Page 6

Blaire sighs. “Fine. Alright.”

She steps in front of me to give Theo one last kiss, reaching up into the backseat of my truck. She has to stretch a little to get to him, rising onto her toes.

Her jeans already fit like they were tailored to her, but the stretch makes them pull tighter.

I look. I’m human.

But I also look away almost immediately because I have no business looking at her like that anymore, and especially not when covered in hickeys from another woman.

“Bye, baby.” Blaire says softly, pressing a kiss to Theo’s cheek. “Be good for your dad. I’ll call you at bedtime, and I’ll pick you up from school next week. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mama.” Theo says, his arms wrapping tight around her neck for one last squeeze.

She smiles at him and I feel it like a punch to the chest.

Once upon a time that smile was the same one I received.

Blaire eases back, brushing Theo’s hair off his forehead before stepping away from my truck and letting the door close behind her with a soft thunk. Her face is unreadable, like it always is when Theo’s not around to see.

“Drive safe,” she says without really looking at me.

I nod. “Have a good weekend.”

She doesn’t say anything more before turning and heading toward her own car without looking back.

I watch her for a second longer than I probably should, wanting to say something—anything—but all I do is open the driver’s door and climb into the truck.

“Daddy, can we order pizza for dinner tonight?” Theo asks before I even get my door shut. “And maybe play Wii together? And have a sleepover in the basement again?”

I’m barely in the seat, haven’t even reached for the belt yet, and he’s already trying to map out an entire itinerary for the night.

I glance at him in the rearview mirror.

His face is lit up with the kind of excitement that only a three year old asking for junk food and no bed time could have.

He looks so much like me it’s jarring, but the way his nose scrunches when he smiles is Blaire, no question. The freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose—hers, too.

I settle into my seat and start the engine.

“Pizza, Wii, basement sleepover. You drive a hard bargain, little man. But I think we can make that happen.”

He giggles, triumphant. “Yes!”

I queue up the music on my phone, letting it connect to the truck’s Bluetooth before pulling out of the parking lot.

The first song barely gets going before Theo’s voice kicks in from the backseat—completely off-key.

He doesn’t have the lyrics right. Not even close. But he sings like he does.

I glance in the mirror again. He’s kicking his legs against the seat, hands waving around like he’s performing for a sold-out arena instead of an empty backseat.

The music cuts out abruptly and my ringtone fills the cab. The automated voice comes through the speakers.

Call from Veronica Wheelmen.

Theo immediately groans. “Daddy. Music.”

“Sorry, bud.” I hit reject without hesitating and turn the music back up.