Liam

 

I text Kensley every day.

She ignores me. Every day.

I screwed up, and don’t know how to fix it.

Finally, on Friday night, she responds back.

I have a shift tonight and Sharon can’t cover it for reasons I’d rather not go into. Would you be willing to hang out with the girls?

I don’t even have the message completely read through before I’m answering back, Yes.

I’m staring at my phone, hoping she’ll text back.

When she doesn’t right away, I try, What time?

That one, she answers. It’s a late night. I’ll find someone else.

Kensley, I start to type but then delete it and call her instead.

She picks up on the first ring but doesn’t say anything.

She holds a grudge. I file that in my thought bank.

“What time do you want me over?” I ask by way of hello.

“It’s too late, Liam. I’ll find someone else.” She sounds sad and tired, and I hate it.

Fucking hate it.

“What time do you want me over?” I try again.

“I won’t get home until nearly one-thirty. Really. I can find someone else.”

“Kensley.”

She sighs slowly. “Six-thirty.” I look at the clock; it’s already two and Guinness hasn’t had his run yet. We’ll have plenty of time for that and a shower.

“I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”

I want to offer to bring her dinner, but she hangs up before I can. Dammit.

That’s okay. I have an in.

And I’m going to work with it.

 

*   *   *

 

I get to her place earlier than intended—and that was with a stop to a mom-and-pop deli. When she opens the door, Kensley looks exhausted.

As if tonight isn’t her first late night.

“God, Kens,” I mutter.

Bu then her eyes fill with tears. Not even thinking, I drop the bag and reach for her shoulders, pulling her in. “Hey, what’s wrong?” She shakes her head against my chest.

I hold her for a minute before asking, “Is it the hours? Let me help you, Kensley.”

She reaches her hands between us and wipes at her wet cheeks. “No. Although those and the hormones aren’t helping, I’m sure,” she tries to joke.

“Talk to me, Kens,” I mumble, my eyes searching hers.

She shakes her head and I take it to mean she’s blocking me out again. I hate it, but I’m going to have to be okay with it.

I follow her into her apartment after grabbing the grocery bag, leaving it on the kitchen counter. It’s then that I notice the living room is free of bulky furniture.

With her voice lowered, she says, “They’re playing in their room. I want to talk to you where they can’t hear.” Then, she leads me to her room, where she closes the door behind me.

“I wasn’t going to say anything, and hell, had you gotten here on time like you were supposed to instead of early,” she jokes dryly, “I wouldn’t have, but you caught me at the right time. Their dad’s home,” she forces out, rubbing her hand over her forehead and avoiding my eyes.

Did she…?

Did they…?

My mind is racing with what this could mean.

For her.

For the girls.

For us.

If there still is an us.

“I’m afraid he’ll try coming over. His mom has been good about keeping the girls away from him but it’s not like Mark to just…let it all go. He knows we’re not in the house anymore. He knows his mom is watching the girls.”

“I thought he didn’t do anything with them, anyway.”

“He doesn’t, but he would to get back at me. He doesn’t have time for them. Sharon told me today that he told her…” She pauses but continues quickly, “He’s going to contest custody.”

“Can he?”

She shrugs. “He’s their father.”

“But you guys were never married?” I’m trying to get all the pieces of the puzzle.

Kensley shakes her head but then changes the subject.

Why? Because she’s embarrassed? Because she doesn’t want me in that part of her life?

“So, the girls are bathed. I’ll put Sawyer to bed now, and London can hang out for another twenty minutes or so. She brushed her teeth, so no more treats.”

I want to ask more questions, but I know she needs to get going, so I let it go. “Okay.” While she gets Sawyer in bed, I go to the small kitchen and go through the bag I brought, pulling out the deli sandwich, homemade soup, and cookie—and maybe a note that I was going to skip, but ended up bringing anyway.

I realize she’s working at a grocery store and has all of this at her disposal, but I wanted to do something for her. Plus, this deli has the best homemade everything.

I look around the kitchen, opening up the few cabinets, until I find what I’m looking for—a woman’s lunch bag. It says Thirty-One on the tag. I fill it with the items I brought for Kensley, then put the rest of what was in the plastic bag in the fridge for myself, for later.

