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Chapter thirty-seven

Simon

Icheck that Theo is still parked at the coffee table, legs swinging as he shovels cereal into his mouth, before I slip downstairs to the basement. The water’s still running in the upstairs shower, which gives me maybe five more minutes at most. My office down here is quiet except for the low hum of the dehumidifier and the faint metallic smell of gun oil. I move fast, boots soft on the concrete, heading straight for the closet I turned into a walk-in gun safe years ago. The lock clicks open under my fingers, and I’m already reaching for the ammo case on the middle shelf—the one I’ve been using to hide the ring—when I hear the soft patter of small feet on the stairs.

“Daddy?” Theo’s voice echoes down, way too loud for what I’m trying to pull off. “What you doing?”

“Hang on, buddy!” I call, voice tight as I yank open the ammo case on the middle shelf—the one I’ve been using as a decoy. I grab the small velvet box tucked behind the empty magazines, flip it open just long enough to confirm the ring is still there, then snap it shut and shove it deep into my pocket.

Theo appears in the doorway right as I straighten up, eyes big and curious as he peers inside at the racks of rifles and locked cases. “Can I help? Is it secret stuff? Army guy secrets?”

“You’re not allowed in here,” I say, sharper than I mean to. I step forward and gently but firmly shoo him back, one hand on his shoulder. The last thing I need is Blaire catching wind that he even got a glimpse of the weapons. “Let’s go get dressed. You done eating?”

Thank fuck Theo isn’t more emotionally perceptive, because I sound like a panicked mess—voice too quick, movements too jerky. He just shrugs and turns toward the stairs without argument.

I herd him back up before he can ask anything else, heart still kicking a little harder than usual. By the time we reach his room, Blaire’s shower is off and I her hair dryer is on. I pull the black shirt and little green vest Blaire picked out from his dresser and hold them up. “Arms up, little man.”

Theo wrinkles his nose at the outfit. “Nooo, I want the dinosaur shirt! The one with the big T-rex eating a pizza!”

I shake my head, already tugging the black shirt over his head. “Not today, buddy. Mommy picked out matching clothes for all of us.”

I’m crouched in front of Theo’s dresser when he pouts, lower lip sticking out in full dramatic form. “But the dinosaur one is cooler.”

“Cooler doesn’t win against matching,” I tell him, helping him into the green vest and buttoning his jeans. “You match Daddy!” I say, trying to get him more excited about his outfit. He tilts his chin up. His eyes track from my textured green sweater—some soft thing Blaire probably picked up at Marchell’s—down to my own pair of jeans. Then he glances at his matching vest jeans. Theo nods slowly, like he’s conducting an official inspection.

“I look like Daddy,” he announces, clearly pleased with himself now.

I crouch down to finish buttoning Theo’s green vest, then straighten up and ruffle his hair. “Just like me. Let’s go get your boots on. I think Mama’s about done with her makeup.”

He stomps ahead of me into the living room, and I follow, for a short minute I forgot about the box in my pocket. But standing shifted its weight just enough to remind me, and my heart immediately tries to escape my chest at the reminder. I swallow the nerves, glancing nervously towards the bathroom where Blaire is.

“Daddy! Boots!” Theo demands, having now planted himself on the living room rug.

I drop to one knee in front of him, grabbing the brand-new hiking boots we bought last weekend. “Alright, alright. Hold still.”

I’m just wrestling the second boot onto his small foot when Blaire enters the room, her phone held out in front of her.

“Have you seen this?” she asks quietly.

“Probably not,” I answer, the corner of my mouth twitching in dry amusement. I barely touch my own phone unless it’s ringing, and I get every scrap of online drama secondhand from her anyway. I finish tying the final knot, give the laces one last tug, and straighten up, taking the phone from her hand.

It’s a pregnancy announcement. Veronica’s. Her holding a barely swollen belly with one hand and an ultrasound in the other, with the words Baby Crane coming October 2026 as the caption. She’d tagged me on Facebook, right there for the entire world to see.

“Mama I got new boots!” Theo shouts, jumping up from the couch and stomping across the hardwood.

“ I see them! They look great, quiet feet inside.” Blaire keeps her voice light for Theo’s sake as she turns her attention back to me. “You didn’t tell me she’d decided to announce it.”

She’s trying not to let it get to her, but I know that jealousy fueled blush creeping across her throat. She never got to do an official announcement with Theo. We were already split up by then, and it hadn’t felt right. She’d barely posted anything about his birth, only started sharing photos of him regularly after his first birthday.

"I didn't know she was going to. I would have told you."

I can’t stop Veronica from telling people or posting whatever she wants—that’s her right—but I never agreed to be publicly claimed as the father. I'm already pulling my phone out of my pocket to remove myself from being tagged, and I’m mentally adding “call Mark about no contact order again” to a list that seems to keep getting longer.

“Mommy, where we going?” Theo pipes up, tugging on Blaire’s leg.

Blaire glances down at him with a soft smile, ruffling his hair. “We’re going on a big hike with Mimi and Papa, remember? To take family pictures.”

“I don’t wanna hike.” He groans, then turns to me. “Can I have snack?”