Not now, surely.
But Esme doesn’t lie. She sees Galen and she wants the whole world to know, even as I marbleise, as frozen as the ground outside, screwing my eyes shut as if it makes me invisible.
It doesn’t, obviously, any more than wishful thinking renders him deaf, and the split second I have to avoid this train wreck slips through my fingers.
I feel him enter our orbit. Open my scratchy eyes and force myself to face him as Esme wriggles, depleted as hell but still wanting out of my arms and into his.
He takes her without seeming to think about what he’s doing. Ilethim, transfixed by how fast he notices she’s not okay, and it’s in this moment it all becomes clear to me what a colossal fuckup I’ve made.
I’m not into Galen because he’s hot. I’m into him because the concern and affection on his face make my belly twist with a want far deeper than sex. Because how gentle he is with my daughter lets me know how gentle he’d be with me if any of this was fucking real. Because the first words out of his mouth are for her, not me.
“Hey there, little lady. What’s got you so hot and bothered?”
Esme just shivers and wraps her arms around his neck, as if he’s Tam and Bhodi combined and she’ll never let him go. And honest to god, I can’t fucking look.
You should never have let him anywhere near her.
Not because he’s bad.
Because he’s good. Even if the footprint on my heart will never fucking fade.
He didn’t do this to you. Your stupid fucking feelings did.
The truth lies somewhere in the middle. Rational me knows we’ve both messed this up. But I’m so fucking tired I can’t string a thought together, and I need away from him before I do something really fucking stupid.
Like grip his face and tell him how ludicrously good he looks in the casual version of his firefighter uniform.
“Sab?”
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
Esme’s not crying anymore. She’s clutching a fire engine keyring he must’ve given her, rolling the wheels along his collarbone.
I want to tell her to be careful, but Galen reels me in, and I realise his handsome face looks as tired as I feel. Red-rimmed eyes, pale skin. A thicker than usual covering of auburn stubble on his jaw.
Fuck, I hate that I give a shit.
That the Christmas music blaring from a nearby speaker has me wanting to wrap an arm around his waist and lead him out of this hellhole.
Oh yeah? Where you gonna take him?
Home? To your fucking bed?
My subconscious laughs at me. I reach for Esme, taking her back. “I’m fine. Nice to see you. Have a good Christmas, yeah?”
I walk away before he can respond, and it’s abrupt enough that Esme really does wail this time, crying her heart out all the way to the van, hiccupping as I strap her in and slide behind the wheel.
We go home.
We don’t sleep.
She cries all night, still holding that fucking fire engine toy, and if I thought this shit couldn’t hurt worse…
Fuck, was I wrong.
Galen
