Page 57 of The Single Dad Project

Briefly closing his eyes, he flattened his palm on the cracked bedroom door, schooling his features into what he prayed was a pleasant expression that didn’t betray his turbulent roil of emotions.

He pushed the door open and stepped into the room, spotting Justine on her bed, reading one of her books aloud. His smile came a little easier at the sight of her, that clenching around his chest loosened just a fraction. She looked up, and a wide grin spread across her face, and he couldn’t help but return it. God, she was pure, infectious joy, and a fierce surge of protectiveness swelled within him. At all costs, he had to guard and shelter that innocent joy. Even if it was from her mother.

On that thought, he held out the phone to Justine.

“Here, baby girl. It’s your mom on the phone. She wants to talk to you.”

Her grin remained, and Justine hopped off the bed, running the few feet separating them.

“Mommy? Yay!” She held up her arms, and he handed her the cell. Palpable excitement hummed in her voice as she pressed the phone to her ear and exclaimed, “Hi, Mommy!”

Adam didn’t leave the room. Hell, if he’d thought about it, he would’ve put the phone on speaker to cut off the conversation if Jennifer uttered anything upsetting. His ex-wife had a bad habit of asking their daughter to understand why she couldn’t come see her or handing out half-ass excuses about why she hadn’t called and placing the blame everywhere but on herself. At five, Justine couldn’t possibly grasp why a party in Los Angeles with her latest “friend” was more important than spending time with her daughter.

Hell, at thirty-seven, he didn’t get it, either.

But it never occurred to Jennifer to ask that same question.

He crossed his arms over his chest and propped a shoulder against the wall as he eavesdropped on Justine’s very animated exchange with her mother. She chattered away about Rose Bend, her new room, her new friends, especially Flo.

Flo gave me a camera.

Flo let me take pictures.

Flo and me got hot chocolate.

Flo. Flo. Flo. The other woman’s name peppered Justine’s conversation.

After another ten minutes, Justine told her mother goodbye and extended the phone to Adam. Accepting it with one hand, he laid the other on the top of her head.

“We’re getting ready to watch a movie, okay? Go on out there with Flo and pick one for us.”

Justine’s eyes brightened and, cheering, she dashed out of her bedroom, calling Flo’s name. Waiting until he was certain she no longer remained in earshot, he lifted the cell to his ear.

“If that’s it, Jenni—”

“So she’s there right now? ThisFlo,” Jennifer said, voice clipped and carrying more than a trace of irritation. “Don’t try and deny it. I overheard you.”

He swallowed a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Why would I deny it? She’s a friend and is helping me out with Justine. Why wouldn’t she visit us?”

“It’s after seven there,” she pointed out, that same razor edge to her tone. “Isn’t it almost Jussy’s bedtime? You’re there so what exactly is shehelping outwith? Can’t you handle putting our daughter to bed by yourself?”

Anger sizzled beneath his sternum. Did she even hear the words that came out of her mouth? Resentment loosened the bands on his tongue.

“Yes, I can and have been handling Jussy’s bedtime by myself. Bedtime. Breakfast time. Lunchtime. Every time in between. I’ve been doing it by myself for two years now,” he ground out. “Do you really want to get on this subject?”

She sucked her teeth, the immaturity and petulance of the sound setting him further on edge. “Please, Adam. Always the martyr. Don’t you ever get tired of being the victim?”

“The only one hurting in this situation is Jussy. We might be divorced but neither of us divorcedher. And yet, this is the first time you’ve spoken to your daughter in over three months, and I can’t even tell you the last time you laid eyes on her. So don’t come at me about how I’m raising her when I’m the only one actually doing it.”

He tried to remain calm, to keep the bite out of his voice. But last time he checked, the only perfect person had walked the earth two thousand years ago. Perfection was above his pay grade.

“No one can replace me as her mother, Adam,” she snapped. “So don’t you dare try and do it.”

“Mother is a verb, Jennifer, not a noun. Not a title you can trot out and dangle like a shiny thing on a special occasion. It’s being there to celebrate with her when she reads a whole sentence by herself. It’s being there when she’s sick and waking up in the middle of night to creep into her room and just listen to her breathe. It’s enjoying every smile and bearing through every whine. It’s all the little and big things, Jennifer. And you’ve missed damn near all of them in the last couple of years. Because you’re. Not. Here.”

“That’s not true—” she hotly objected.

---