Page 7 of Better Daddy
I sigh, my whole being sinking. This child doesn’t even have fully formed limbs, yet I’m already missing the important things. Goddammit. Just like with T.J.,who I only see every other weekend and the occasional weekday now that Sloane and I are separated.
But complaining won’t help at this moment. No, in this moment, my wife and children are all that matter.
“It’s not a bomb, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me that,” she growls.
Right. I’m not allowed to do that anymore. She made that clear.
“This isn’t a bomb,” I correct. “It’s incredible.”
She blinks, her blue eyes going a little glassy, and sucks in a breath. “You don’t want more kids.”
That isn’t entirely true, but this is not the time to get into that. “I will always love our family, no matter the size, because it’s ours.”
She scowls. “There is no ours.”
Pain ricochets through me. She’s wrong. This pregnancy is giving us another chance at an ours, and I won’t be the arsehole who messes up this gift.
“That’s not true,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. “There will be an ours again.” Instinctively, I tuck her dark hair behind one ear, and for a moment, she almost leans into it. Smiling, I duck closer. “Because you’re carrying my heir, so now you have to move in with me.”
Her eyes narrow to slits and she steps away. Maybe her reaction should discourage me, but nothing could take away from the hope that’s pumping through my veins. My wife is pregnant. Everything is going to be perfect.
Chapter 3
Sloane
“Because you’re carrying my heir.” The words play on repeat in my head. Of course his main concern is the damn company. I learned a long time ago to expect nothing less. I just forgot for a moment this afternoon.
We’re getting divorced, I remind myself. That night—the night I’ve thought about more than I’ll ever admit—meant nothing to him. It wasjustsex. Amazing sex, really, but just sex. Because even though my husband and I might not know how to have a civil conversation anymore, our sexual chemistry is as strong as it’s ever been.
I blink at the man who’s owned my body for the last two decades, and it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. His light brown hair is slicked back perfectly, while when we were younger, it was always just a little messy. And the hints of gray are new. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt beneath a blue Tom Ford suit that emphasizes the wide shoulders and strong chest I used to love resting my head against when we’d stay up late talking and fucking and planning for the future. A dusting of stubble covers his chin, the gray making an appearance there too. And his eyes? They’ve always done me in. A silvery blue that turns glacial when his emotions run high, whether it was because we were fucking or fighting.
His eyes were the same color either way, as was his tone.
I always liked the way he talked to me in the bedroom. Still do, if our night a few weeks ago is anything to go by. I don’t mind his single-minded focus when we’re in a lust-filled haze. How he doesn’t mince words. It’s nice to shut off my mind and allow him to control my pleasure since I spend so much of my life in my damn head, ensuring I keep my weaknesses from showing. From a young age, I was taught never to let an opponent see my vulnerabilities. Being raised by serious, dedicated lawyers—one of whom went on to become one of the first female judges in our district—will do that to a kid.
No, I don’t actually have to appear in front of my mother, but when I started practicing law, she’d sit in when I was in front of her colleagues and later point out all the ways she could tell I was rattled. She’d focus on the instances when I showedweakness, as she put it.
It took time, but eventually, I mastered the mask that my husband has told me a time or two makes me seem like a shrill bitch.
Okay, he’s never actually used those words, but it’s implied.
“Sloane,breathe.” It’s Lo who has me sliding out of ice mode and softening.
I turn away from Sully and nod at my best friend. For as long as I’ve known her, Lo has worn her red hair in a tight braid down her back. Today, though, it hangs loose like a curtain around her freckled face as she studies me like I’m deranged.
“Do you want Cal to go grab coffees for us?” She winces immediately, probably realizing it at the same time I do. I can’thavecoffee.
Dammit, if I’d known this morning’s cup would be my last, I would have savored it. You never know when it will be your last sip.
I glance around the disaster of an office the Murphy brothers have moved into and have to hold back a snort. It’s so like Terry to pull something like this. The man always had to have the last word.
And he’s certainly gotten it. This is the last place I’d ever picture any of the posh Murphy men in. Sully and his brother Cal grew up in England with their mother but came here after high school, and for aslong as I’ve known them, they’ve had this crisp, put-together air about them.
Their late father was the same way, though he was American.
It’s still hard to believe he’s gone.
