girl from day one. Sloane never gave me a reason to worry back then, but now? So much has fucking changed. She kicked me out, is moving on, and went to work for the tosser. Is there a chance she wants to be with him now?
In the last several years, she’s drifted away from me. Our struggles with T.J.’s excessive energy and horrible ideas, and her desire for—and my apprehension about—another baby, put a wedge between us. Not to mention all the time I had to put in to get where I am in my career. Sometimes I’d fall asleep thinking I didn’t even know the person next to me anymore. And in those moments, I missed Sloane desperately.
But I never knew how to explain any of it to her.
Maybe I should have just given in when she told me she wanted another child. But at the time, we were barely hanging on with just T.J. I didn’t see how we could handle another little one. Especially after the scare we suffered during her first pregnancy. Even now, when I think about how her placenta ruptured and I almost lost both her and T.J., that overwhelming grief threatens to take hold of me.
I fight the shudder.
We discussed it multiple times, and each time I was adamant that the timing wasn’t right. I never imagined that asking her to wait would mean losing her.
I should have paid more attention. I don’t know how to bemewithout her.
When we met, I was the get-by guy. My father owned a successful firm. My position was all but guaranteed. All I hadto do was make it through law school. There was no pressure to live up to potential, because no one ever saw more in me. Not my mother, who was too busy with her own life to remember I existed half the time, nor my father, who was building his empire. As long as I wasn’t a problem, I was left to my own devices. Until Sloane came along. She saw a kind of potential in me I didn’t know existed. She pushed me to be better.
I worked hard to prove I was worthy of her. She blew me away with her brains and her beauty and her excitement for all things in life.
Now that she doesn’t want me anymore, the world has lost its color.
I’m miserable without her. My life is nothing. But is it possible that she’s flourishing without me?
“Why is she happy?” I demand, my already demolished heart aching.
Madame E floats past me and opens the back of her green Mini Cooper. “Like I told your father and your brother, I only see what I see.”
I drop the bags into the cargo area with a bit more force than I intend, but I don’t apologize for it. I’m too frustrated to do anything but back away, hands balled into fists at my sides.
“Have a good night, Sullivan, and remember to smile.” She hops into her car with an exuberance a seventy-year-old should not possess.
She peels out, and I’m once again alone. I scrub a hand down my face. Bubbly dances and smiles. Sounds like a load of gobshite. But then again, so did the prediction about the incubator. So as I drive into Manhattan, I remind myself over and over that I’m happy, even bubbly.
When I reach the high-rise not far from Rockefeller Center, I pull into the underground parking garage, trying not to agonize over how fucking nice it is compared to my officebuilding in Jersey.
It’s bloody absurd to be jealous. Will’s father’s firm is rubbish. Bunch of nutters overcharging clients and winning less than half their cases. Murphy and Machon, the New York Office, is still running six blocks away, even if Cal, Brian, and I are stuck in Jersey for the time being. The atmosphere my father created far surpasses that of Higgins’s firm. And in nine months, Sloane and I will be back there together. As long as I can convince her to move in with me now.
And I will. We can’t lose the firm. So, I take Madame E’s advice. With a forced smile on my face, I step through the doors and ride up the enemy’s elevator to my wife. As the numbers lit up above the door creep higher, I double-check the basket I brought. It’s full of all of Sloane’s favorite pregnancy items. Belly butter, Earth Mama heartburn and anti-nausea teas, ginger candies, and a picture of the body pillow I purchased and left on the bed for her. I even tossed in a box set ofGrey’s Anatomy, the show she binged while she was pregnant with T.J.
My smile becomes easier as I remember how many of those episodes ended up with Sloane naked and crying out my name. The happiness is joined with longing the more I think about it. What I’d give to have those days back. If only I could go back in time and tell that young, dumb sod just how good he had it. Warn him not to mess it all up.
The elevator dings and I shake myself out of my melancholy. Right now, I’m the only one who can fix my marriage. And the only way to do that is to convince Sloane to give us a chance.
I breeze past the reception area with a quick greeting. It pays to have the reputation I’ve curated over the years. No one even bats an eye. Though the man sitting at the desk outside Sloane’s office seems less than pleased to see me. He’s maybe twenty-five, with the kind of preppy look that says he uses summer as a verb. I can picture him talking about how he summers on the Cape and winters in Aspen.
His immediate smirk when he spots me has me rattled. “Well, if it isn’t the baby daddy.”
“Husband,” I snap, forgetting that I’m supposed to be smiling.
“Hmm.” He chuckles. “Not sure about that.” His brown eyes cut to the basket in my hands.
I pull it closer to my side, like it needs protecting. I spent hours finding Sloane’s favorites because I want her to know that I remember. That I care. But I don’t want this arsehole judging me.
He arches a brow. “The baby daddy is a sure thing, though.”
Jaw tightening, I turn toward my wife’s office. The move only ratchets up the tension that’s worked its way back into me. Because Will Freaking Higgins is there, leaning over my wife’s desk. They aren’t touching, and his hands are firmly planted on the wooden surface, but my body rebels at the idea. Without giving the preppy boy behind the desk another glance, I storm into Sloane’s office.
“For my wife.” I drop the basket in front of her, though my attention is fixed on the man with beady green eyes who’s standing too close.
He looks down at the basket, and his brow pinches slightly as he takes it all in. When he zeroes in on me, his expression turns pensive. “Sully,” he says as he steps away from the desk.
