Page 5 of Better Daddy
I nod but keep my mouth shut, afraid that if I speak, I’ll wax poetically about it, and that’ll only send her storming out.
“The night I brought T.J. over for his first sleepover in this shithole? When we took the boys to dinner?”
I nod again. Hell yes, I remember that night. Vividly. Although dinner with T.J. and Murphy isn’t the part that’s replayed in my mind constantly since.
“The dinner where you ordered Irish whiskeys and insisted I drink with you?”
I almost stop her, because that’s not precisely how I remember it, but this conversation—and the way the night ended—makes me think that my hope that she dragged me out of my office for sex might not be that far off, and I don’t want to mess that up. I’d bloody kill to be allowed to touch my wife again.
“Where we ended up in bed.”
“Our anniversary,” I remind her.
She scowls and hisses ayes.
She’s giving off a peevish vibe, yet she’s pulled me into the supply cupboard and she’s bringing up the last time we had sex? Color me confused.
She’s no longer speaking. Instead, she’s breathing heavily, bloody staring at me like she’s waiting for me to respond.
So I take a stab in the dark. “Did you bring me in here hoping for a repeat?”
She stomps her foot, and I swear smoke pours out of her ears.
“No,” she snaps. “I brought you into this damn closet to sayI’m pregnant.”
The words rattle around my head, loosening cobwebs as thick as the ones in this dark, dusty space.
Utter elation hits me first. This may be the solution I’ve been searching for. If Sloane is pregnant, maybe she’ll want to be a family again. She’ll call off the divorce. We’ll have our second chance.
I still remember the first time we found out we were pregnant. It was seven years ago, and after almost a year of trying, my wife flew out of the master bathroom of our penthouse, a little pink stick in her hand and a smile on her face, shouting the words I’d been waiting to hear.
Everything is different this time around, though, because while Sloane is technically my wife, theexpart is there, floating in the periphery.
Could a baby be the answer? Honestly, another child has been the farthest thing from my mind since she asked me to move out. Then again, the night she stayed over wasn’t in our plan, and look how that turned out. Every day since our anniversary, I’ve been desperate to have her again. And again. I want to keep her forever.
But that’s not in her plans.
Now, though, those plans will have to be altered.
I take her in, scanning her fitted black dress, appreciating the way it clings to her luscious hips. I drink in the long legs that have always been my obsession, stopping only when I get to the sky-high rose gold heels. The ones with red souls.Herobsession.
She must have come from the office. She looks dressed for a day at the fancy firm where she works with the man who tried his best to steal her from me during law school.
Frustration flares like it always does when thoughts of her going to work for the enemy hit me. They dissipate quickly, though, when I notice the tiniest of bumps pressing against her suit jacket. It’s practically imperceptible. In fact, I’m probably imagining it. It’s more likely the leftover C-section bump. That doesn’t detract from the fact thatthis woman, the woman I still love more than words could express, is growing my child.
I blink at the idea. “Oh shit. You’rethe incubator.”
Sloane’s mouth falls open, and she gasps.
My stomach instantly plummets. What a fucking terrible response. Anyone with half a brain would know not to say something that fucking stupid to a woman who’s just announced that she’s with child. Especially when said child is theirs. Apparently my brain shut down atpregnant.
Despite the faux pas, I can’t help but smile. This might be exactly what we need. My wife is carrying my child. A heady sensation rushes over me. There is nothing I want more in this world than my wife and son. To put my family back together. And now, not only do I have the opportunity to pick up the pieces, but our family is growing.
“Incubator?” The word is rightfully shrill. While I’ve been skipping along, mentally healing our wounds, she’s been stuck on that. Can’t exactly blame her. That wasn’t my best moment.
Before I can respond, the door flies open and two people fall into a heap on the ugly gold carpet.
“Cal!” Lo, one of said people, yells at my brother, who is standing in the doorway.
