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She dashes down the stairs before I can say anything, and even though I follow her down at a close clip, all I end up doing is shouting after her through my open front door.
“Liv, please!”
But she doesn’t stop. Liv just climbs into her car, reverses out of the drive, and takes off down the road back to John’s.
“Fuck.”
I go back inside and end up in the kitchen by habit. Slamming my hands down on the cool marble, I sigh.
What was that all about? What did Natasha say to her that spooked her so much?
But I can only guess it had something to do with taking down my business. Natasha was pretty fucking clear about her plans, and if Liv found out, she’s probably distancing herself from me.
To protect me.
And she did say she wasn’t feeling well this morning. That’s great. Natasha probably made her feel that much sicker. Truly, what did I see in that woman?
This is exactly one of the risks Liv is so worried about, and it’s coming for us like a freight train. Natasha doesn’t know about us, but it doesn’t take much to cook up a rumor about me and the nanny.
It’s just bad luck she’s actually right in this case. I have been fucking the nanny.
Part of me wants to call or text Liv, to get her to listen, and figure out what happened. But the much more rational side of me knows I need to give Liv some space.
And if it’s the flu or something, the last thing Liv needs is for me to steal her rest.
This situation between us has been stressful, to say the least, and as much as it has been going okay since Liv put on the brakes, I know as much as she does that we can’t just turn off our emotions.
That night on the couch with her, commiserating and getting to know each other, was more than what a boss and an employee do. It didn’t feel like that.
It was more.
Being away from Liv physically has done nothing to stop me from thinking about her, and not just how I want to bury myself deep inside her again.
I enjoy being with her. I love being with her. I look forward to seeing her every day.
I haven’t felt that way about a woman in years. In fact, I’m not sure I ever felt that way about Natasha or anyone, for that matter.
Liv is different.
An invisible weight settles on my shoulders, and I practically collapse into a chair at the island.
“What am I going to do?”
I don’t cry easily. It’s been drilled into me since birth that real men don’t do that shit. We hold it together, no matter what.
But as I think about losing my son, about never seeing Liv again, there’s nothing I can do to stop the slow trickle of tears.
Natasha ruining my business would be devastating, but her taking Elijah? I don’t know if I could survive that.
Everything I’ve ever done has been to ensure my family has a good life, and I know I lost track of how to be a good dad when Natasha left, but I’ve been trying so hard lately.
And all that is because of Liv.
I need Elijah in my life like I need air. He’s my son, and I love him more than anything.
Getting up and going to the fridge, I wipe my face, snag a beer, crack it open, and take several long pulls.
It does little to ease the ache building in my chest. As I sit back down at the island, I try to come up with some other angle, a way I can get the judge to see how manipulative and cruel Natasha is being.
