Page 122 of Unravel Me

“I could push it? Yeah, I’ll just push it. Then we can have as much time as we need to talk.”

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have shown up unannounced. I dropped Connor off at Brandon’s and instead of going home I wound up here instead.”

“I won’t be long. If you want, you could wait here with Bear, and I’ll come right home.”

“That works.” I scrub Bear’s ears, smiling down at the happy boy. “Let’s go inside and get you comfy on the couch so I can check you out, ’kay, handsome?”

Inside, Adam sets his gardening tools down in the hallway and heads upstairs to shower as I unpack my bag.

“Oh shoot,” I mutter, pulling Connor’s stuffed kitty out. Being with Adam this past summer helped me realize my son is a lot more flexible than I gave him credit for, but the one constant in his life is this kitty in his bed every single night, no matter where he sleeps. I’ve had to walk it over to Brandon’s house while Connor screamed on the other end of the phone far too many times.

Once Bear has been thoroughly checked and I’m confident in his healing, I snuggle beside him, his head in my lap as I call Brandon. It takes three tries before he answers.

“What?”

“I forgot to leave you Connor’s kitty.”

“Fuck, Rosie.” He blows out a deep breath, one I barely hear over all the noise in the background. “That was stupid of you.”

My chest pulls taut at the six-letter word he wields so easily. “I can bring it over later.”

“Yeah, you better,” he mumbles distractedly. “Aw, bullshit! He was on the bag! He’s safe!” Another sigh. “I’ll be home in a couple hours. Bring it over sometime after four.”

“Did you guys go out? That’s fun.” I bite my tongue to stop from asking him if he has our son at a bar while he watches a baseball game.

“Nah, Connor’s at home.”

“Oh. Who’s watching him? I could’ve kept him longer if you wanted to go out.”

He barks a laugh. “Sure, and then you’d bitch at me for not spending more time with him. He’s fine anyway. I set the alarm before I left.”

“You set the…what?”

“The alarm.”

I rub the headache forming in my temples while I process the meaning behind his words, the sound of Adam’s footsteps as he comes down the stairs thumping along with the beat of my agitated heart. “Who’s watching Connor?” I ask again.

“I set the alarm,” he repeats.

“Who the hell is watching Connor, Brandon?”

“Relax,” he says on a muffled whisper. “I put him in his playpen for his nap, and I set the alarm on my way out. I’m just at the bar downstairs.”

“You left ourtoddlerat home alone while you went to get drunk and watch a fuckingbaseballgame?” My last restraint snaps, and I leap to my feet as the words rush out of me, an angry, violent wave that pulses through me. “How can you be so damn careless with your son’s life?”

I don’t stick around to hear his bullshit excuse. Instead, I stuff my phone in my bag and march down the hallway, angry tears flooding my vision as I struggle to put my running shoes on.

“I’m sorry,” I say as Adam forces me to sit on the stairs, slips my shoes on for me. “I have to go. I don’t know how…does he not love him at all? He’s his father, for fuck’s sake.” My fists ball, fingernails biting into flesh, and I mumble a distracted thank you as he helps me back to my feet, opens the door for me, and follows me outside.

“Rosie,” he calls as I start my trek down his driveway.

“I’ll call you later, Adam.”

“Rosie.”

I stop, glancing over my shoulder. He stands at his truck, holding the passenger door open. There’s a tic in his sharp jawline, veins popping in his forearm as he clenches his keys in his fist, anger radiating off him.

“Get in the truck.”

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