No matter how angry I am at her for saying she wished she’d never come back, she doesn’t deserve what I said.
Because she’s justified. She’s only trying to protect Mila. She’s doing what comes naturally to her. What should come naturally to me.
Only I didn’t protect her. I did the exact opposite. I threatened her.
“Fuck!”
I rest my forearms against the nearest tree and lean in. I stare at the ground and knock the bark repeatedly with the end of my fists. My eyes burn with guilty tears. For both Sofie and Mila.
Neither of them deserves this. Not for a single fuckin’ second.
“Well, you were on fire there.” Jenna’s voice travels across the yard.
“If you’re out here to give me a piece of your mind, don’t bother. I already got it in my own head.”
“Nah, she already gave you what you deserve, you jerk.”
“Gee, thanks for the support.” I push off the tree and head back into the house. “I don’t need you to remind me I fucked up. My daughter being here without her mother will be enough reminder of that.”
“Ah, she’s coming over?” Her voice brightens. “I love babies.”
“She’s not a baby. She’s almost two.”
“Oh, but toddlers’re so cute with their little words!”
I look over my shoulder. “Carry on like that, and I’ll think you’re the one havin’ a baby.”
She bites her lip and smiles.
“No shit.”
“I found out the day we got here.” She shrugs. “That’s what I get for having sex on the job.”
“Good thing your boyfriend works for us or I’d be asking you what the fuck you were playin’ at.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze lightly. “Congrats, J. You’ll be an awesome mom.”
She slides an arm around my waist and rests her head on my shoulder. “You will be, too, you know. A dad, that is, not a mom. Once you have a real chance.”
“I had a chance. I fucked it up.” I smile sadly. “Hell, I had more than a chance. I could have given Mila a real family, then I had to go and say something dumb and screw it all up.”
I let her go and walk inside. Jenna’s barely joined me when Mom walks in with Mila in her arms.
My baby girl squeals as soon as she sees me and almost throws herself out of Mom’s arms to get to me. I take her and hold her to me, burying my face in her unruly dark hair and breathing her in.
“Ah, Dadda,” she coos in my ear.
I hold her tighter. How the hell could I have done something that would hurt her? Easy—I forgot who really matters. I focused on Sofie instead of my daughter, something I told myself I wouldn’t do.
But it’s easy to forget when they’re both so important to me.
“Did you have fun with Nana and Auntie Leila?” I ask Mila.
“Yeah, Dadda. Fun!” She claps her hands. “Oh! Bunna!”
She looks around frantically until Tate hands it to her. She blinks at him the way she did the first time she saw him, then her face breaks out in a big smile.
“Tay!” she cries happily. “Bunna, thanks!”
I laugh quietly. “Looks like you have a new friend.”
I hold her out to him and he stares at me, horrified. “What the hell, bro?”
“Tay Tay!” Mila grabs at him, giggling, and Tate takes her.
He holds her awkwardly on his hip, glancing down at her. Seeing my overconfident, tattooed big brother holding this tiny little girl is hilarious. Heartwarming, but hilarious.
I half-smile, but it drops when I get a sharp smack in the back of my head. “What the . . .”
I turn in time to see Leila glare at me before going upstairs.
“What bit her butt?” I ask Mom.
She raises her eyebrows, purses her lips, and turns away.
I guess Sofie told them what happened.
I sigh and take Mila. I carry her through to the living room, set her on the floor, and sit on the sofa. Mom comes in with some crayons and paper and puts them in front of her.
Mila looks up with a grin. “Thanks.”
I gaze at her as she drops Bunna and clasps a green crayon. She scribbles on the page, not drawing anything at all, then changes to a purple crayon. I keep watching her, letting her do her thing. When she’s done with the first page she pushes it to the side and starts on the next.
She’s so blissfully unaware of the pain her parents are in.
I hope it stays that way.
Leila pokes her head around the door and looks from Mila to me.
“What?”
“I’m goin’ out,” she says angrily.
“Great. Why do I need to know?”
“Because,” she hisses quietly so she doesn’t disturb Mila, “I’m going to clean up your mess. That’s why.”
She spins and disappears before I can say another word. I drop my head back against the sofa and look at the ceiling. Hell, this is going from bad to worse.
I should have listened to Sofie. I should have just let her ignore me.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda.
I run upstairs to my room and grab a pad of paper and a pencil. I tuck the pad under my arm and go back into the front room. Mila is so engrossed in what she’s doing she hasn’t even noticed, so I set the pad on my knee and blow on the tip of the pencil.
“Songwritin’?” Kye asks quietly, sitting next to me.
I nod and touch the pencil to the paper. And I let the words flow.
The next morning, I creep out of my room while Mila’s still sleeping. Bypassing the creaky step, I go downstairs and into the kitchen. My guitar is propped by the back door, and I pick it up and set it on the table. I unzip the case and grab both the pad in the case and the one I was writing in yesterday.
The early morning breeze is cool against my bare back as I sit on the porch steps, my guitar resting on my knees. I flip through the pads until I’m at the right pages and try to line the notes up with the lines of lyrics.
Every couple of lines, I play and hum to make sure I have it right. I’m sure I do, but I go over it again and again anyway. I repeat it until the melody is burned into my mind, and I’m sure I hate every word I wrote last night.
“All right, son?” Dad pokes his head out the door when I stop playing.
I look up. “Yeah. Just . . . messin’.”
“Mila’s awake,” he says. “No rush, though. Your mom made her breakfast.”
“You should have got me.” I close the pads and stand. “I would have done it.”