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YOUR DAUGHTER
Finn
Zach’s eyes flutter closed as he settles under the covers with a contented sigh. But before I turn off the lights, he pats a small spot on the bed next to him. “Right here, Dad.”
“What’s right there?”
Does he want me to join him? I’ve been back for a week, and since Candace and Michael took a trip to Maine, I’ve had this kiddo all to myself for the last several days.
The extra time has been great. Visiting science museums, going to the playground, debating what kind of pizza we prefer but opting for Chinese instead because a trendy new Chinese restaurant opened around the block. I get the super spicy noodles, and he doesn’t, and I try not to think of Jules and how much she loves spice.
But that describes the last week—I’m trying to forget Jules. So far, I’m not winning that battle.
“This is where Tiramisu can go,” Zach says.
Right. His future dog. I ruffle his hair and drop a kiss to his forehead. “Next weekend. It’s on.”
“Yes,” he says, pumping a fist as he yawns.
I say goodnight and then head downstairs, grab my laptop, and settle in at the kitchen counter. I search out dog walkers since I’ll need someone during the day when I’m at work, and dog trainers since I know nothing about how to teach a pup to sit or stay.
But I promised this kid a dog, and I’m getting him a dog. Does Jules like dogs?
I roll my eyes. Of course she likes dogs. I grab my phone and tap out a text asking that question, but before I hit send, I berate myself once more.
What are you doing, man? Sending her a text like she’s your girlfriend?
Nope.
You don’t need to interact with her.
But I want to. Fuck, do I want to.
Except, if something were going to happen with her, it would have happened already. I told her in my hotel room how I felt. That she was perfect for me. That I wantthis. But she didn’t seem ready, so I didn’t push it. I don’t want to be that guy.
I click over to the dog rescue David suggested, checking the hours for next weekend. But first, there’sthisweekend. And the triathlon with Tate on Sunday.
That should be real fun. Groaning in annoyance, I drag a hand through my hair. I haven’t trained with him since I returned. Don’t want to face him. There are too many things I want to say to him.
I half want to cancel the event but I follow through on my commitments.
* * *
The event is in a park outside the city. As I near the finish line, I am wrung out. Twenty kilometers on a bike, and 750 meters in the water will do that to you, then add on a 5K. My muscles scream. My lungs beg me to stop moving.
Almost done.
A few more feet, then a few more. I glance behind me. I’m ahead of Tate. We weren’t racing against each other, per se. Neither of us is vying for a top finish. But still, I want to beat him.
I want to beat the fuck out of him.
I always do. But today, I want it more than usual. I want it perversely.
Out of breath, I cross the finish line ahead of Tate.
Take that.
He crosses a few seconds later, sweaty and panting as he offers me a hand to high five. “Nice work,” he says.
