Chapter 14

Quentin

Quentin worked diligently in Morgan’s bedroom, packing her backpack for the following day and feeling the approaching tide. Kate was on her way. Sleepy-eyed, his daughter collapsed upon her bed, wrapping her arms tightly across her chest.

“I don’t want to go to Mom’s,” she murmured once more, rolling her sad little eyes.

“I know, baby,” Quentin murmured, stuffing her Ramones sweatshirt into her backpack, just to irritate Kate. “But your mommy really wants to see you. And we have to play along with that, even though it sucks sometimes.”

“Whatever,” Morgan said tartly. “I really like Charlotte. She’s so pretty! She looks like a model, like Mom did when she was younger.”

“Ha. You think?” Quentin asked, his stomach stirring. He wanted to dance as far away from this topic as possible, without giving her cause for alarm.

“I mean, Mom’s still really pretty. But she doesn’t smile as much as Charlotte,” Morgan said, sounding astute. “And my teacher says a smile is the best fashion you can have.”

“Well, then, you must be the most fashionable girl at school,” Quentin said, leaning down and lifting his daughter by grabbing her beneath the armpits and twirling her, causing her to squeal.

“Again! Again!” she cried out, laughing hysterically.

Quentin twirled her the opposite direction, causing his own head to begin a wayward spin. He saw black and red dots flurry his vision, and he couldn’t help but give her a crazed smile, allowing the stress of the day to fall from his shoulders.

The doorbell always rang at the wrong time. He set his daughter back on the carpet, still giggling outrageously, and then walked casually toward the front door, mentally preparing himself for his ex-wife. He pressed his lips together evenly and then cracked the door, looking sternly toward the tall, blonde, bone-thin woman before him, whose cheekbones seemed like knives.

“Hey there, Q,” Kate said softly, tilting her slight form. Her gaze danced behind Quentin’s back, assessing the apartment. “I smell Chinese.”

Quentin opened the door a bit wider, his heart lurching with anger. “I made sure she didn’t have anything bad or fattening. She just ordered fried air.”

Kate entered, her heels tapping on the hardwood floor. She was sculpted from clay, maybe, with refined leg muscles peeping beneath a leather skirt. Quentin couldn’t blame himself for having been so head-over-heels for her, as a younger man. But now, to him, she reeked of something off-color. Something evil.

“Ha,” she laughed, waiting. “Honey? It’s Mom.”

Morgan stomped into the room, then, with her coat unzipped and on, and her backpack bouncing. She frowned, her eyebrows coming together in the center. “Mom, did you get the piano tuned yet?” she asked, sounding outrageous and tired.

Kate turned her head swiftly toward Quentin, her eyebrows rising. “She always gets this way when you feed her bad food.”

“That means no,” Morgan sighed, rushing toward her. She gave her a lackluster hug and then collapsed in a dining room chair, her legs bouncing up and down.

“Honey, I told you I would get it done soon, and I meant that,” Kate said, sighing. “I have a lot going on right now. And it’s only slightly out of tune.”

“You don’t have an ear for music,” Morgan said.

Secretly, Quentin’s heart soared with pleasure. He promised himself to take Morgan out for ice cream again, next time he saw her. But he pressed his lips together, creating a show. “Hey, now. You know you can practice on that piano. This isn’t the end of your life. And your mother’s doing the best she can.”

“I’ll never survive being the non-musician between us,” Kate said begrudgingly. Turning her head swiftly toward Quentin, she asked, “Hey. Do you mind if we talk privately for a few minutes?”

“Oh. Of course,” Quentin said, swiping his arm toward the bedroom, guiding her. As an aside, he told Morgan, “Watch TV till we’re back, squirt.”

“No! It makes it difficult for her to sleep,” Kate sighed, already giving up. She watched as Morgan raced into the television room, her tennis shoes squeaking against the hardwood floor. “Damn, Q. You really do win the cool-dad award.”

“Ha,” Quentin said. He sat on the bed, drawing comfort and looked up at his ex-wife, trying to find some kind of recognition in her eyes. Did she remember that they’d fucked all night, when they’d first met? Did she remember that they’d actually created that human out there together, that this hadn’t always been the plan?

But how could it be any other way? Kate was cold, almost calculated in her parenting scheme, and although she usually took Quentin into account when deciding things for Morgan, she often did it with a grimace, as if she couldn’t understand why on earth he was still around. Shouldn’t he have died of an overdose by now? Shouldn’t he have married some dimwit model and gone to live on a tropical island? Why on earth was he responsible? These were all things he imagined she thought about him, daily, as he continued to complicate her world.

“So. What did you want to talk about?” Quentin asked her.

Kate stood, pin-straight, and clasped her hands together.

