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“Hey, you’re that man from the magazines my mom always buys at the grocery store,” Monica says.
My cheeks should heat from embarrassment as my daughter exposed the fact I keep up with Jimmy’s life as though I’m the president of his fan club, but I have bigger problems. Much bigger problems.
Ice-cold fear snaps me out of my daze. The fear that she’ll be taken from me makes me check on Monica on rare nights. The fear that there will be payback one day for me keeping her from Jimmy. That nightmare is here—except this time, there’s no waking up.
“Kiddo, why don’t you go play in your room for a bit?” I place my hands on her shoulders.
Jimmy’s gaze flits from me down to her.
“I wanna stay here,” she says.
“I know you’re curious, but Mommy has to speak to this man in private. It’s grown-up stuff.” I wrinkle my nose to suggest she’d be bored if she stayed.
She sags her shoulders a bit and waves at Jimmy. “Bye.”
Before he can respond she spins and races down the hall to her room.
Before I can open my mouth, Jimmy speaks. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.” Unshed tears rest in his accusatory eyes.
“I can’t,” I whisper, and my eyes find the floor once more.
“Jesus Christ.”
I look up. He turns away from the front door and stares at the street with one hand on his hip, the other pushed into his dark hair. I glance behind me to make sure Monica isn’t spying, then I step out onto the porch. The screen door bangs shut behind me.
“I have a daughter,” he says to himself.
“We can’t talk about this right now. I know you’re angry, but—”
He whips around, spearing me with a look that could cut through bone. “Angry? That’s the half of it—”
“I get it. But we can’t have this conversation when she’s ten feet away. She’s curious by nature and if she overhears…”
“I wouldn’t know, since I don’t know her.”
In all the years, through everything we’ve been through, even the night everything between us blew up, he hasn’t looked like he hates me as much as he does right now. I can’t say I wouldn’t feel the same way.
“I know.”
He stares as me unblinking, his breathing calming. “Okay, you’re right.”
I almost relish the fact he hasn’t changed. He was always able to compartmentalize his way through a crisis.
The smoke alarm blares through the screen door.
Shit. The chicken.
I spin around and race inside, waving my way through the billowing smoke. The chicken is stuck to the pan, but thankfully there’s no fire. I flip on the fan over the oven and put the pan into the sink. The pan sizzles as water rushes over the charred chicken and burned oil. I open up the back door and the window, then I wave the dish towel under the smoke alarm until it stops.
Small whimpers catch my attention and I toss the dish towel back on the counter. Monica is in the hallway, her fingers in her mouth, crying.
I pick her up. “Shhh, it’s okay, kiddo. It’s done now. Mommy just burnt the chicken.” I rub her back until she stops trembling in my arms. “I’m sorry it scared you, honey. You okay now?”
She nods into my neck, and I set her down. Cupping her face, I wipe the tears from her pudgy cheeks.
“Why don’t you go play while I finish talking to the man at the front door, and then we’ll decide where we’re going to go grab dinner since Mommy burned ours?”
Excitement lights up her cocoa eyes. She gives me one big squeeze before running back to her bedroom.
