Jonah
After emailing my article to my editor, I shut down my computer and grab my bag before heading out. Pulling out my phone, I check the time—I’m due to meet Ripley, Jessica, and Alex for dinner. Our wedding is coming up in a month and they want to run over some last minute changes. I honestly don’t care; I just want to show up and marry the girl of my dreams, and that is that.
I’m sitting at the stoplight when I spot Brock’s truck up ahead. He turns, so as soon the light turns green, I hit the gas so I don’t lose him. For a moment, I wonder why I’m following him, but I know why—I’ve got a few things to say to him. Brock finally pulls his huge ass truck into the parking lot of Hy-Vee, so I pull into the spot right next to him and climb out of my car.
“Brock?”
He freezes and turns toward me. “What’s up, Jonah?”
I take a deep breath, not wanting to lose my temper. “Stay away from her.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “What? Don’t you think you’ve done enough? You fucking broke her when you left. I know I’m responsible for that, but you stayed gone. She’s finally got a pretty great life and you come waltzing back and break her heart again! Stay away from Ripley, and stay away from Alex.”
“Who is Alex’s dad? Where is he?” My body goes ramrod straight. “Is it you?” I’m not surprised he’d think that, and a part of me wishes it were true.
“No, I’m not his dad, and it’s not my story to tell. I’ll tell you this though: I love that little boy like he was my own, and I love his mother. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had, and she’s been through the ringer. A lesser woman would’ve crumbled, but not Ripley. She’s handled the hurdles life has thrown at her with grace and fucking dignity.” I don’t give him a chance to respond before I climb back into my car and head toward the restaurant to meet my family.
Ripley
“The end.” I shut Goodnight Moon and look down at Alex’s sweet little face. It usually doesn’t take long once I start reading a story before he falls asleep. Hoisting myself out of his bed, I stick his book back on his bookshelf and go back to his little sleeping form. I tuck the blankets more securely around him, kiss his forehead, turn on the baby monitor, and step out into the hall.
Today was a busy day for us. We have our Friday ritual, as long as I’m off. I take Alex to Village Inn for breakfast for his smiley face chocolate chip pancakes, and after that we go to the park so he can run off the chocolate chips and sugary syrup, then it’s on to the grocery store. It’s usually a mad dash through the aisles because Alex starts asking for everything under the sun and being a single mom, I have a pretty tight budget, even though my mom and Jonah help me whenever they can. They already do so much for me, and Alex is my sole responsibility.
After getting groceries, we took them home, where Alex promptly fell asleep on the couch watching Finding Dory, giving me a chance to put groceries away and start laundry.
Now I make myself some microwave popcorn and grab my Rolos, and I’m hit with déjà vu because this is what I was doing a week ago when Brock showed up. I sit back on the couch and put my feet up on my coffee table. After getting comfy, I pull up Netflix and then Grace and Frankie. I love this show so much, the characters and dialogue, and it’s a great balance of funny and serious.
I pop a Rolo into my mouth, letting the chocolaty caramel goodness melt on my tongue. A moan slips past my lips the way it always does when I get that first Rolo into my mouth.
I’m just finishing my second episode when my phone dings. I pick it up and don’t recognize the number, but there’s a text.
UNKNOWN: Can we talk?
RIPLEY: Who is this?
UNKNOWN: Brock. I’m outside your front door. I didn’t want to wake Alex if he was already in bed.
There’s a pause.
UNKNOWN: There is no pressure and it’s okay if you won’t talk to me.
What is there to talk about? Does he want to make sure I understand that he doesn’t love me? I swear, I do get it, I just don’t want it rubbed in my face. I take slow steps toward the door and my heart begins to pound. My palms are sweaty as I take a deep breath, reach out, and unlock the deadbolt. “You can do this,” I whisper to myself right before I pull the door open. I push the screen door open and he steps past me, then I shut the door behind us.
His back is to me and I hate admitting that it is one sexy back. His t-shirt is molded against it and I can see the tattoos peeking out under the short sleeves of the shirt. He’s wearing basketball shorts that show off his muscled ass and legs, and Brock’s definitely more cut than he was before. He’s lost that slightly boyish look he used to have and is much more chiseled now.