It’s not much longer when London comes racing in by me, launching herself at my legs. “Liam! I’m so excited you’re here!”

It’s hard to stay straight faced with that enthusiasm. “Yeah? I’m excited to be here,” I tell her truthfully, picking her up. She’s in a pink Tangled nightgown and her hair is still wet from her bath.

She’s rattling off her plans for us when Kensley comes in. She steps close to press a kiss to London’s cheek and damn, but she almost does the same to me.

She stops mid-lean, though, then blushes bright red.

Alright.

Okay.

We’re good.

We’re gonna be okay.

“I owed you lunch,” I say, giving her a break. With London firmly on my hip, I reach for the bag I stuffed for her. “Nothing fancy.”

She’s still pink in the cheeks, but she’s smiling and shaking her head. “Thank you, Liam.” Then, to London, she points her finger. “You. Behave.” She reaches in to tickle London’s tummy and I nearly get kicked in the groin, but I dodge London’s heel just in time.

Kensley is looking around the kitchen, rummaging through drawers, until she pulls out her keys. She looks around, her eyes settling on me and London, only to look around the room again.

“I guess that’s it. I should be back by one-thirty. Feel free to fall asleep, if you need to. Shoot!” Her eyes go wide. “You didn’t pick up at the station tomorrow did you? Oh, God, I didn’t even consider…”

“I’m good Kens. We’re good. The girls will be fine and London and me will hang out for a bit. Everything’s good.”

She’s got that worried look on her face again, but she nods. “Okay. Alright.” She palms her keys and steps past us, but at the door, turns back. “Sawyer should be fine, but if she wakes up and is absolutely inconsolable, she has pacies in the cabinet to the right of the stove. We’ve managed to break the habit mostly, but sometimes…”

I nod. “Alright. Sounds good. If she needs it, she needs it.”

“Okay.” Kensley sighs and looks around once more, before nodding to herself. “Yeah. Okay. Have a good night. And thank you. Please lock the door behind me.”

Kensley hardly has the door closed, and me locking it, before London is wiggling in my arm. “Let’s watch Doc!”

I imagine Doc is of the McStuffins variety, and I figure Kensley would be okay with that. After setting London to her feet, she leads me to the couch and stands on it, jumping twice before landing on her butt. I’m not entirely sure that’s something her mother would want her doing—jumping on the couch—but she’s sitting now, so there’s not much I can say.

I sit beside her, reaching for the universal remote. Thankfully, Kensley uses the same cable provider I do, and I can find the menu easily.

“Mama records them,” London offers, helping.

To the recordings, I go.

Literally the only thing Kensley DVRs is kid shows, it seems.

There’s Elmo, some Mama and Me play show, Daniel Tiger, and eventually, I find Doc McStuffins.

I play the oldest not-played episode and once it’s going, put the remote down.

When I lean back, London cuddles up to my side, and it hits me how much I missed these girls. For the briefest of moments, I battle with whether to put my arm on the back of the couch, or to hug London to my side. She’s not Sawyer and isn’t usually the type to want to hang with me—I’m a second-class choice whenever Guinness is around. But I figure…what the hell.

And hug the four-year-old to my side.

London is quiet throughout the episode. I keep my eye on the clock, not wanting to break Kensley’s twenty-minute rule. When the episode ends and London still has five minutes, I’m not sure if I need to find something else to entertain her with, or if I can slide with the ‘it’s bedtime’ thing.

Does London know how to tell time?

When do kids learn that?

Josh knows, but he’s just about five, so maybe London was learning, but doesn’t quite know.

Maybe…

“Can you braid?” London asks, looking up at me.

Could I braid?

Well…

No.

“I can learn,” I find myself saying instead and decide that was the right answer, as London’s pretty blue eyes lit up.

“Now?”

I shrug. “Why not?” London slips off the couch and jumps in front of me, as I fish my phone from my pocket and pull up YouTube. I’m searching videos but still tell her, “I’m not going to be as good as your mama.”

“That’s ‘kay! It’s just bedtime.”

Finding a video, I show London the video’s final product. “This one?” I know London has a penchant for braids, and I’m hoping she wants the easier of them.

