“Made some an hour ago. Should still be hot.”
He moves around my kitchen like he’s been doing it for years, not since last night. Gets a mug from the right cabinet, knows where I keep the sugar. It should feel strange, but it doesn’t.
“Dad’s not coming back, is he?” Tyson’s voice from the doorway makes everyone freeze.
The lawyers look uncomfortable. Dex sets down his coffee mug. I crouch down to Tyson’s level, struggling to think of what to say.
“Not for a while,” I tell him. “There’s going to be a rule that says he has to stay away from us.”
“Good,” he says, surprising me with the firmness in his voice. “He scared me.”
“I know, buddy. He scared me too.”
Tyson nods, then goes back to his Legos. Simple as that. Kids process things differently than adults expect.
“Jesus,” Dex mutters under his breath.
Jessica clears her throat. “We should discuss what happens next. The full hearing is scheduled for?—”
“Not now,” I interrupt. “Let’s just get through today first.”
She looks like she wants to argue, but something in my expression stops her. “Of course. I’ll call when the order comes through.”
After they leave, the house feels too quiet. Blythe’s eating her sandwich, Tyson’s clicking Legos together, and Dex is washing dishes that don’t need washing.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“Gives me something to do with my hands,” he admits. “Otherwise I might punch a wall.”
“Don’t punch my walls. I just painted them.”
He almost smiles. “Fair enough.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Elliot.
How are you holding up?
Still standing.
That’s something. Need anything?
Maybe later.
I put the phone down, suddenly exhausted despite it being only 10AM.
“Coach Dex?” Blythe’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Are you Mom’s boyfriend now?”
I nearly choke on my coffee. Dex freezes, dish towel in hand.
“Blythe—”
“Because you slept in her room and made pancakes. That’s what boyfriends do. Jordyn’s mom has a boyfriend and she says he makes eggs.”
Leave it to an eight-year-old to cut straight through adult complications.
“Yeah,” Dex says simply. “I guess I am.”
“Good,” she decides. “You’re better at pancakes than Dad. And you don’t yell.”