“I’m sorry to just drop by like this, but I just wanted to talk.” He finally turns and looks at me. Unwelcome thoughts enter my mind, but just as quickly, I push them out.
“What did you want to talk about?” I’m so proud of myself for sounding strong.
Brock moves toward me until we’re almost touching. “I lied,” he whispers.
My heart beats wildly. I should push him away, but I don’t. Instead, I whisper back, “Lied about what?”
“I lied when I told you I no longer loved you. The truth is, I’ve never stopped loving you. I shouldn’t be here. I keep telling myself you’d be better off if I just left you alone, but I can’t. My thoughts are constantly consumed by you.” His hands slide into my hair, tipping my head back.
“Mommy.” I look around Brock and find Alex standing at the bottom of the stairs. He bends over, vomits all over the floor, and starts to cry.
I move around Brock and rush to Alex. “Oh baby, what’s the matter? Does your tummy hurt?” He nods his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up okay?”
He looks at Brock. “Where’s Tiny?”
“He’s at home bud,” Brock tells him. Then he looks at me. “You get him cleaned up and I’ll take care of this.”
“Are you sure? It’s not the most pleasant thing to take care of.” I pick Alex up in my arms.
“It’s not a big deal. Seriously, he needs you, and I’ll deal with this.”
I give him a grateful smile. “Thank you. Cleaning supplies are under the sink.”
In the bathroom, I pull Alex’s shirt over his head. His little face is so pale, and him being sick is one thing I hate more than anything. Luckily, he’s been a pretty healthy kid. I miss the warning signs that he’s going to get sick again, so when Alex bends forward and throws up right on my chest I let out a loud squeal, scaring him. Now he’s really starting to cry.
“Oh baby, it’s okay. Mommy is sorry she scared you. Let’s get you cleaned up.” I take a warm washcloth and wipe his tear-stained face as I kiss his forehead. “Stay by the toilet while I get you new jammies. If you feel like you’re going to be sick, put your head over the toilet, okay?” I stand up and turn around to find Brock standing in the doorway.
“The floor’s all good and I lit a couple of your candles for the smell. You had a lemon-lime pop in the fridge so that’s sitting on the coffee table along with a bowl in case he gets sick again. Why don’t you get cleaned up and I’ll get him settled on the couch?”
I see he’s got a set of Alex’s pajamas in his hand, and my heart twinges. Brock hands them to me and I quickly change him, then Brock picks Alex up and my boy snuggles into his arms. I suppress my reaction to seeing them together because right now I want to curl up on the floor and cry. Instead, I whisper my thanks and watch them disappear into the hall.
I shake off the feeling in the pit of my stomach, quickly strip off my clothes, and jump into the shower to rinse off. Once I’m done, I wrap a towel around myself and rush into my room to throw on canary yellow cotton shorts and a white cami with a blue quarter-sleeved cardigan on over it. Back in the bathroom, I pile my hair up on top of my head and pick up my vomit-covered clothes, Alex’s clothes, and the towels.
I walk quietly down the stairs and freeze at the bottom. Brock is sitting on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table and my son curled up in his lap, fast asleep. He looks up at me when I step farther into the room. “I had him lie down at the end, but he crawled into my lap.”
“I-It’s fine. Thank you for l-looking after him. I’m going to throw this stuff in the washer. I’ll be right back.” I step through the kitchen into the little laundry room. It’s a stackable washer and dryer set, and with just the two of us, it works perfectly. Once the stuff is washing, I take a deep breath and head back into the living room just as the sound of Alex getting sick again hits me.
Brock still has Alex in his arms and he’s got the bowl in front of him. I move quickly, sitting next to them, putting a comforting hand on Alex’s back. Thankfully, he has finally has stopped getting sick, and my poor baby immediately falls back asleep against Brock’s chest. “Here, let me take that.” I grab the bowl and take it up to the bathroom, pouring it down the toilet.
