“I’m sorry, but huh?” I pull out a second chair for Deacon, who hoists his small backpack onto the table before holding his hands out toward his brother. Riggs proceeds to push the truck across the wood toward his brother. I snag it midway before it scuffs the table or falls to the floor with a bang that might wake Holly.
“This is not a ramp,” I say, carrying the toy across the room to the entertainment center. I set it on one of the high shelves, much to the boys’ protests.
“Ask your question again, about the toy and Dad’s house.” I pull out my chair and collect my books into a pile before my children build things out of them.
“Riggs wasn’t supposed to bring the truck in here. Dad specifically said to leave it in the SUV so he could take it home to be a toy forhishouse. But Riggs brought it in anyway. Now Dad’s gonna take it away.” Deacon folds his arms over his chest and pushes his lip out in an incredibly forced pout. I’m tempted to do the same, becauseWTF!
I let my head fall back for a beat, laughing lightly at this incredulous situation. First, he cheats on me. Then, he thinks he can set the rules.
“Dad also said for me to give you this,” Deacon says. I right my head and anticipate whatever gift my son is pulling out of his backpack. I prepare myself for a poisonous snake. Instead, I get a booklet stamped with the Oklahoma State seal.
My brow pinches as I pull the book close enough to read the title:Helping Children Cope with Divorce.
“He said you need to read it and then the two of you need to take a class together next week. He said if you don’t, he’ll have to tell the judge.”
I’m sure Deacon isn’t getting the wording exactly right, but also, there’s some truth at the root of his message. I’m sure Brandon’s words weren’t too far off. And the fact he’s saying things about court and a judge to our boys so early makes my skin itch.
“You know what?” I begin. “No. Just . . . no.”
I glance between the two boys, then toward the truck. I push my tongue into my cheek, ignoring the very confused stares on my twins’ faces while I calm the fire brewing in my belly. Another soft laugh bubbles from deep in my chest, and I hear how it sounds when it hits the air—like the kind of laugh a woman who steals dalmatians for coats would make. I will not let this divorce turn me into the bad guy. But I won’t be a pushover either. That’s not who I am. Never has been.
“You guys want to go to a baseball game tonight?” I flash my gaze to Deacon first, and he kicks his feet under the table as he shifts his stare to his brother.
“Do we get hot dogs?” Riggs asks.
I pivot my head and meet his gaze next, my grin inching up as I nod.
“And popcorn,” I add.
“Yes!” Riggs throws his hands in the air, and Deacon sprints from his chair, rushing to his brother and wrapping his arms around him as if I just told them we’re moving to Disneyland.
“Why don’t you boys go wash up and change while I feed Holly, and make sure you grab sweatshirts. The stadium gets cool at night.” I march across the room toward the truck while my boys slip from their chairs and skip toward the stairs.
I position the truck in the middle of the floor and take a photo of it with the stairs, and the rest of the house blurredbehind it. I save the image, then place the truck next to my small purse before waking Holly for her afternoon bottle and to check her for a diaper change. I’m eager to fire off a text, or maybe even call my ex so he’s forced to listen to my words through the speakers in his SUV. Nice and loud. And possibly in front of his young girlfriend, whose perfume I can clearly smell on our twin boys’ clothing. But I’ll hold it in for something better. I’ll wait for the weekend, after we take this truck—the toy that’s supposed to stay at Brandon’s house; a perk for being with dad—and photograph the shit out of it in every fun place we go for the next several days.
Holly coos as I lift her, and I swear there’s a sisterhood smirk on her lips. It’s probably just gas. Both fitting reactions to a cheating ex who has no idea the hornet’s nest he’s kicked with this shit.
ELEVEN
BROOKS
A lot of the guys are in the clubhouse already when I walk in, all watching the TV. Hunter got the start today, his first full start for Texas, and went six innings with only a hit. By the time I get here, he’s facing his last batter, and when he sends the guy down swinging, there’s an eruption of pride in the room.
I feel bad I didn’t know about his start, but I wouldn’t have been able to make it here in time regardless.
“How’d it go today?” Jake taps my shoulder with his glove as he passes behind me on his way to his locker. He rolled in late too.
I pull my phone from my pocket and slide over on the bench closer to him.
“Check this out,” I say, showing him the pic I took of the birth certificate.
He takes my phone in his palm and chuckles.
“Man, I love how excited you are about a document. I thought I was going to get to see a pic of your kid sitting up or some shit, but nope.” He hands the phone back to me and I stare at the line with my name for another second before tucking it in my locker and removing the clean jersey from the hanger.
“Believe me, I can bore you for hours with footage of Holly sleeping. You give me the word.” I’m a little tempted to retrieve my phone and watch some myself.
“I’m good, dude,” Jake says with a chuckle. “But I’m happy for you.”
