And God knows they talk enough.
Every choice I’ve made since the day two lines appeared on a pregnancy test in a gas station bathroom has been with my kid’s best interests in mind. And somehow, I’m still failing.
A wracked sob escapes when I think about how close we were to expulsion today. And I swipe the back of my hand under my sopping nose while silently cursing Jonas for not giving a shit.
“How can he not care?” I mutter to the stupid little frogfigurine with a sign that readsDon’t Worry, Be Hoppysitting on the windowsill opposite me. A Mother’s Day gift Jonas gave me when he was seven, because I mentioned loving the frogs we saw during a lake day. Jonas has—or at leasthad—the ability to be a thoughtful, loving little boy.
Now it’s phone calls and meetings and interventions. It’s convincing the teachers and principal and school district officials that he’s not a lost cause. Apologizing for his behavior.
Then it’s sitting beside my noisy, wobbly dryer until my tears have slowed to a trickle and my head’s pounding. Tucking in my sleeping, sweet baby before crawling into my own bed.
Which is when the countdown until his next incident starts.
• • •
The ringing phone on my bedside table wakes me up with a jolt, and I silence it before there’s any risk of bothering Jonas down the hall. Rubbing my eyelids to combat the burning sensation from the bright light, I answer with a ragged voice.
“Hey, babe,” my ex-boyfriend, Alex, coos through the speaker.
“It’s the middle of the”—I yawn—“night. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, babe. Totally fine. What are you up to?”
“Iwassleeping. It’s like one o’clock in the morning.” I reach behind my head with my free hand to fluff up my pillow, then pull the duvet to my chin. “What do you need?”
“Just missed hearing your voice…seeing your face.”
Try as hard as I might, I can’t prevent the fluttering in my chest. But I swallow hard and blurt out a stern, “Oh yeah?”
“I’m parked outside, if you want to let me in?”
Sure enough, when I’m quiet for a moment, I can hear the rumbling of his obnoxiously loud car. He does this because he knows I won’t say no, even though everything is worse after he spends the night in my bed. If I make him leave beforeJonas wakes up, I feel awful for not letting them spend time together. But when I let him stay, it fucks with Jonas’s head and puts him in a bad mood.
I sigh, dragging myself from the comfort of my bed and padding down the dark hallway. “Fine, but you have to leave before Jonas wakes up.”
His engine cuts in the otherwise still night, and warm June air hits my face when the door swings open in time to see him lumbering up my front steps.
Stepping inside, he gives me a smirk and a wink.Damn it.I shouldn’t roll over so easily for a man with a simple smirk and a wink in the middle of the night.
His eyes glimmer in the dim light, and he rakes a callused hand through my loose, dark hair before palming the back of my neck. “I missed you.”
Instinct and habit take over, and I melt into his touch.
I fucking hate it.
“I need to get back to bed.” I tilt my head toward the narrow hallway. “It was a long day, and I have a ton of work to catch up on tomorrow.”
Kicking off his sneakers—haphazardly, exactly like his son—he holds a tight grip around my waist for the sneaky stroll to my bedroom.
Normally, I’d be flirty and accommodating. Despite how much I insist I’m done with him, I can’t help the feelings he evokes in me. We dated off and on in high school, got pregnant right after graduation, and I tried so fucking hard to make things work for Jonas. They didn’t,obviously,and I’m left with whatever this is….
Calls when he’s feeling single and lonely, or when he’s had too many drinks, or when he gets a rare guilty conscience and wants to do something nice for his son.
And I’m a doormat every time.
Not tonight.Tonight I’m too tired to give a shit about what he wants or why he showed up. He can sleep in my bed, butthat’s theonlything I’ll roll over and take. I climb into my still-warm spot and pull the covers to my chin, wiggling slightly to get comfortable.
Alex wraps an arm around my waist, tugging me into a little-spoon position, and within seconds his fingers slip beneath the hem of my T-shirt.
