Page 106 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

“Us,” he repeats, like he’s trying the word on for fit. “Us is not ending in a hospital room. Us is not ending with arrests. Us is not ending at all, if I have anything to say about it.”

I feel my whole face soften before I can stop it. “That sounds suspiciously like hope.”

“It’s worse than hope,” he says dryly. “It’s intent.”

That gets another laugh out of me, and his eyes follow the sound like it’s the only thing in the room worth keeping.

I look down at our hands, still tangled together. “Ivy asked if you were here to be her dad.”

His expression shifts, quiet and open in a way he doesn’t give many people. “I know.”

“She likes you.”

Nathan’s mouth curves faintly. “I’m relieved to hear it. I was aiming high.”

I trace my thumb once over his knuckles. “You’re going to have to earn a lot.”

“Yes,” he says simply. “I am.”

No defensiveness. No bravado. Just that. I nod once. “That’s good, since I’m not done making your life difficult.”

His eyes warm. “I’d be worried if you were.”

We stay like that for a while after, talking quietly, not about crime or evidence or hospitals, just enough to let the room become human again. I tell him about Ivy’s wanted poster. He tells me Daniel has already been insufferable twice and called him an idiot three times. I tell him Maya wants visiting rights if this turns into a domestic setup. He says Maya can submit an application in triplicate.

By the time the nurse comes in to check vitals, the room feels less like the site of an aftermath and more like the beginning of something that survived it.

When I finally stand to leave, Nathan doesn’t let go of my hand right away.

“This isn’t the end of it,” he says.

I know what he means. Court dates. Statements. Paperwork. Recovery. School decisions. Real life, now that the ghosts have names and cells and consequences.

“No,” I say. “It isn’t.”

His thumb strokes once over my wrist. “Good.”

I lean down and kiss his forehead this time, then his mouth, then I step back and smile at him in the low hospital light. He looks bruised and tired and furious and alive. He looks like mine in all the ways that matter.

23

NATHAN SR

The first week after the arrests is a slow crawl through pain medication, police statements, and the particular insult of needing help to sit upright like a normal man.

Beacon Harbor keeps me longer than I want, and Daniel enjoys that far too much. “You’re healing,” he says one morning, adjusting the bed slightly. “Try not to ruin it by being yourself.”

I glance at the ridiculous scrub cap on his head and decide I still have enough strength to be offended. “That’s rich coming from a man wearing cartoon kidneys.”

“They’re educational,” he replies, then looks toward the door. “Your girls are here.”

That shuts me up fast.

Athena walks in first with coffee and a tote bag, and Ivy comes in right behind her holding a folded drawing and the kind of expression that says she already has opinions. The room changes the second they enter it. The monitors don’t sound different. The light doesn’t shift. Still, the room changes.

“Morning,” Athena says in a warm, soft voice.

“Morning,” I reply.