“Jonas isn’t old enough to know what’s good for him, and clearly you’re looking for any way to get him out of the house.”
“What the fuck?”
“Am I wrong, Whit?” The smirk rings clear as a bell through the phone.
Mindful of the people meandering around the front lawn, ears likely perked after my last remark, I lower my voice and pull out my HR-approved voice. “Are you implying thatyou,of all people, know what’s best for Jonas?”
“I’m his father.”
“Whoa,pump the brakes. The involvement of your sperm doesn’t actually mean fuck all when it comes to making decisions about his well-being. Not when this isn’t the first time you’ve feigned interest.”
“That’s going to change.”
I snort. “Okay.”
He raises his voice again. “Did I, or did I not, start this conversation off by saying I’d take him tomorrow?”
“I’m not going to ask him to cancel his plans in the hopes that you don’t bail on him again.” Colt’s shirt is clenched so tight in my fist my knuckles have lost all color. I didn’t realize I’d grabbed it, but I can’t bring myself to let go—I’ll iron the wrinkles out before I give it to him. Right now it’s a decent channel for my rage, allowing me to keep a fake smile and pleasant-sounding voice in front of so many strangers.
“Where is this suddenly coming from?” I ask.
Deep down, there’s always been some hope that Alex would call me out of the blue like this, demanding he be involved in Jonas’s life. He’d finally wake up and realize how much he’s missing out on by not knowing the most incredible kid I’ve ever met. I have no delusions of grandeur—we’ll never be a perfect family with a white picket fence,two-point-five kids, and a golden retriever. Despite the way I cave whenever Alex wants to crawl into my bed, I don’t fantasize about us being together again. That all went out the window ages ago.
I just want Jonas to have another person in his corner, loving him unconditionally. He deserves a dad, so time and time again I fight the urge to block Alex’s number and remove him from our lives completely. Arguably, I let him get away with too much. Never setting boundaries or sticking up for myself—hell, the only reason I’m feeling emboldened enough to scoff at his comments today is because I’m on top of the goddamn world with this perfect Le Creuset.
“Well, Fern and I were thinking…”
He continues talking, I think, but my brain’s entirely fixated onFern. Has he gone off the deep end and started talking to a plant?
I interrupt. “Sorry, what is a Fern?”
“My girlfriend.”
“You have a girlfriend…namedFern?”
Please.I have a migraine named Snake Plant now.
“She suggested I reach out to you about spending more time with Jonas.”
I half-laugh.
Oh, Fern. Sweet summer child.
Of course she suggested Alex reach out, because I’m sure he told her I’m the monstrous baby mama keeping his precious son from him. Bet he changed his lock screen image to a photo of Jonas stolen from my social media. And she’ll be the doting girlfriend for a few months until she realizes everything he’s told her is a lie.
After a decade of this, I know every crest, valley, and loop in our roller-coaster relationship. I’ve played every imaginary role—from evil ex to best pal—in Alex’s book of lies he uses to convince women he’s not a deadbeat.
“Well, look. Jonas isn’t going to the ranch on Thursday because he has therapy. I’m not going to tell him anything, but if you decide to pick him up after his session, I won’t stop you.”
“Fern and I will be there.”
“Don’t you think it’s awfully hypocritical to give me shit about Colt, even though I have zero interest in dating him, and then introduce your brand-new Fern to Jonas?”
“We’ve been dating for three months, actually.”
I do the fastest mental math of my life. Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow hard. I really don’t want to use my new cast-iron love of my life as a vomit receptacle.
“Three months?” I croak before my voice drops to a whispering hiss. “We’ve been together within the last three months, and you didn’t say a fucking word about having agirlfriend.”
