I almost cry right then at how kind she’s being, but I manage to hold back the emotions that have been nearly boiling over all damn day.
“Dawson, let’s go. Time to get out. Drain the tub, please.”
He loves to drain the tub himself since he learned how to do it. He pulls up on the silver knob. I lead Dutton toward the bedroom the boys are sleeping in and start dressing him in his pajamas. Thankfully, I managed to grab them each aclean set. I can’t say the same for myself. I’m still wearing the frumpy, old black leggings and cropped white top with no bra that I had on when the fire alarm went off. I smell faintly of smoke.
At least the bunkhouse is nice and cozy.
Eden brings Dawson in, wrapped in a towel, and helps him get dressed. I thank her, and she smiles before leaving the room.
“Okay, boys, time for bed. It’s fun to have a sleepover at the ranch, right?”
They both nod, lying down in the queen-sized bed.
“I wanna ride a cow tomorrow,” Dutton says.
I snort, nodding. “Okay, I don’t know if they do that, but we can ask Mr. Holden.”
“I want to learn ropes with Cowboy, Mommy,” Dawson says, scrunching his face up.
‘Cowboy’ is the nickname they’ve given Duke.
I lick my lips, sighing. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do about that tomorrow. It’s bedtime right now though.”
I say a quick bedtime prayer and give them each a kiss on the cheek before leaving the room with the door cracked open. When I walk back out into the living room, Eden is sitting on the overstuffed chair in the living room, reading a book. I envy her ability to sit still and read, which is something I haven’t done in years.
“Your phone keeps buzzing on the counter, by the way,” she says, eyes still on the page.
“Okay, thank you.”
I grab the phone, wishing I had left it at the apartment to go down in flames when I see Matt’s name flashacross the screen. He’s called me sixteen times and texted me a slew of colorful texts.
Matt
I’m just calling to tell my sons good night.
You think they don’t want to hear their father’s voice before bed?
Bitch.
I’m calling to talk to the boys, not their whore mother.
Answer your fucking phone!!!!!!!!
I’m calling my lawyer and telling him you’re refusing to let me speak to my children.
You know this is illegal, right? Just checking. I know you don’t have a degree or anything.
You’re probably fucking someone and ignoring my kids right now.
Sounds about right.
Answer my fucking phone call, or you’re not going to like what happens when I find you.
I release a deep exhale, wondering how I made it five years, being married to such a bipolar psychopath. I was literally escaping a fire at my apartment building, and he’s accusing me of sleeping with someone else and being a bad mom.
I don’t have the energy for him tonight. I send a quick text back, for legal purposes only.
Dallas