“Can you do the one that starts up here?” she asks, her little finger on my screen to indicate she wants one of those French braids I’ve seen in her hair.

Well, then.

I pull up another video and watching it through, I’m not entirely sure I can do that without pulling out London’s baby fine hair.

“I don’t know, London…”

“Just try,” she says, shaking her head. “Always gotta try—at least one time, that’s what mama says.” She shrugs. “’sides, it’s just bed. Not the park.”

I laugh now, liking the girl’s reasoning. “Alright. Let me watch again.” I glance up at the clock and realize there’s no way I’ll finish this in the two remaining minutes, but twenty minutes wasn’t necessarily literal, was it? It isn’t like London is going to wake up a monster in the morning because she missed out on ten minutes of sleep.

Then I remember the tired fiasco from a few weeks ago.

Shit.

Well, I already committed; I don’t have much of a choice.

When the video is finished, I feel a little bit of confidence. I can do this.

I replay the steps in my head and nod. “Alright. Let’s do this. Where does your mama usually braid your hair?”

“Here’s ‘kay.” She scoots in front of me, pushing my knees apart, before turning around and dropping to a kneel. “Mama does it without a brush.”

I take a deep breath; I can totally do this.

Besides.

It’s not like she’s going to the park.

The words and her voice ring in my head, and I can’t help but smile at the reminder.

Cautiously, I section out the top of her hair with my fingers, trying to make it even. I brush the top back with my fingers but her drying hair naturally falls back into its part.

She’s not going to the park, I remind myself, and work with what I have.

My forehead is tight and I know I’m frowning in concentration. I’ve managed to weave the sides over and to the middle at least five times before I realize I haven’t actually started that part that makes it stick to her head.

Shit.

Not going to the park.

I start bringing hair into the braid, and it isn’t long before it actually resembles a French braid. Not too shabby.

Once or twice, London winces, but she’s quick to reassure more. “It’s ‘kay, Liam. You’re doing good.”

She’s too fucking cute.

God, I hope things are good with her mama, because I love these girls like nobody’s business.

At the bottom of London’s head, I move into the easy braid but at the end, realize I have nothing to tie it off with.

“Where do you keep hair ties?” I ask, pinching the bottom.

“Pony tail holders? In the bathroom.”

I’m looking around, not sure how to get there without leading the girl around by her braid, but of course, London saves me. She reaches up and holds her hand out. “I can hold it. I’m good at that.” I put it in her hand and she fists the end, like her life depends on it. “Then it’s past my bedtime.”

“You going to tattle on me?” I joke as I stand, grabbing my phone before it can fall off my lap.

So, the girl knows her clock.

With my hand on her shoulder, I gently push her as she moves. It’s more of her leading me than my guiding her.

“Nope! Just don’t tattle on me, either, okay?”

London enters the small bathroom before me, but I reach over her to turn on the light. Lights on, I’m assaulted with all things girl.

The shower curtain is white with crocheted flowers and hearts.

The bathmat is fuzzy pink, and there are towels in various shades of pink hanging, as well as folded on a self-installed shelf.

At the vanity, there is only one drawer but when London pulls it open, I see how organized it is. The drawer divider looks to be another self-installation and one of the smaller squares houses some of the smallest rubber bands I’ve ever seen in my life.

Smaller, even, than the ones Mae had to use on her braces when she was younger.

Or maybe they were the same size, but at any rate, they were really damn small for my large fingers.

Thankfully though, London reaches toward the next square—I think I was too focused on the littlest ones, to realize there was another section of hair ties—and pulls out a cotton-type band. “I use these ones at bedtime.”

“Alright,” I say, taking the band, when what I’m thinking is, Thank God for bedtime hair ties.

London’s braid tied off, she offers me a giant smile. “Thank you. It’s beautiful!”

I wouldn’t go that far, but I didn’t do too badly. “Thank you, London.”

“Let’s take a picture for mama!”

I laugh, “It’s not that beautiful, London.”

“Please?”

Well, I can’t say no to that; not to the pleading blue eyes that have me pinned where I stand. “Turn back to the mirror and smile at your reflection,” I tell her, opening my camera app. I angle the view so her braid and her face are in focus, snapping it.

