Uncle Mal walks away and I stay for a while, staring at the headstones with only my thoughts for company.
Cliff’s sitting in the car, reading the paper as I finally turn and head back in its direction. It’s a Friday, the day of the week he arrives early in case I need to drive here in silence when the sun has barely risen.
No one knew I came here. Until Uncle Mal saw me just now.
Cliff’s brought me here so many times over the last two or so years that the car could probably drive itself.
My old Thursday night routine served a double purpose. Molly was still on one of her sleepovers with Dad or Sinclair Friday mornings. I’d usually have spent the evening at The Lanceford before my visit, not awoken to find my daughter asleep in my bed with the woman who’s slotted into our life so perfectly, like she belongs with us, like I did today.
A woman who only sees the version of myself that I portray to her. A version lacking so much that I can never share with her.
I pull out my phone and bring up my home surveillance system that Denver had installed for me after Molly arrived. My chest tightens as Tate walks into the living area with Molly in her arms. Molly’s rubbing her eyes like she’s still waking up, and Tate’s wearing one of my T-shirts, with her hair tied up in a messy knot on top of her head.
Tate swivels her head side to side and her mouth opens. Even though the sound is off, I know she’s calling for me. She walks over to her purse on the table and pulls her phone out.
Mine rings in my hand.
“Sullivan? Is everything okay?” Her tone is breathy, an edge of concern in it.
I watch the way she balances Molly on one hip, and my daughter rests her head against her, so naturally at ease in her arms.
“Everything’s fine. I just had to go out for something. I’m on my way back now.”
“Okay.” She still sounds unsure, but she smiles at Molly. “Daddy’s coming home now.”
“We make him breakfast?” Molly asks, completely unfazed by the fact that she has never been alone in our home with anyone who isn’t family before.
“That’s a good idea,” Tate tells her.
“I won’t be long,” I say, hanging up.
Tate puts her phone down and wraps Molly inside both ofher arms. Molly’s face splits in half with a beaming grin. My heart staccatos in my chest as I stab the sound on, turning it up.
A soft, sweet melody I haven’t heard Tate sing before drifts from my phone. But I only catch the words‘blue eyes’before the rest of the words are muffled into Molly’s hair as Tate sinks her face into it and carries her toward the kitchen.
“Jesus Christ,” I choke.
I shove my phone back in my pocket, reaching out to steady myself on the trunk of a large tree. The back of my neck heats, sweat pricking up along my hairline.
I’m lying to her.
I’m lying to the woman I’ve just watched care for my daughter like she’s her own.
The woman I’ve pictured multiple times in my head doing exactly what she is doing right now.
Cuddling my daughter and singing to her.
Only in the image in my head, she’s wearing my ring on her finger and growing my baby in her belly as well.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and suck in a deep breath, willing myself to get a fucking grip. This isn’t just about protecting Molly now. It’s about protecting Tate too. Doing what’s best for her. No matter what I want. Being a parent means being selfless, putting another before yourself. Molly’s prepared me for this.
I pull my phone out again and fire off a text to Jones. He replies immediately, no doubt surprised by my instructions, but not perturbed. He lives for this kind of shit.
No limit. Just make it happen.
I text in answer to his question concerning the budget he has to work with. He replies with a thumbs up. They should make a shark emoji with a shit-eating grin especially for him.
Scrolling through my recent calls I find Denver and hit call.
