Instead of heading back to Lake Wisteria, I changed my mind at the last minute and switched my flight from Detroit to Portland. My ex-wife hasn’t been answering Nico’s calls or my texts since she canceled on him for the Strawberry Festival a week ago, and while I don’t mind never speaking to her again, my kid deserves better.
I stop the car in front of the gate blocking her driveway, press my finger against the call button on the mechanical box, and wait. Finally, after a couple of minutes, Hillary’s voice crackles through the speaker.
“What are you doing here?” she asks in her grating tone.
“We need to talk.”
“You flew all the way out here to talk?”
“Yes.” I grind my teeth together.
The gate opens, and I drive my rental car up the gravel path before parking outside a beautiful house overlooking a lake. I take a moment to appreciate the view, seeing as I paid for it, before taking a deep breath and heading toward the open front door.
Hillary stands with her arms crossed against her chest and a scowl I recognize all too well. Her short, dark hair accentuates her sharp bone structure, and her designer clothes showcase her thin frame and delicate features, the ivory color of her pantsuit making her appear far more angelic than she actually is.
Her red lips pull into a frown. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Something I should have done long ago,” I snap.
She looks around, as if the neighbors a mile away can hear us. “Come inside.”
Typical Hillary, always giving a shit about everyone else except those whose opinions actually matter. I used to be the same way, but I’ve changed.
Ellie opened my eyes to the possibility of accepting who I am without any pretenses, and now that I’ve gotten a taste, I can’t imagine going back to the way things used to be.
I follow Hillary inside, and she shuts the door and turns to face me.
Her nostrils flare. “What are you really doing here?”
“You kept ignoring Nico’s and my calls.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Cut the shit.” I chose passiveness over passion, but now I’m done. Either Hillary steps up to be a parent or I will fight her for full custody because she doesn’t want it anyway.
Her face turns red. “What do you want me to do? Apologize for not being able to make it to the festival?”
“Yes, Hillary, an apology would be nice after you promised to go but canceled only one hour before your son was supposed to perform.”
She doesn’t look the least bit affronted by my tone, which only fuels my frustration.
“For some goddamn reason, Nico wanted you there because he always wants you there, although I can’t for the life of me understand why, when all you do is disappoint him.”
Her icy facade cracks for a fraction of a second before she schools her features.
Good. It’s the least she deserves after making my son cry again.
“I’ve spent the last two fucking years covering for you because, regardless of how I feel toward you, he sees the good in you.”
She glances away. “I wanted to be there.”
“But you weren’t.”
She makes a face. “It’s complicated.”
“That’s always your excuse, and frankly, I’m sick of it. Hell, I was tired long before we ever got divorced.”
“Do not disrespect me in my own home.” She sounds so much like her proper, high-society mother when she uses that shrill tone, and it sends a chill down my spine.
She crosses her arms, and that’s when I notice a thin band of pale skin that is different from the rest of her ring finger.
Fuck me.
How long has she been engaged to her boyfriend, and why did it take me this long to figure it out?
My blood pounds in my ears, making my head pulse as I wrap my head around the fact that Hillary has kept her secret for who knows how long, all while I foot the bill.
You’re here for Nico. Not yourself.
I take a deep breath and try to dull my rage until it goes from a roaring fire to a burning ember inside my chest. “I get that you can’t stand me, but the person you’re hurting most in this process is your son.”
She at least looks slightly unhappy about it. Perhaps there is hope for her after all, although I won’t hold my breath.
She takes a deep breath. “I just…”
“What?”
Her upper lip curls. “I hate going to that damn town, knowing everyone is aware of my…”
“Affair.”
“Yes,” she says with a hiss. “Bring it up for the fiftieth time, why don’t you? It’s been a while since the last time you reminded me of it.”
I cross my arms. “We all make choices that have consequences.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to be reminded of them every time I go there!”
I pause. “So this is all about your reputation? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“You don’t understand what it’s like to be me.”
“No, I don’t. I guess I struggle to understand what it’s like to be a neglectful parent who cares more about their reputation than their own fucking child.”
She flinches. I don’t want to feel bad for her, but a small part of me does because I recognize that she will always be hollow inside, so long as she prioritizes other people’s opinions over her own blood.
“We both grew up with two different types of shitty parents, but the main difference between you and me is that you became just like them while I did everything possible not to.”
Her face pales. “I…”
I speak when she doesn’t. “Nobody can ever fill the void of a mother. You of all people should know that.”
She stares at her feet.
I wipe my face. “Make this right and be the mother Nico needs.”
“Or what? You’ll take me to court?”
My lip curls in disgust. “I’m not going to threaten you with money to make you see reason.”
I will always pay child support, but her alimony—which makes up eighty percent of what I pay her—will be revoked the moment I call my lawyer and break the news about Hillary’s secret engagement.
“How noble of you,” she sneers.
I reach for the door but pause and look over my shoulder. “Nico wouldn’t want me to, because whether you choose to reciprocate or not, he loves you, although if you keep this up, there will come a day when he no longer will. I promise you that much.”
“And if he doesn’t? Then what?” Desperation bleeds into her every word.
“Pray that never happens, because the moment he wants you out of his life, I’ll make sure you’re no longer a part of ours.”
“Three bouquets in one week?” Ellie turns the camera so I can get a look at the floral arrangement I had sent to her room before she checked into her hotel in Lisbon. I wanted her to have something of mine there when she arrived in Portugal, just like I’d done in the other countries she visited.
“Do you like them?” I chose a summer arrangement that the local florist recommended, although I was hesitant since Ellie said she wasn’t the biggest fan of roses.
“Yes. They’re beautiful, just like the others.” She spreads out on the bed with a sigh. The sun hasn’t even set here yet, and she is already getting ready to fall asleep.
