I’d been hyperaware of him standing at the entrance to the park, feeling him watching us. The opening and closing of the truck door made me exhale in slight relief.
“I hate waking up without you,” Clara pouted.
“I hate it too.” I forced my tears down.
“Will you still put me to bed?” She gazed up at me hopefully.
Fucking Beau.
My anger for him helped keep me warm without a coat.
“On the nights your Daddy is working, absolutely,” I told her, settling on a half-truth.
But Clara was too sharp for that. “What about the other nights?”
There were only so many half-truths I could handle. “How about we figure that out later? This is probably the last snow of the year and our final chance for an epic snow sculpture."
Clara regarded me with hesitation. “But you don’t have your coat. Daddy brought it in the truck. Want him to bring it over?” She turned as though she was going to motion to him.
“No,” I replied a little louder than necessary. “I’m not cold,” I lied. “Let’s make snowmen.”
I knew Clara was not entirely convinced, but she was also a kid, so she was easily distracted.
As, apparently, was I. Because I didn’t notice him until it was too late.
thirty-one
HANNAH
“Fancy seeing you here.”
I froze at the voice. Bitter. Angry. Familiar.
Quickly, I moved in front of Clara, my entire body shaking as I turned to face the owner of the voice.
He had one hand in the pocket of a cheap coat, the other grasping on to a lit cigarette.
His cheeks were red, stubble patchy all over his face as smoke blew from his mouth. His eyes were bloodshot and angry. He smelled faintly of liquor. His hair was wild around his face, greasy and longer than the last time I’d seen him. He clearly hadn’t showered in a while and had lost weight.
But it was him.
My ex-husband.
Waylon was here.
In front of me.
Us.
He’d finally been banished from my mind. I’d been expecting him to do something, after the divorce papers were returned signed without so much as a peep. I waited. It had been certain that it couldn’t be that easy. Though if I catalogued the last few years, it had never been easy.
But there was nothing. No more credit card bills. No surprise visits. Not so much as an angry phone call.
I’d let myself hope. That he was done with me.
“Who’s this?” Clara asked, confused and weary given Waylon’s disheveled appearance but not outwardly scared. Clara had never had a reason to be scared of anyone. Even men. Though she was tentative after what happened to me. She understood people could be dangerous.
My stomach roiled when Waylon’s unfocused gaze settled on her, his lips stretching to show he’d recently lost his front left tooth.
