Page 63 of Better Daddy
“It’s not Paris,” he says as he slips his arms around my waist and presses a gentle kiss to my shoulder. “But we’ll get there, sweetheart. I promise you, we’ll get there.”
This time, the sound that escapes me is definitely a sob. I spin around and wrap my arms around his neck, burrowing into him, my cheek pressed against his steady heart. “I missed you.” Another sob racks my body.
Sully drops his head forehead to my crown and inhales deeply, like he’s committing this moment to memory. When I pull back and peer up at him, his pupils are blown wide, and his face is a mask of emotion.
How the hell did I miss this before? His devotion is written all over him. It’s devastatingly obvious. I feel naked, stripped to my core, as I search each line of his face. Maybe what I once recognized as signs that he was falling out of love with me were really just the instances when he was getting it wrong. Fucking up. Making mistakes. Because it’s clear as day now, as memory after memory assaults me, that even as he was working too much, sitting silently at the dinner table, texting just to say hi less and less, that he never forgot me. He merely forgot to let me know he still cared.
Rather than drive that point home, rather than insist he’s been here all along, Sully drops his forehead to mine. “I will claw my way back to you if that’s what it takes. Please, sweetheart, just tell me you’ll let me try.”
The tear that slides down my husband’s cheek is what breaks me completely. Shatters every wall. Obliterates all my excuses.
“How?” is all I manage to get out.
Straightening, he clears his throat, like he’s getting ready to sell his pitch. “We date.”
“We date.” I try the words on for size. They feel all wrong. I don’t want to date my husband. Dating is foreign. It’s for people who don’t know one another. And yet, do we?
We did, once upon a time, but over the years, we’ve gotten so much wrong. So maybe we didn’t know one another as well as I thought.
“I don’t want to confuse T.J.” He was my primary concern when I filed for divorce, and that hasn’t changed.
Sully nods. “I agree.”
“Okay,” I say. It’s a breathy sigh, but it’s resolute and maybe hopeful.
“Okay?” Sully’s expression slowly morphs into a genuine grin. “Really?”
I nod. “I want to try. Do we, like, check in with each other about how we’re feeling, in case you change your mind?”
An emotion I can’t decipher crosses his face, further proving just how much I have to learn about my husband.
“Let’s take it a day at a time,” he says. “We’re not going to fix us overnight. I may be ready to jump back into this marriage with both feet, but you’re right to be hesitant. I was—” He huffs out an aggravated breath. “I was a bloody wanker to you for too long. Don’t let me off the hook easy, okay? I can do better and I want to earn you.”
I rub my thumbs against his jaw, enamored. The earnest self-reflection is a surprise. Though after the way he’s behaved for the last couple of months, picking me up from work, listening, giving me space when I need it, the dedication is not surprising. And his sheer will to get this right leaves me filled with hope.
“You weren’t the only one who made mistakes,” I say. “I should have spoken up sooner. I should have?—”
He presses a finger to my lips. “Shh, sweetheart. Let me own this. You can tell me all about your faults later.”
A surprised giggle escapes me. “I don’t have any faults, baby.”
Eyes warming, he pecks my lips. “I’ve bloody missed that name.” He angles in for another kiss, this one longer, messier, and licks into my mouth like he can’t get enough. And with his hands on my ass, he lifts me and turns toward the door.
I pull back. “Where are you taking me?”
“To our bed, sweetheart. I’m taking my wife to our bed so I can do some more apologizing.”
I sigh against his mouth, because there’s nothing I want more.
We wake sometime later to giggles and loud whispers. “Shh, maybe if we’re quiet, they won’t know we peeked.”
Amusement rushes over me, mixed with a hint of frustration. That’s totally T.J.
“Um, no thanks. My dad will freak out if he misses my reaction to our first Christmas.”
I bring a hand to my mouth. God, Murphy is the sweetest. I don’t think there’s another six-year-old in existence who possesses the kind of empathy he does. And he’s not wrong. By reining T.J. in, he’s ensuring none of us have to deal with a nuclear-level meltdown from Cal. If he misses a single second of this first holiday with his son, we’ll never hear the end of it.
Unfortunately, T.J. is just as good at having epic meltdowns. “Come on, it’s just one present.”