“Can I see?”

Chuckling, I lean down and move the phone in front of her.

“She’ll like it,” London says with a nod. “I approve.”

This girl. Damn, she makes me laugh. “Alright. I’ll share it with her.” I quickly send it off to Kensley without a message, before London leads me to her room where, before opening the door, she puts her finger to her lips and tells me to shh.

“Sawyer’s sleeping,” she explains, and I find myself fighting another smile.

Like the rest of the apartment, this bedroom is tiny. Smaller, even, than Kensley’s room, but she managed to fit a queen-sized bed and a crib in it, as well as that white dresser she’d been working on earlier in the week.

Not sure what kind of tuck-in routine London has, I follow her into the dark room. There’s a small night light that transfers an image of Anna and Elsa to the ceiling, and without it, I’m sure I’d stumble my way to London’s bed. She, though, knows where she’s going, and climbs into her bed and under the covers with enough fanfare to wake up her sister.

And she told me to shh.

“I need my Rainbow Dash,” London whispers loudly. “She’s over there.” I follow her finger to where a shadow looms in the corner, near the dresser. I grab the horse and bring it back. London cuddles it close and rolls to her side, her arms around her stuffed animal incredibly tight.

“Alright, London, you good?” I ask, not sure what else there is to do. Mindlessly, I tug on the end of her comforter, tightening it.

“I’m good.” She smiles up at me and my heart is so full in my chest. If this all works out with Kensley, I’d be one lucky assed bastard.

“Okay. Good night.” I step back from the bed and can hear London’s whispered “Good night” as I step back into the hall. I leave the door cracked a little and debate turning off the hall light, but decide that if it’s on, I can look in on them easier.

At the couch, I thumb through the channel guide but there’s nothing on, so I turn the television off. It’s incredibly quiet in the apartment now. I can’t tell you the last time I lived in a place that was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

Between Guinness and…well, just Guinness…there’s almost always some sort of noise happening in my place.

I debate going to get my sandwich from the fridge, but instead reach for my phone, thinking about what Kensley told me in her room before leaving.

Something about Mark fighting for custody doesn’t sit well with me, and I will do whatever I can—albeit, it likely won’t be much—to help Kensley keep her girls.

I’d been scrolling page after page on custody and the single mother for a good thirty minutes when I heard the first noise of the night. My thumb pauses, and I look up and to the side, concentrating. Was there a noise, or was I imagining it?

Another, but this time I can clearly make out Sawyer’s whimper.

I stand and quietly make my way to the girls’ room, not sure if I’m supposed to bust in there or let her figure it out. After standing by the door for a good sixty seconds, it’s clear Sawyer isn’t going to calm down, but rather, gets more upset.

“Hey, half pint,” I say softly as I walk into the dark room. I can make Sawyer out, standing at the side of her crib. I’m obviously not who she was expecting to see, because her cries grow louder.

“Hey, hey.” My cooing attempts aren’t the best, but I’m trying. I step to the crib and hold my hands out, as if I’m going to scoop her out but giving her the option to reach up. “It’s Liam, baby girl.”

She’s still crying, but she does lift her arms up, giving me the okay. Immediately upon lifting her to my chest, she wraps her little arms around my neck and buries her wet face into my neck.

“Im,” I hear through her cries. I’m swaying her back and forth, one hand cradling her bottom while my other rubs circles over the fleece sack thing she has on.

“Yeah, half pint. It’s Liam.”

She hiccups then turns her head the other way, and I turn my own head to press a kiss to the back of her head. Her sniffles tell me she’s still awake, but at least the crying is starting to subside.

We rock side to side for a few minutes before I ask, “You okay, Sawyer?”

She doesn’t tell me with words, but I feel her nod against my shoulder.

“I’m going to put you back in your crib. Alright, half pint?”

She nods again and when I lift her away from my body, she does this rotation thing where she twists in my arms, clearly telling me, nonverbally, she wants to lay on her belly. In her crib, I pull up her blanket and rearrange her stuffed animals. I can’t tell if her eyes are open, but she seems content. After running my hand over her hair, I leave the room quietly, not without first peeking over at London.

Sure that the girls are good, I head back to the living room and back to my research.