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“They were making fun of me because Daddy isn’t here. They called him a … deadbeat,” she says, tripping over the word, and I feel, rather than see, Killian tense beside me. “Deadbeat” isn’t a word in most eight-year-olds’ vocabularies, which means they learned it from their parents. It’s not like I don’t know people talk shit behind my back, and I knew Caitlin and James would hear it at some point, but so young and on the fucking playground? Jesus. “And they said it was his fault that you don’t have a good job, and we don’t have a lot of money so I can’t have riding lessons.”

I take a deep breath. Inside, her words split me apart. Outside, I can’t let her see that. “That was unkind of them. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

“I told them I like that you work at the diner, and that I asked Santa for riding lessons.” Shit. I guess I’m going to have to find a way to figure it out now. “That word—deadbeat. Is that what Daddy is? Is that why he doesn’t want to be with us?”

I exchange a glance with Killian, and he looks angry enough that I half-expect him to head into the school, find Addison and Annabel, and give them a piece of his mind. When I woke up this morning, I thought the hardest part of my day would be trying not to think about the kiss. I wish it was.

I don’t want to lie to her, but I don’t want to be the one to sour her opinion of her dad any further. And she’s too young to know the truth anyway. “I can’t speak for what your dad wants and doesn’t want. Here’s what I do know: it’s not fair that some people get to have their dads around and you don’t, but people should never be unkind about it. And I know that, whether your dad is around or not, I love you so much, and James loves you, and Grandma and Grandpa, and Uncle Landon and Aunt Piper—”

“And Killian,” Caitlin adds, before I’ve even finished speaking. “Right?”

He doesn’t miss a beat before replying. “Of course I love you,” he says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Which loving my kids is for me. But Killian’s known they existed for only two weeks and they’re a physical manifestation of his dad’s lies. I wouldn’t blame him for taking a little while to warm up to them. That he has so quickly both means a lot to me and makes me even angrier at Dom. Killian has shown Caitlin and James more love in two weeks than their dad has in four years.

Caitlin seems a little happier by the time we make it home. She won’t always bounce back from this so quickly, but kids are resilient, and I’m glad she can now. I, on the other hand, feel like I’ve run five marathons while simultaneously thinking about everything bad that’s ever happened. I’m mentally exhausted.

On the way home, Killian stopped by Slice o’ Pines, the only pizza place in town. Calling it pizza is a little generous—stale bread and greasy cheese would be better—but it’s all we have, and Caitlin likes it. He drops the two of us home, offering to pick James up from pre-school so Caitlin and I can have some time, just the two of us. And by the time we’re snuggled on the couch, the pizza box between us and Caitlin’s favorite horse show on TV, she’s back to her usual, sunny self.

I lie back and take her in—the complete enrapture she watches the show with—listening to every “fun horse fact!” she throws my way, content just to focus on her. The horse and rider on TV jump over a creek and gallop down a trail, not unlike the trails we walk sometimes near Pine Creek.

“I want to do that,” she says, dreamily, pointing at the TV. “When I learn to ride, I want to go on the trails. Mia at school gets lessons with Cane and they go out on the trails all the time. Doesn’t that sound so fun, Mama?”

“Super fun,” I agree, smiling even though guilt courses through me. She doesn’t ask again if she can have lessons—she knows I can’t afford it. She doesn’t sound jealous of Mia. She’s just sharing her excitement for something she hopes will happen one day. And fuck, I want to make it happen. I’ve known Cane, who owns the local riding school and horse sanctuary, since I was a kid. Maybe if I can talk to him, he can do some kind of payment plan for me, just so she can have a couple of lessons. Not that I’ll be giving Santa credit for it if I can figure it out.

I don’t let myself linger on the thought, on the worries and guilt. Caitlin is happy right now, and that’s what matters.

“Thanks for coming to get me. This is nice,” she says, still half-focused on the TV.

My heart swells. “Anytime, Caity-cat. We should do this more often.”

She gives me a toothy smile. “I’d like that.”

I don’t remember the last time Caitlin and I hung out like this, just the two of us. Before James was born, probably. I’ve always focused on quality family time and rarely get time one-on-one with the kids. Mostly because my time is limited, and my childcare options even more so. I never want to ask my parents, Landon, or Piper for too much.

Having Killian around has improved things here in every way, but this might be my favorite. I know that, whatever he and James are doing, James will be having fun. Caitlin and I get some time to ourselves, and I don’t have to worry about James in Killian’s capable hands. He’s made things so much better for the kids, so much easier and less stressful for me.

Which is just another reason the kiss was a bad idea. We have a good thing going, and I’m not going to fuck this up for my kids.

16

Killian

It’s no surprise to me that when I pick James up from pre-school and ask him where he wants to go, he immediately answers, “The bookstore.” He knows what he likes, and I love that he loves reading so much. My grandparents—shit, our grandparents—are big readers, and they really encouraged all of their kids and grandkids to read. The older I get, the less “for fun” reading I find myself doing, but Ronan is a big reader, and I already know James is going to love him—and the feeling will be mutual.

James knows his way around Lucky Spines and wastes no time in tugging me to his favorite section. I expect him to point out the books he wants, but instead he points out all the books he already has, tells me which ones he’s read, and exactly what he thought of them.

“I liked these pictures, but this one had more pages,” he tells me, holding up two books with cat illustrations that would’ve given me nightmares as a kid.

It takes a little nudging, but I convince him to pick out a couple of books he wants, and we find a horse book that just came out, so Caitlin won’t have it yet.

“Does your mom like to read?” I ask James as he pets the head of every stuffed animal on the plushy display.

“She likes to read stories to Cait and me.”

That, she does, but I’ve never seen her reading for herself. Even if she does like reading, Scarlett isn’t known for prioritizing her own interests. I peer up at the “new release” section, wondering what kind of thing she’d pick up.

“She likes to look at the puzzles,” James pipes up.

“Huh?”