Page 22 of Loving at 40

“I didn’t mean—”

“Get out.” He directs his gaze to the ceiling as he growls his command and then rolls to his side, giving me his back.

I pause for a moment, reflecting on the fact he helped me carry my girls into the apartment. He played with them on the beach. He took care of me during my migraine and then took my kids to my friend for help with their needs. I was a terrible mother, and I was an awful friend. Anna asked me to be here for her, and I’ve abandoned her repeatedly. I’m also being unfair to Archer.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, but he doesn’t turn back to me, and I find it best. While silently igniting a long-forgotten fuel inside me, his constant gaze makes me uneasy. I shouldn’t be attracted to him, and I most definitely should not be in his bed. Removing my legs from under the covers, I discover I’m still wearing my shorts and tee from yesterday after the beach. I need a shower and something to eat, but I don’t want to disturb the girls or Archer in the middle of the night. Instead, I creep out of Archer’s room and close the door behind me before collapsing on the couch, no longer in need of sleep.

My thoughts scramble between Archer’s kindness and Ryan’s devotion. We met through friends of friends, and he was relentless in his pursuit to date me. His desire to spend time with me was a nice change of pace. We fell in line with each other, and the compatibility filled all my empty spaces. He was sexual energy and quiet patience. He was laughter at a difficult moment and comfort when I was in pain. He knew the painful parts of my history and promised me he’d be the best father. I believed him. He would have been, had he lived long enough to keep that promise.

But Ryan wasn’t coming back anymore than Ben could return for Anna.

And while I might want to get laid, sleeping with Archer McCaryn would be a different kind of heartbreak, and one I don’t think I’d survive.

+ + +

The next morning, I tiptoe through my routine before scooting the girls out of the apartment. Archer’s bedroom door remains closed, and I’m thankful for the reprieve. I’ve had time to consider what happened and the accusation I made, and I feel sick about it. Allowing him privacy in his own place, I lead the girls to Anna’s, finding the front door open. I’ve taken advantage of my friend and her hospitality, and it’s time for me to step up and be here for her, so I start breakfast for whoever might appear.

Anna enters the kitchen first, looking rested and refreshed. Her body is newly tan from yesterday’s beach day, but one look at me and her expression falls.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” I brush it off, pouring more batter into the waffle maker.

“What did he do now?” Anna exhales, leaning on the counter beside me.

“Actually, it was me,” I admit. Setting the measuring cup on the counter, I place my hands on the cool surface as well and hang my head. “It was my fault.” I turn my head to look at Anna and see Archer over her shoulder just inside the kitchen entry. Pressing upright, I meet his eyes across the room for only a second. He avoids my apologetic eyes, and the rejection feels like a stab to my belly.

“Coffee?” I offer. As a tea drinker, I don’t drink coffee, but I turned on the pot for others. I stare at him a moment longer, admiring the tight fit of his jeans and the forest green tee he wears up top. With his dark features, the color is a nice combination, and I’m reminded of a tree, as in I’d like to climb him like one and beg him to forgive me.

Archer shakes his head. “I’m headed out for the day.”

Anna shifts her gaze from her brother to me and back, mouth falling open before snapping shut. If Archer wanted a moment with his sister, he doesn’t ask to speak to her. He just tips his head at her and turns away.

He’s hardly out the front door when Anna faces me. Her eyes wide. She glances to the side, noting my girls are contently eating before she whispers to me, “Tell me you weren’t with Archer.”

“No.” I shake my head. “No, nothing like that.”

“He’s irresponsible. He’s reckless. Jenna, you do not need someone like him in your life.”

These are exactly the thoughts I’ve already had about Archer. “I know. You’re right. Nothing happened. It was all me.” Then I remember him telling me he brought the girls to Anna last night. “Thank you for last night. I don’t know why he didn’t wake me. He told me how you fed the girls, bathed them, and put them to bed.”

Anna stares at me. “He said you had a headache. It was nothing, but Archer’s the one who tucked them in.”

My head pops up.

“They had dinner with us, and I gave them a bath, but Archer carried them back to your place with Mila as a helper. She said he tucked them in and read them a book.”

What? My neck cranes. I glance toward the front hallway where Archer disappeared and feel even shittier.

9

[Archer]

Yesterday, my reluctant thoughts on a day at the beach changed when Jenna removed the barely-there cover-up and revealed a body-hugging bathing suit that left little to the imagination. In a deep blue color, the one-piece tied at the back of her neck and covered each breast with only a triangle of material. The valley between her ample tits left my mouth watering, and then, there were her damn legs again. She was perfect, but I didn’t miss how her arm covered her belly on occasion as if she were trying to hide her body. Fuck that shit.

Then there was that story about her and some hairy-balls guy. I hate to admit that jealousy swarmed around me over a tale two decades old. I didn’t want her ditching a date because she felt threatened. I wanted her to feel safe and I definitely didn’t want to picture her with someone else, although she’s been married.

When she said her girls were toast, I hadn’t planned on following her, helping her, or finding her suffering from a painful headache. I definitely hadn’t expected to sidle up behind her while she was sleeping in my bed, but I didn’t like the idea of her hurting—headache or otherwise