“Oh…nothing. I just wondered if you’d heard anything about Silas coaching flag football this summer?”
“I…uh…”
Yeah, I’d heard. The news was a week old. Silas had wanted to agree on the spot but knew he had to run it by his agent. Especially since Dexter’s idea was to put a “star” spin on it, like Elmwood had done with their junior hockey camps.
“That’s a yes,” Layla guessed. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets.”
Not true.
Not true at all.
Later that evening, I apologized for my abrupt departure at the coffee shop.
Silas wrinkled his nose in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“I—”
“I’m open!” Chase called, waving his arms like a windmill on the far end of our empty street.
Silas chucked the football, clapping when Chase caught it. I shoved my hands into my pockets and cast a wary glance toward the house. Ivy had hopped into my truck at school pickup with her eyes painted purple and hadn’t said two words on the way home. I needed to talk to her.
My plan had been to get Chase started on homework first, but he’d spotted Silas washing dirt off his sneaker with a hose next door and had jumped out of the truck to greet him, football in hand, before I’d had a chance to rein him in.
As much as I wanted to, we couldn’t invite Silas over every night. My time with my children was sacred. Sure, a dinner ora playdate here and there was fine, but anything more than that was just…excessive. It would send the wrong messages, give the wrong ideas.
Or maybe the right ideas.
Christ, I didn’t know anymore.
“I walked away without saying good-bye, and…” I sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. “I hate to ask, but…would you mind if I left you with Chase for ten minutes? I need to talk to Ivy.”
“Go for it.” He stretched his right arm out and caught Chase’s wild throw. “Hey, Coop.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t apologize. I’m not the sensitive type. I know you’ve got a life here, and I won’t intrude. Go do dad things. I’ll keep this guy busy.” With that, Silas called out a play that had Chase running forward and making a sharp right.
I squeezed his shoulder, then headed for the house. “Ivy?”
She didn’t respond, but the sound of running water from upstairs gave me a clue to her whereabouts. I knocked on the bathroom door.
The faucet turned off a moment later. “Yeah?”
“Can we talk for a sec?”
Ivy opened the door a crack. “Okay.”
She wiped her hands on a towel and patted her face. Her poor eyes were red—either with tears or because she’d rubbed them raw to clean off the makeup.
“Um…” Shit, I was bad at this. I massaged the back of my neck and flashed a smile that felt false and awkward. “Listen, I noticed you’ve been wearing makeup every once in a while. Like today. Your mom and I like to be on the same page about these things and?—”
“Dad, it’s a little eye shadow. That’s all.” She crossed her arms, her mouth set in an angry line. “It’s not like I’m vaping or anything.”
Vaping.Oh, fuck.
I tried again. “True, but honey, I gotta say…you don’t seem to be happy about it. You raced up here to get rid of the evidence. So either you don’t want me to see or acknowledge it…or maybe makeup isn’t the problem. I don’t know. Fill me in.”
She sidled around me and flounced down the hall to her room. I caught up in time to see Ivy fling herself face first onto her purple gingham duvet.
