“Sorry, Mom,” he shoots back, grinning, and the boys laugh.
Laughter. God, I miss the sound. They were so confused the night Tuck asked us to leave. I told them what I could—that he needed time with his sister, that Marbles was okay, that they’d see him soon. And because they’re kids, because they’re resilient in ways I wish I still was, they accepted it. They bounced back.
But now…now I have this creeping, unmistakable feeling that they’re not just bouncing—they’re planning something.
“Maybe I should call Grant. Check on him,” I say, grasping for something—anything—that lets me avoid what this is really about.
“Grandma said he’s sleeping,” Lucas says quickly. Too quickly. “Will you take us, Mom? We really want to go. And you liked the box last time.”
I did. Because Tuck was there. Because everything felt easy. Because I didn’t know the truth.
My stomach knots so tight it almost hurts, and I turn to Nicklas, done pretending. “If this is some kind of set-up to get Tuck and me back together?—”
“Back together?” Josh blurts, genuinely confused. “What are you talking about, Mom? You said you’re just friends. He only asked us to leave because he wanted time with Aunt Kate.”
Aunt Kate.
The words land like a punch.
God.
This is my fault.
All of it.
I built this version of the truth for them, and now I’m trapped inside it. Because I can’t tell my son that it was more. That it mattered. That it still matters. Not when he’s looking at me like everything is fine. Because if everything is fine…why wouldn’t I go to the game?
It’s Wednesday. I can’t hide behind school. And lately, I’ve already been disappearing on them—retreating to my room at night, pretending I’m just tired when really I’m trying to piece myself back together.
Maybe they need this, need me to take them.
Josh leans forward, his voice softer now, hopeful in a way that makes my chest ache.
“Please, Mom. We really want to go.”
I swipe my hand down the front of my apron, smoothing out wrinkles that aren’t really there. “Fine. We can go.”
I’ll sit in the box, smile, make conversation with the women I’ve grown close to. If they ask, I’ll shrug it off like it’s nothing. Like it was nothing. I’ll tell them Tuck and I have moved on. Maybe I’ll even toss out something about reaching out to Declan again.
Which is a complete lie.
At this point, I’m seriously considering a life of solitude. Me, a good book, and absolutely no men with secrets.
Nicklas takes a slow sip of his coffee, like he’s got all the time in the world. “Great. See you guys in the box tonight. Now go—homework. Like your mom said.”
The boys laugh, chairs scraping loudly as they jump up. A second later, they’re thundering up the stairs, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the picture frames.
Silence settles in behind them. I let it stretch for a beat, then another, my eyes still on the staircase before I turn back to Nicklas to find him watching me. I stare back.
“What?” he finally asks.
My pulse ticks up. I shouldn’t ask. I know I shouldn’t ask. Whatever answer I get isn’t going to make this better. But the question has been sitting there, festering. Waiting.
“How long have you known about Ben?”
Nicklas shrugs, too casual. “Not long. Couple weeks. He mentioned it.”
A couple weeks.
