Shaking my head, I point to the bathroom. “I’m not going back in there.” A pissed off Adeline is scary, but I’m used to her. The angry four-year-old accusing me of staring at his private parts? Abso-fucking-lutely not.
With a huffedfine, she stomps across the room to her closet. The entire time, I’m mesmerized by the way her ass sways. It doesn’t jiggle because the woman is all fucking muscle. She has a six pack, toned thighs, and calves that could put any hockey player, regardless of sex, to shame. But it’s the fucking curve of her hips when they meet her ass and the dimples at the small of her back that make my mouth water.
I want to bend her over and eat her from behind. I want to taste every inch of her until the fight has left her and she’s a boneless mess. I want to kiss her lips and pull her into my arms and bury my head in the crook of her neck because for years that was my safe space.
Fuck.
Finally, I spin around and face the door, letting the shame and sadness wash over me.
“I’m dressed,” she grouses. “You can go now.”
Eyes closed, I drop my head to the door with a thud. “Adeline, I?—”
“Daddy, can you come tuck me in?” Avery yells from down the hall.
As my shoulders fall, I shake my head. Now’s not the time, apparently.
That seems to be the theme with Adeline Langfield and me.
It’s never the time.
“I’m sorry.” I ease the door open and disappear down the hall without waiting to see if she accepts my apology. I know better than to believe she ever will.
Before entering the room Avery is sharing with her cousin and thetwins, I take a deep breath and force a smile onto my face. My little girl is far too perceptive, and the last thing I want is for her to worry.
“No, he walked in on me,” Declan tells Winnie who is trying to get him to lie down on the bottom bunk. Beck is already resting on the top bunk, eyes closed and headphones on.
Pretty genius, actually. I might try it when I go to bed.
“Well, you were in his bathroom,” Winnie says, patting the bed again. “Now go to sleep.”
I turn away, not wanting to argue with a four-year-old, and head toward the girls’ bunk. “Did you have a good tubby?” I ask them.
Avery is sitting on the mattress of the bottom bunk, setting up her row of Squishmallows. She’s got an absurd number of them because my mother brings her a new one every time she sees her. Catherine Bouvier’s philosophy on life is “What’s money good for if I can’t use it to spoil my grandbabies?” I suppose she’s right. Still, Avery can barely fit on the twin mattress without being on top of one.
“Hey, short stuff,” I say to Gracie, who’s in the top bunk doodling in a notebook. “You almost ready for bed?”
The little girl giggles. “That’s not my name, Uncky JJ.”
Technically we’re first cousins once removed or something like that, but she’s always called meUnckyand I kind of love it.
“Can we call Mom?” Avery asks, voice soft but demanding.
Sighing, I pull out my phone. She asks every night, but Tabitha hasn’t answered at all over the last two weeks. This is where the comment about harassing her comes in. Since she wouldn’t answer calls or texts from my phone, my attorney stepped in, hoping to talk some sense into her and explain that her four-year-old misses her, but I’m not hopeful that she’ll pick up.And when she doesn’t, it’ll crush Avery.
Still, I settle beside my little girl and hit Tab’s number.
Avery stares at the screen as it rings five times. When it finally goes to voicemail, she hits the End button rather than leave a message. “Mimi next.”
This is a nightly thing. Avery insists on saying good night to all the people she loves. It’s sweet, of course, but I worry that it’s because I travel so much and because Tabitha has never been a present parent.
My mother answers on the first ring. “Hi, my little angel. How was your day?”
Avery settles against my chest, smiling up at me. “It was good. Daddy took me to the park, and then Finn made burgers and we played with the raccoons.”
“Sounds like a great day,” Mom says.
“Is that Avey?” Dad asks, his voice muffled. There’s a little rustling, and when he speaks again, he’s louder and more clear. “Hey, blondie, when are we going for ice cream?”
