Fiona’s jaw tightened. “Is she.”
“She is. She’s nervous, but she’s excited.”
“She hung up on me.”
“I know.”
“She told me she was staying whether I agreed or not.”
“I know that too.”
Fiona turned to look at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed. From the flight, maybe. Or from crying. Tyler couldn’t tell.
“This isn’t what I wanted, Tyler. It was supposed to be temporary.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve won. Years of me doing everything alone, and now you get to be the hero.”
Tyler gripped the steering wheel. Breathed. Remembered what Margo had said.She’s grieving what she thought would happen.
“I’m not trying to be a hero,” he said carefully. “I’m just trying to be her dad.”
“You’ve had sixteen years to be her dad.”
“And whose rules made that impossible?”
The words came out sharper than he intended. Fiona flinched.
Silence again. Heavier this time.
Tyler took the exit toward Laguna Beach, winding down through the canyon. The ocean appeared and disappeared between the hills.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “That wasn’t—I don’t want to fight.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want Stella to be happy. I want you to be okay. I want us to figure this out like adults.” He glanced at her. “Is that possible?”
Fiona didn’t answer. She turned back to the window.
Tyler’s bungalowlooked even smaller than usual.
He pulled into the driveway, suddenly aware of every flaw—the peeling paint on the mailbox, the bougainvillea that needed trimming, the surfboard propped against the porch railing because he’d never gotten around to building proper storage.
“This is it?” Fiona asked.
“This is it.”
She didn’t say anything else, but her silence was deafening.
Stella was waiting on the porch. She stood as they got out of the truck, arms wrapped around herself, looking younger than sixteen.
“Hi, Mum.”
Fiona’s composure cracked. Just for a second—a flash of something raw and desperate crossing her face before she pulled it back under control.
“Stella.”