I’m hit with another urge to fly to Europe to see her. It’s only been seven days since I left her alone in London, and it feels like an eternity.
Fuck.
I don’t know if I’ve ever missed someone like this before—in fact, I know I haven’t. Not even when Hillary left me.
Sure, I missed my ex-wife, but it wasn’t like this. I wasn’t driven to madness in her absence, nor was I hit with a daily urge to leave my job behind and follow her around.
God, I’m tempted to do just that, but I have Nico and my business to think about.
“I hate that I have to leave them behind, though.” She sighs to herself.
Her comment sparks a new idea, and I vow to get started on it as soon as we hang up the phone.
“I miss Ellie.” Nico takes a stab at his dinner. I thought he would be hungrier after spending all day at summer camp, but his appetite matches his low mood.
“Me too,” I say while pushing a bit of my food around.
“You do?”
I sigh at the pinch in my chest that comes whenever I think of her. “Yeah. A lot.”
“How much longer until she comes back?”
“Too long.” Ellie’s absence is felt from the moment we wake up to a quiet house to the very moment I fall asleep each night.
I miss her more than I could have imagined, and we still have four weeks left until she comes home.
Nico looks at me weird.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” His fork scrapes against the plate without picking up any food.
“You sure about that?”
He sighs in that way of his that makes him seem older than his age. “I just…”
“Yes?”
“Remember when I asked you if you like like Ellie?”
“Who could forget it?” I tease.
“Do you think she like likes you back?”
I laugh, which makes him frown.
“I’m not laughing at you,” I clarify.
“Oh.” He doesn’t seem to believe me.
“Your question just caught me off guard.”
“Why?”
“Because out of all the things I expected you to ask, that wasn’t on the list.”
He gnaws on the inside of his cheek. “I was just wondering…”
“What?”
“If she like likes you and you like like her, would you ever…”
“Date her?”
“What’s that?”
“Ask her to be my girlfriend.” I know he is aware of that concept, seeing as he had three in the last year.
“Oh yeah. That.”
“Would it be okay with you if I did?”
“If you did what? Ask Ellie to be your girlfriend?”
“Yeah.”
“Heck yeah! I love her.”
I take a deep breath. “I don’t want you to get too excited, but…”
Nico’s eyes light up as he nods.
Too late. He is practically vibrating with enthusiasm right now.
I pin him in place with my stare. “It may not happen.”
“But it could?”
I push the worry away and say, “Yeah. One day.”
Nico throws his fist in the air. “Yes!”
Everything between Ellie and me is still rather new, but our connection is serious enough for us to admit we love each other. Hiding those feelings from Nico doesn’t sit right with me, which is why I didn’t want to ask her to be my girlfriend without my son knowing about us. Ellie had agreed when I mentioned it. She said that he is a big part of our lives, so to keep a secret like that from him feels unfair, especially after our trip to London.
“So, when do I get a brother?”
I proceed to choke.
The photo of Cole and Ellie on my phone screen taunts me, along with the bold headline above boasting about Cole being seen out in Portugal with a beautiful blond.
My beautiful blond.
Ellie may remain anonymous to the general public thanks to her dark sunglasses, but I could point her out in a crowd of hundreds. Cole’s hand is pressed against the small of her back while security guards fend off the crowd waiting outside some upscale restaurant. The singer’s mouth hovers near her ear, making it seem as though he is passing along some secret the world isn’t privy to. Ellie’s smile is small but present while her eyes are shielded by opaque lenses.
Based on the photo, I can’t get a good read on her, which only worsens the churning acid in my stomach.
Thanks to my masochistic tendencies, I read the article while the knot in my throat tightens with every line.
Cole Griffin was spotted out on the town with his band, although it was the woman on his arm who caught everyone’s attention.
On. His. Arm.
Something in my chest shrivels up with the next sentence.
Someone close to the source says Cole and his mystery woman have been seen throughout different stops on the European leg of his tour.
His woman?
Fuck these journalists.
She is mine.
Yet looking at the two of them together—looking at how perfectly they seem to fit into each other’s lives—makes me wonder if I’m fooling myself into thinking she is.
Wouldn’t be the first time a woman cheated on you. The voice I’ve spent weeks trying to eradicate emerges again, poisoning my thoughts with what-ifs.
What if Ellie and Cole connect on some deeper level and realize they’re better suited for one another?
What if Ellie decides she likes bouncing around cities, writing music into the early morning with him by her side?
What if—
Stop it, I tell myself.
Controlling my jealousy proves difficult, especially when I can’t get that photo of Ellie and Cole out of my head.
Although I want to believe Ellie wouldn’t cheat on me, I struggle to shake off the feeling, which is why I ignore her call that comes in ten minutes later.
I can’t talk to her when I feel like this.
Jealousy isn’t attractive, and neither is feeling insecure about another man, so I’d rather stay quiet than be vulnerable like that, especially when Ellie and I still have four more weeks of her traveling around Europe.
Four more weeks of her possibly falling in love with another man too.
My molars grind together, and I do my best to shove the thought out of my head.
Ellie loves me. Not Cole.
Yet no matter how many times I tell myself that, I still worry about the possibility of that happening.
Four weeks is a long time to be apart.
Ellie calls me two more times, but I send both to voicemail. A text follows soon after, and I reluctantly read it.
ELLE
Hey. I missed talking to you today. Call me when you get a chance? I’ll try to stay up.
I wish I were strong enough to call her, but my insecurities dominate my thoughts, turning them toxic with every passing minute.
You’re better than this, I remind myself.
Thing is, I thought I was, but it only took one photo to remind me of how fucked up I became because of Hillary’s affair.
Pushing Ellie away won’t solve your issues.
But I still do it anyway.
