"Text me if you're about to do something stupid. Seriously." She pauses, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Day or night. Doesn't matter if I'm sleeping or working. One text and I'll talk you off whatever ledge you're standing on."
We both laugh, but her eyes stay serious.
"I mean it," she says, her voice dropping to that earnest tone she only uses when she's dead serious. "Promise me you won't do anything crazy. You and Reeves have built something beautiful. Liam needs both of you." Her fingers tighten around mine, and I can see the genuine worry etched across her face, the slight furrow between her brows that appears whenever she's concerned about me.
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of her words settle in my chest. She's right, of course. Everything Reeves and I built over seven years—our little yellow house, our struggling pool hall, our family—it all hangs in a delicate balance. And Liam, with his sweet smile, deserves better than a mother who's contemplating throwing it all away over a man who makes her feel things she shouldn't.
I squeeze her hand back. "I promise."
But even as the words leave my mouth, I wonder if it's a promise I can keep. The thought settles like a stone in my stomach, heavy with the weight of possibility.
Caine's face flashes in my mind—those gorgeous eyes of his, the way his voice slows when he speaks directly to me. It's terrifying how easily he's slipped beneath my defences, creating cracks in the foundation of everything I've built with Reeves—all of it feels both precious and precarious in this moment, balanced on the edge of this insane attraction I feel for this man I barely know.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I dig through my closet, pushing aside hangers filled with old dresses and faded t-shirts. The light from the bedroom window catches dust dancing in the air as I search for something—anything—that might work for tomorrow. My fingers brush past the soft cotton of Reeves’s old rock band shirts that I've claimed as my own, the ones I usually tie up at the waist when I'm working at the pool hall.
Nothing seems right. I need something that says ‘I’ve got my life together’ even when everything feels like it's falling apart. I pause for a moment as I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Maybe I'm overthinking this, like I overthink everything these days.
"Mommy, look!" Liam giggles behind me, his voice bright with delight.
I turn to find him wobbling in my black pumps, the two-inch heels making him teeter like a baby giraffe taking its first steps. He's got his arms out for balance, his little face scrunched in concentration, his dark hair falling across his forehead. Those big brown eyes of his—so much like Reeves’s—are wide with determination as he tries to master this new challenge. The sight of my four-year-old son in my dress shoes is adorable.
Even with his hearing challenges, Liam approaches everything with such fearless curiosity. My heart swells watching him, this little person who somehow makes all the stress of our lives momentarily fade away.
"Very stylish," I laugh, though I can already picture Reeves’s frown if he walked in right now. The way his jaw would tighten, that look that says he's worried about Liam being "too soft." As if a four-year-old trying on his mom's shoes means anything at all.
I turn back to my limited options, sighing at the sparse selection that seems to mock my indecision. There's the dark brown silk skirt I wore to my sister Julie's wedding four years ago—way too formal, not to mention a painful reminder of how she managed to look flawless while seven months pregnant with those perfect twins of hers.
And then there's the denim mini that's frayed at the edges from too many washes, practically begging to be retired. I pull it out anyway, holding it against my hips infront of the mirror, wincing at the reflection. God, no. It would hug every curve I've been trying to hide since Liam was born, and my stomach would definitely peek over the waistband—that little pooch that never quite disappeared, no matter how many crunches I halfheartedly attempt between bartending shifts. The last thing I need is to be tugging at my hemline while trying to look composed.
My fingers land on something corduroy. I pull out the army green skirt I'd forgotten about, knee-length with just enough flare to be flattering. Perfect for winter, casual enough that I won't look like I'm trying too hard. It's one of those pieces that somehow makes it through every closet purge, always spared at the last minute because it's so reliable. The fabric is soft from countless wears, but still holds its shape in all the right places.
I run my thumb over the textured ridges, remembering how Reeves once said it made my legs look amazing. Maybe with my cream-colored sweater and those ankle boots Julie gave me last Christmas—the ones I pretended to love just to keep the peace—I could actually pull this off without feeling like I'm constantly sucking in my stomach.
I lay it on the bed alongside my black boots and a black tank top. The loose cream knit sweater will soften the look—casual but put together. Like I just threw thison without thinking, when really I've spent an hour agonizing over it.
I slip the outfit on and stand before the mirror. The skirt hugs my hips just right before falling in a gentle A-line. My mind wanders to dangerous territory—Caine's long fingers sliding beneath the hem, tracing up my thigh, his touch slow and deliberate... I shiver despite the warmth of the room. God, I need to stop this.
I smooth the fabric down, trying to focus on how it looks rather than these forbidden thoughts that keep creeping in when I least expect them. The dark fabric makes my legs look longer, slimmer. I turn sideways, checking my profile.
Not bad for someone who's had a kid and subsists mainly on leftover chicken nuggets and whatever I can grab during my shifts. I bite my lip, wondering what he'll think when he sees me in this—then immediately scold myself for caring. It shouldn't matter. It can't matter. But somehow, it still does.
"Mommy! I boke it!" Liam's distressed voice snaps me back to reality.
I turn to see him holding one of my black flats, a leather flower dangling from his fingers. His bottom lip trembles, eyes wide with fear. He hunches his shoulders slightly—the way he does when he's bracing for Reeves’s shouting.
"Oh, baby.” I kneel, taking the shoe and the decoration. "It's okay. We can fix this."
His little body relaxes as I pull him into a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around my neck. I breathe in his familiar scent—a mix of apple shampoo and that indescribable sweetness that only children have.
Against my chest, I can feel his racing heart gradually slow down. This is our ritual; whenever he's upset, we hold each other until the world rights itself again. It reminds me of how my father used to comfort me when I was small, before the accident took him away.
"Not mad?" he whispers against my hair.
"Never at you," I promise, holding him closer, wishing I could protect him from all the raised voices and broken windows in the world.
The moment I step into the pool hall, our eyes lock, and it's as if the air has been sucked out of the room. There's an intensity to the way Caine looks at me, like he's trying to strip away my layers with his gaze alone. I can feel the weight of his stare as I make my way toward him, my heart pounding a wild rhythm in my chest.
