She’d move into my pool house tomorrow. Her husband, Hank, ran a training base for the Army, and was only home a few months here and there. They’d never been able to have their own kids, and he liked that she was close with mine. It made me feel a little better knowing that my needing her wasn’t interfering with her own family.
As I parked the SUV, the kids talked excitedly about how much they loved this place.
“There’s an arcade next door too. Can we go?” Aston Junior asked. Of course he knew there was an arcade.
“Let’s eat the ice cream and see. Do you have homework?”
“Dad! I’m in first grade,” Mara said, rolling her eyes.
“I do,” Aston Junior said. “But I promise I’ll do it if I can play a few games ... please?”
“You’re going to go cross-eyed with all the video games your mom lets you play,” I said without thinking, immediately wishing I could take it back.Shit.
My son shrugged. “Well, you weren’t there, so she said I could.”
Fuckup number ninety-nine by me.
“I know, I know,” I said with a sigh. “Okay, ice cream, video games, then home for homework and dinner.”
Who was I to say they couldn’t be a little hedonistic?
The bell rang over the door as we walked into the shop, and Mara ran straight to the cooler, running her finger along the names of the flavors. Little A looked up at the chalk-covered boards on the wall, and I took a moment to check my phone.
I was supposed to be working. After all, someone had to pay for all this shit. Two houses, multiple cars, country club memberships, private school tuition, vacations, and fucking alimony. It took a lot of money to keep the Prescott machine running.
“Dad! Can I get bubble gum? I promise I won’t swallow the gum!” Mara shrieked from the other end of the store, causing me to look up.
I caught a glimpse of Mara’s braids swinging in the air, and three other pairs of eyes on me, one of them the same blue as mine.
I’d never seen her other than in pictures.
I knew she was mine—learned too late—but I’d never been brave enough to get close. The thought of losing her now, when I’d never really had her, scared me more than meeting her.
A few feet away, Bexley’s mouth open and closed. She looked like a fish—a stunning one—with no sound coming out. Seated between the two females was a gangly boy, all limbs and curly strawberry-blond hair, his eyes the same green as Bexley’s. There was no chance he was mine, but then again, he was all Bexley, and therefore held a piece of my heart.
As I approached, trepidation and anxiety coursed through my veins in equal measure. I noticed Bexley give me a small shake of her head. I didn’t know if she meant for me not to approach or not to say anything. I wouldn’t do the latter, but there was no way I wasn’t saying hello to her.
Or meeting my daughter.
Mara saw me and ran over, swinging from my arm like a monkey, distracting me. “Daddy, did you pick?”
Thank God for little things.
“Hey, baby,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I see a friend of mine, and then I will. Let me say hello and introduce you.”
Mara had been raised in a country club, so there was no argument from my little girl. Glancing back for a second, I saw Aston Junior was busy trying out different flavors.
Swiftly approaching before she could run, I said, “Hi, Bexley.”
“Hi,” she said, keeping her eyes lowered.
“Aston Prescott,” I said, this time extending my hand to her son. This got Bexley’s eyes on me. “I’m an old friend of your mom’s,” I said when he stuck his hand in mine, and gave it a gentle shake.
“Tyler.”
“I’m Mara,” my daughter—my younger daughter—said politely.
“Hi, Mara,” Bexley said, meeting Mara’s eyes.
