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I know it wasn’t. Since we were so rudely interrupted by fucking John calling to try to ruin our life, nothing beyond wandering hands and late-night cuddles have happened. Well, besides her kissing me.
That definitely wasn’t nothing.
Still, I hum teasingly like I don’t believe her, stooping to kiss her cheek before lightly slapping her ass to get her moving again. “Sure it wasn’t.”
Sunday huffs and slaps me away, and I get a welcome eyeful of her ass as she strides ahead.
“Admit it,” I jog the couple steps it takes to catch up with her. “You feel better.”
“Ifeellike I’m a million months pregnant and my ankles are swollen and your face is pissing me off.”
“What’ve I said about being mean to me, baby?”
Despite her sullen expression, a laugh bubbles up in her throat. “Jesus Christ, you really don’t have an off button, do you?”
“You wanna look and find out? I won’t object to a thorough search.”
Coming to a stop, Sunday covers her face with her hands but that does nothing to hide another laugh and the upward curve of her mouth.
“There you go,” I coo, only half teasing as I peel her hands from her face. “Much better.”
She scowls some more but it’s a soft scowl. Her‘you’re annoying me but I kinda like it’scowl. The‘just for me’scowl. God, I think I love that scowl.
When we start walking again, the aggression in her gait has lessened and she’s not breathing as deeply, proof that she was just working herself up. I can’t blame her. She’s got a lot to be worked up about.
Yesterday was… fuck, yesterday was awful. Watching her get beaten down all day was awful, and watching August react to it was worse. I think he took it worse than Sunday did; while she kind of just dealt with the downpour of not-so-subtle digs, he spent the day looking like he was constantly taking uppercuts to the gut, and I could relate. It just got worse and worse and worse, culminating in The Dinner.
And The Text reminding me about The Email and The Contract I’ve yet to sign. The one I’ve been waiting months for yet as soon as I got it, I felt sick to my stomach.
I still do. An anxious coil lives in my gut, accompanied by a vicious knot of frustration because fuck me, talk about shitty timing. Unease too because I’m not excited. Here’s my chance to play again, the one thing I’ve been wanting so bad, and I just feel… numb.
I look at the woman waddling beside me and somehow, she eases those conflicting emotions while simultaneously making them worse.
By the time we make it back to the house, I’m as close to relieving my anxiety as Sunday is hers. She’s still gnawing on her thumbnail, and when we catch sight of the small figure hunched over on the porch, she almost rips the thing clean off.
“Is that August?”
The question has barely left my mouth before Sunday is gasping and taking off at an extraordinary pace for a pregnant woman. Dropping onto the porch beside him, she palms his cheeks, and I wonder if the pain in my gut at the sight of the tear-stains marking them is anything close to the pain undoubtedly in hers. “What the hell? What’re you doing here?”
August sniffs loudly, confesses quietly. “John dropped me off.”
Ponytail whipping through the air like a knife, Sunday searches the driveway, like she’s expecting to find John hiding in the bushes. “And he justleft?”
“He was mad.”
As I reach them, I crouch, gripping him gently by the knees. “About what, buddy?”
Eyes on my hands, he sniffs again, his voice thick with the tears he’s holding back. “I said I don’t care what the test says. He’s not my dad and I don’t wanna live with him.” Slowly, he lifts his head, watery gaze locking with mine. “I told him you’re more like my dad than he will ever be.”
Oh, fuck. “August…”
“I know,” he cuts me off with a sob. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’re not my dad.”
“Kid—”
“He called me stupid and said you would never love another man’s son and that—”
“Jesus, August.” It’s my turn to cut him off. Dropping to my knees, I yank him close, giving him no choice but to accept the hug I crush him in. A moment of surprised hesitation is all there is before skinny arms wrap around my neck and squeeze tight enough to cut off airflow, tears soaking my skin as the dam breaks and August starts making fucking soul-crushing noises, weeping in my arms. When I risk a glance aside, Sunday’s crying too and fuck, I think I’m about seconds away from making it a full house. “That’s bullshit. That is such fucking bullshit. He has no idea what he’s talking about.”