“Is it about Morgan?” Quentin asked then, suddenly alarmed. “She went to the doctor last week. Did anything—”

“No, no,” Kate answered firmly. “Morgan is healthy as ever. She could use a cold to put her in her place.” She grimaced. “Sorry. Of course, I don’t mean that.”

“You can joke now and again, if you want,” Quentin said, flashing a smile. “It suits you.”

“Ah, well. Joking’s never been my strength. You know that.” She smiled, showing how beautiful she was. Her eyes twinkled. “The truth is, I met someone. Someone who might become very, very serious. Someone I’m considering introducing to Morgan, and even having move in after a while. And I wanted you to know.”

“Wow,” Quentin breathed, unsure how to feel. His mind raced with a million different responses, none of them completely sincere. “Well, congratulations, I suppose.”

“Right. Thank you,” Kate answered, her voice prim. “I think I’ll introduce him to Morgan in the next few days, if it’s all the same to you. He’s a Wall Street guy, but a big lover of kids. A bit older than me. Forty-five.”

“Even more mature than myself, then,” Quentin said lightly, laughing.

“Says the man who missed his own daughter’s birth,” Kate said, choosing the first thing she could think of and trying to make a joke of it.

Quentin hesitated. Anger didn’t fuel him, now. Just sadness. Just an ache of loneliness, perhaps.

“I’m sorry. You’ve more than made up for it since then,” Kate said softly, rubbing her cheeks. “I think I’m just nervous, telling you this. I don’t know why. Our love died just about the time it started. But I want this to be different. This time. I might even want more kids. I’m not sure. And that will affect you, and it will affect Morgan, and I just want to be careful about how I do this. That’s all.”

Quentin stood evenly on his socked feet, remembering what Morgan had said about Charlotte. Pretty, like Mom used to be. But Kate was still quite gorgeous. And she was still trying, out there in the world. She was fighting for love and emotion and experiences.

Why wasn’t he?

“Thank you for telling me,” Quentin answered finally, bowing his head. “It means the world. And you already know that Morgan will take to him, whoever he is. She loves everyone. She’s open to everything.”

“You’re right,” Kate answered. “I know you are. I don’t know why I’m so anxious. But really—” She paused, giving him a meaningful look. “Really, I was wondering about you. You’re on your feet, now. Mature. An editor-in-chief, for god’s sake. The best father Morgan could ask for. And I wanted to know when you were thinking about moving on.”

“On? As if I’m still torn up about you?” Quentin asked her, his voice teasing.

“No, of course not,” Kate said, hesitantly. “I just mean, have a meaningful relationship for once. Actually take it beyond the one-night stand, if you even do that anymore. You seem… lonely.”

Quentin stood abruptly, his heart revving with sudden anger. How dare his ex-wife come into his apartment and tell him he “seemed lonely”? He pointed toward the door, trying to force words. “I think we should get back to Morgan. Enough about me. And enough about what’s-his-name, the prince from Wall Street. Need I remind you, my business isn’t yours unless it affects Morgan.”

Kate’s face grew gray. She recognized she’d crossed a line. Her heels clicked across the large bedroom and back into the hallway. Quentin’s anger receded. He forced himself to take long, easy breaths. He placed his hand across his daughter’s head, alerting her it was time to go. She snapped the television off and joined them at the door, feeling the tension in the air.

“Good night, Daddy,” she murmured, yanking him down to her and kissing him on the cheek with tight lips. “I love you.”

Quentin snapped the door closed behind them, frustration brimming within him. He hadn’t been alone in at least four days, always with Morgan pattering around the apartment or tinkling the keys. Now, the place felt cathedral-like, far too large for one man. He bounded toward the piano, a place at which he sought solace, and began to ram out his frustration, feeling a new song begin to coil from his fingers.

And as he played, as he tinkered, as his creativity grew, he saw a single face in his mind’s eye.

Charlotte.

God, kissing her in his kitchen earlier had tugged at his cock, pressing the ridge hard against his jeans and giving him flashbacks to being inside her tight pussy. Its walls had crushed into his dick before accepting it in a flurry of wetness.

God, he wanted her. He could feel her physical form, moving just a few doors down. How her eyes had pleaded with him to keep her, to hold her, just before she’d gone home. He’d only known her a day and a half, but already it seemed he was under her spell. He’d never fallen this fast or this seriously. He’d never felt such impenetrable lust.

“Fuck,” he cried out, slamming his fingers against the keys. His ex-wife felt sorry for him, using words like “loneliness.” And maybe he was lonely. He wanted someone by his side who he legally couldn’t have. And he knew what it would look like, taking Charlotte as his girl. It would look predatory. It would negate her entire professional career.

But it was exactly what he wanted. It was the only thing he could focus on.