Page 66 of The Single Dad Project

Lifting his beer once more, he sipped the alcohol and glanced over the couch back toward the hall. Justine should be asleep by now, but he was always cautious when talking about her mother. He didn’t want to badmouth his ex, his child’s mother, poisoning Justine’s mind against her.

“She became pregnant with Justine,” Flo said, drawing his attention back to her. Surprise rippled through him, and she shrugged a shoulder. “I can add. Or subtract.”

He nodded. “Yeah, she became pregnant. And we got married.”

“Would you have, if the circumstances had been different?”

How many times had he asked himself that same question? Thousands. Tens of thousands over the years. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know. Maybe. In time, eventually.” Obviously, even after the number of times he’d posed this question to himself, hestilldidn’t know the answer. “Doesn’t matter now. We made our choices, and we have to live with them. And maybe I would’ve done some things differently, but having Justine isn’t one of them.”

“Of course not,” Flo whispered.

“For a while, we were good. But by the time Jussy turned two, I could see Jennifer getting restless. It was little things at first. We would argue over the smallest topics. She claimed to be bored, and then she said more pointed things, like she’d already been a parent, that this wasn’t the life she’d imagined for herself. Long lunches with friends would turn into nights out. And then she occasionally stayed out all night. Said she’d gotten tipsy and slept over at a friend’s house.”

“She cheated on you?” Flo frowned, shifting and tucking her foot underneath a thigh.

Her voice held a note of disbelief, and in spite of the subject, a ghost of humor flickered inside him. She actually sounded offended on his behalf.

“No, she didn’t,” he said, but then amended, “Well, I don’t think so because I never did have proof of any infidelity. Your wife stays out all night, yeah, that’s the first place your mind goes. But I don’t know. And by the time we separated and then divorced, I didn’t care. Because maybe we could’ve worked past that issue. But feeling too tied down, needing the space to discover who she was and live the life she never had the opportunity to experience because of her childhood?Thatwe couldn’t get over. Because Justine deserves more than a part-time parent who calls off work more than she shows up. I understood Jenn’s needs—that’s why I didn’t fight her on the divorce—but not being there for our daughter?” He shook his head. “That I’ll never understand.”

A thick silence descended between them. It was weighted with emotion, words said and unsaid. And underneath, the simmering tension that never fully dissipated whenever they were within breathing distance of each other. Even as he relayed the biggest failure in his life, his cock pulsed with need.

And wasn’t that the fucked-up part of it all? Why he’d issued that warning? Because no matter that he knew she had yet to experience more of life, he wanted her. Wanted her so badly he could still taste her, feel her hands stroke over his skin...feel the tight, silken clasp of her sex.

“I’m sorry, Adam. I’ve never been married so I’ve never suffered the pain and grief of a divorce. I can only imagine it’s like a form of death. Not just the marriage and relationship, but a dream, too. That idea of what your future looked like for you and Jussy,” she said, and in those pretty brown eyes, he glimpsed sympathy, not pity. His chest loosened a fraction. “But again, I’m not your wife,” she added, as if plucking his thoughts right out of his head. “And it isn’t fair to paint me with her brush. You don’t know enough about me to assume that just because I’m younger I don’t know my own mind.”

“That’s not how I see you,” he countered. At this point he should shut down this conversation—a conversation he’d initiated—before it verged into territory neither one of them was ready to trek. So yes, he should shut up. But the hurt shimmering underneath the matter-of-fact tone of her voice wouldn’t allow it. “There’s nothing indecisive about you. On the contrary, Flo. You’re driven, ambitious, focused. You’re just twenty-four and you already have your own business. You’re gifted and not just good at your job. It’s your passion. Which is why you’d spend two weeks in another country pursuing that passion and learning from others to improve your craft. While you love your studio, there’s a fire inside you, an almost restless need that won’t permit you to be satisfied with just taking pictures for holidays, christenings and graduations. You want more. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

But it was thatmorethat made him nervous. Made him want to erect a hedge of protection around Justine’s heart. Because one woman who neededmorehad already walked away from her. From them. He couldn’t allow Flo to be another one.

He couldn’t let himself forget the potential cost of becoming involved with Flo, of falling for her. The price would be too high, and it wouldn’t only be him paying it.

“Then why does it still sound like an indictment?” she murmured.

“Not an indictment, just the truth,” he returned in that same low voice. “You should want all of that. You should live it, experience it. That’s your right, and nothing, or no one, should hold you back from it. That’s all I’m saying, Flo.”

A beat of silence pounded between them, and he expected her to look away from him, to change the subject. To let it go. But this was Flo. And maybe, eventually, he would learn to stop underestimating her. Apparently, tonight wasn’t it.

“And you would hold me back from it?” she pressed, exposing his explanation to the light of truth.

A truth he could choose to either back away from or confront head-on.

“You’ve told me about your family, but I haven’t been honest about mine,” he said. This was...odd for him. He didn’t talk about his past, his father. Hell, he didn’t even likethinkingabout the old man, much less discussing him. Part of him felt like the man was part Candyman. Say his name too many times, and he just might show up. Best to keep Maurice Reed out his mouth. Silently sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his head. “My parents divorced when I was seven. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. My father kicked my mother out of our house when I was seven. According to him, my mother cheated on him and forfeited her rights to our family. That’s who he was—is—the kind of man who would use his child as a pawn to hurt someone else. He was domineering, cold, what we would call verbally abusive now. And selfish. I don’t know what he had on my mother to keep her away from me, but he kept his promise that day she left. He told her she’d never see me again, and she didn’t.”

But had his mother tried harder to go up against his father and sued for custody? Even today, thirty years later, he didn’t have the answer to that. He couldn’t trust the truth to come out of Maurice Reed’s mouth if it was pried with the jaws of life. And his mother...

“I’m so sorry, Adam,” Flo whispered.

He shrugged a shoulder and,It is what it ishovered on his tongue. But at the last moment, he didn’t say it. Because if the delusion of his parents’ marriage and the subsequent absence of his mother wasn’t that big of a deal, he wouldn’t still dream about it. Wouldn’t still nurse an emotional wound that affected the man and parent he’d become.

Wouldn’t still have fear trickling in his veins at even the thought of a relationship.

He nodded. “I didn’t have my mother, but I had several mother figures—several stepmothers. See, my father had a thing for relationships, for falling in ‘love.’ Except he had no idea how to stay in love. Inevitably, the nitpicking would start. ‘Why does this house look like this?’ ‘Is it too much to ask to have dinner on the table when I get home?’ ‘What kind of woman can’t control her kid?’ Then the name-calling. Bitch. Lazy ass. Whore. Then the threats. ‘You think I can’t find another woman? Fix your shit or you’re out of here.’”

Though Adam repeated the vitriol he’d heard so often throughout his childhood, his father’s voice rattled in his head like angry ghosts.

“None of my father’s relationships lasted past the five-year mark. My mother was probably the exception. It seemed like he was incapable of being in a healthy union, and that bled over to me. Yes, I always had a roof over my head, clothes on my back. And never did I go to bed hungry. But he was a bully with exacting and unobtainable standards. God help anyone who didn’t meet them. That’s the thing, though—no one ever could. All I saw growing up was this toxic cycle, and though it takes two to make a relationship successful, my father was the common denominator. And when I left for college, I never returned home to stay. I visited because my sister remained with him and whatever girlfriend or wife he had at the time. She was only eleven when I went to school, and I tried to protect her as best as I could from the chaos in our house. But some things...” He shook his head. “Some things you can’t outrun, you just have to outlive. Like your past. Like generational scars.”

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