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A slight smile plays on his profile as he drives. I’ve never wanted to kiss those lips so much in my life. “Pull over.”

He doesn’t stop, but he taps the brakes, glancing over at me. “Everything okay?”

“Sure. Good.” Better than okay. “Just pull over, please?”

We’re on this road that’s kind of rural and there aren’t exactly great places to stop. He ends up pulling off onto the start of a gravel road that, according to the sign, leads to a local feed lot. Not exactly romantic, but I’ll take it.

He turns his warm gaze to mine. There’s a hint of worry and I’m sorry for putting it there, but I couldn’t have him driving while I said what I want to say.

“What’s wrong, Dean?”

“Nothing.” When I can’t hold it back anymore, I unbuckle my belt and lunch across the console, hitting my head before my hands go to the sides of his face. As I kiss him and lick inside his mouth, my fidgety fingers find the soft curls of his beard and massage them gently.

Every single bit of touching him feels like coming home, and for once I think maybe that might be okay. Maybe we be a team. A real one.

“Thank you,” I breathe against his lips. “For everything you said in there. For everything you’ve done for us. Thank you. Thank you so fucking much.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Dean

That afternoon, I run out for groceries while Mike picks up Ella from school. We’re planning to give her the good news over dinner, so I picked up some of her favorites. Cantaloupe and frozen pizza.

For once, I’m doing my best to keep the what-ifs out of my head. What if they change their minds? What if it all goes wrong?

Still, as I bring the groceries out of the car, I’m arguing with myself over the expense. I hate to waste food, and we already have plenty in the house. These days I have a bad habit of buying too much food.

But even as the bags are cutting into my hand, I’m so excited to tell Ella that she gets to go to the place with the extra dance classes and the fully stocked art room and⁠—

“There you are, Son. Beginning to think you didn’t live here after all.”

It’s in the mid sixties today, but I’m hit with an icy blast. “Daddy?”

The sight of him has my heart racing and my neck suddenly tight. My aching hands tighten around the grocery bag handles. Don’t think I realized how badly I didn’t want him here until he was right in front of me.

My father steps away from where he’s been leaning against the side of our apartment building, all but camouflaged by a big mural the city painted on the side, the one I stopped looking at a long time ago. Especially when I’m lost in thought.

He holds his arms out. “No hug for your old man?”

I shrug my arms, which are so obviously full of groceries anyone would notice.

“Got my hands full.”

“Pizzas, huh? That was always your favorite.”

How the heck would he even remember? If anybody got me pizza it was my coach who drove me home after practice when no one else picked me up.

The urge to correct him, to argue with him, claws at the back of my throat. Worse still, the urge to point out that I got them for my kid, because I give a damn about her the way he hasn’t in a long time.

That he once made me hot chocolate when the weather was chilly and comforted me after Mama left is the only reason I haven’t shut him off entirely. I can still taste those damn tiny marshmallows, remember chasing them around the mug with my spoon.

Daddy’s gambling problems started when he was trying to multiply our money to pay our bills, and I know a little something about doing desperate things to keep a roof over your kid’s head. He has an illness. He’s struggling, I tell myself. And who turns their back on a struggling parent?

Still. Even if I worry every day about being good enough to raise Ella, at least I’m not cashing in the birthday check her grandparents sent or missing school pickup because I’ve driven out of state to lose my money at a dog track.

I also don’t feel right saying Ella’s name around him.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re here, but I didn’t know you were coming and I don’t have time now.”