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Maddox leans forward, forearms braced on the island, smirking. “You finally gonna nut up and talk to her?”

I roll my eyes. “Haha. I’m working on it, it’s not like I can just ask her to get back together, not after all the shit I’ve put her through. But dude—” I glance down the hall to make sure there are no little ears “—I see her checking me out. Like I’m a goddamn piece of meat.”

Maddox bursts out laughing, the sound loud and unrestrained in a way he only is outside of base.

“She thinks she’s slick about it,” I add, fighting my own grin. “But I’ve seen it. Watching my hands, my mouth. Straight-up staring at my dick if I’m in sweatpants.”

Maddox wheezes, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Have you considered she’s just wanting to fuck you? Before you go getting all heart eyes and shit.”

I raise both hands in mock surrender, grinning. “If she wants to use me as a human dildo then I’ll gladly let her. That woman never stopped owning my dick. She used to do this thing with her tongue where she—”

“Okay!” Maddox cuts me off, holding up a hand like he’s warding off evil. “Happy for you, man. Truly. Don’t wanna hear that shit. Keep your freaky tongue stories to yourself.”

I concede with a low laugh, taking another sip of my beer. “I don’t think it’s just that, though. I think she genuinely feels something for me again. I don’t wanna fuck it up, I gotta play this right.”

Maddox shakes his head, still smirking. “Look, I’m not saying don’t shoot your shot. Just… maybe test the waters with a little less ‘I’ve been in love with you for four years’ and a little more ‘you keep staring at my dick in sweatpants, wanna do something about it?’ See where it lands.”

I scoff. “Your advice is trash and you know it.”

“Maybe. But at least I can get a woman instead of just sitting by while she eye fucks me during movie night.” He clinks his bottle against mine. “For real, though. You two have been circling each other for years. Don’t be a pussy about it now that she’s giving you an in.”

Before I can answer, another loud thud echoes from Theo’s room, followed by both boys shouting over each other about whose fault it is.

Maddox snorts. “Those little demons are gonna destroy your house before I finish this beer.”

I stand, already heading down the hall. “Yeah, well, at least they’re giving me an excuse to escape your terrible advice.”

The closer I get, the louder the boys’ voices become—high-pitched arguments overlapping in a tangled mess of accusations about whose fault the latest disaster is. Light spills from Theo’s half-open door, cutting a bright rectangle across the dark hallway floor.

I nudge it wider with my shoulder. Inside, Theo’s standing on his mattress, cheeks flushed and dark hair plastered to his forehead, while Henry’s already scrambling to shove everything they knocked off the nightstand back into place. Both of them freeze when they see me, eyes wide like they’ve been caught robbing a bank. Theo drops down onto his butt, the mattress springs creaking beneath him.

“Alright, you two,” I say, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. My voice comes out lower than I mean it to—dad mode kicking in automatically, rough around the edges. “What did we just talk about with the jumping and breaking things?”

Theo looks up at me, red-faced from jumping, his freckles stark against his pale skin. He looks so much like Blaire when he feels guilty—the slight quiver in his bottom lip, the same glassy sheen in his eyes. He even holds himself the way she does, clutching his casted arm to his chest. “We didn’t break it.”

Henry nods solemnly from the floor, his own cheeks pink with guilt. “It’s okay. It’s not broken.”

I glance over at the lamp, now crooked on the nightstand, then at the toys scattered across the rug like casualties of war. “Clean this up, and find something different to play. No more jumping and wrestling.”

“Yes, sir,” Henry answers immediately, already reaching for a stray action figure.

I nod and turn to leave, but Theo scrambles off the bed and follows me out into the hallway, his small hand tugging at the hem of my shirt. “Daddy? When is Mama coming?”

I pause, “I’m taking you over at 2 today, couple more hours.”

“Are you going to stay on the couch ‘gain?” Theo tilts his head, all innocence and curiosity, his bare feet shifting on the hardwood.

He’d loved me staying over at Blaire’s after he broke his arm—it was an exciting concept for him, both his parents under the same roof again, even if only for a night. He’d latched onto the idea like a lifeline and has asked me every night this week if Blaire could come stay here or if I would go back to her place with him. I have no clue how to explain how complicated that situation is to a three-year-old, I’ve already mentioned it once to Blaire to get her input on how to handle the topic.

I rub the back of my neck, the tension knotting tighter beneath my fingers. “Not tonight buddy. Go play.”

I step back into the hallway, pulling my phone from my pocket. The screen lights up with Blaire’s contact photo—an old one from before Theo was ever an idea. She’s laughing in the sun, hair loose and wild around her face, eyes bright with something that used to be mine. I could never bring myself to change it. My thumb hovers for a second before I hit the message icon.

Simon: Hey. Theo brought up me staying the night again.

I watch the typing bubble pop up, disappear, and then reappear. It takes several minutes for her to respond.

Blaire: I’ll make an appointment with the therapist. I was thinking we might need one after everything recently. You okay with going?