Back downstairs, I find that Brock has drifted to sleep too. I grab the afghan that’s draped over the back of the couch and cover them both. In my room, I grab the blanket off my bed and head downstairs, curl up on the other end, and just watch them both.
This should’ve been us, Brock and me and the child we made together, a child created out of our love. I love my son with every fiber of my being, but he wasn’t conceived out of love. I wish he had been, but that doesn’t make me love him any less. Alex deserves a father who will love him unconditionally and teach him how to be a man. My father was so excited to take on that role, and he would’ve been a wonderful role model for my son, just like he was for Brock. My stomach rolls and I chalk it up to nerves and stress, and the fact that my son is asleep on top of the only man I’ve ever loved.
As much as I hate him for leaving me, I want to curl up with him right now while he holds my son so tenderly. My stomach rolls again as a tear slides down my cheek. Should I believe him when he says he lied? I can’t afford to let him break my heart again, because it’s not just mine that could possibly get involved. Honestly, he may not even want that. Oh sure, earlier I thought he might kiss me, but maybe it was just the heat of the moment.
I bolt off the couch, flying up the stairs and making it to the toilet just in time as I begin to retch. I get sick over and over again, clutching the sides of the toilet as my body curls in on itself. I start as I feel a hand stroke my back, though I know it’s Brock. When the retching stops, I rest my cheek on the toilet seat.
“Where’s Alex?” My voice is hoarse and soft.
“I laid him down on your bed. The garbage can is next to the bed and there are several layers of towels next to him, just in case he doesn’t move fast enough.” I watch as Brock grabs a washcloth and runs it under the tap. He then swipes it across my face and around my mouth before tossing it in the sink. “Do you want to try getting in bed?”
I nod and don’t argue when he lifts me up and carries me into my bedroom. Sure enough, Alex is curled up in a little ball on one side of the bed. Brock lays me down on the other side and helps me get my cardigan off then pulls the covers up over both of us. “I’m going to sleep on your couch, okay? I don’t want to leave when you’ve both been sick.”
I’m so grateful to him. I reach out and grab his hand, giving it a squeeze, then snuggle under the covers as my eyes drift shut.
My eyes flutter open and the sun shines brightly into my bedroom. I roll over, expecting to find Alex next to me; thankfully he didn’t get sick any more last night. Instead I find an empty spot that’s cold to the touch. Very slowly, I get out of bed, slipping my cardigan back on, my stomach rolling only slightly. Across the hall in the bathroom, I cringe when I look at myself in the mirror. My skin is pale, I have dark circles under my eyes, and my hair fell out of my bun and looks like a rat’s nest.
I run a brush through it and throw it back up in a bun, wash and moisturize my face, and brush my teeth before heading downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs, I freeze yet again. Alex is lying on the couch and Tiny is sitting next to the couch with his head resting by Alex’s stomach, whose hand is absently rubbing the dog’s head.
I squat down by my boy’s head. “Hi, baby. How are you feeling?”
“My tummy still hurts. Brock is making me toast and bananas.” I kiss his forehead and give Tiny a rub behind the ear.
In the kitchen I find Brock buttering some toast and slicing up a banana. He smiles when he sees me walk in. “How are you feeling?”
My hand goes to my stomach. “I feel blah,” I say with a pout. I’ve never been a good sick person. When I’m sick, I tend to be bitchy and whiney. Brock throws his head back with a laugh. “Don’t laugh at me!” I even stomp my foot like a petulant child, which only makes him laugh harder.
“I see you still behave the same way when you’re sick.” He points to the table. “Sit. I’ll make you some toast too. I’m going to take this to Alex.” I watch him disappear into the living room. Why is he being so nice? It makes it very hard to hate him and push him away when he’s taking care of us. God, it feels nice to be taken care of. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always taken pride in my independence, but it’s nice to be able to hand the reins to someone else sometimes.
He returns a minute later and I ask, “How did Tiny get here?”
After buttering my toast, he brings it over to me. “Alex asked for him when he got up so I had my granddad drop him off. I hope that’s okay. The traitor hasn’t left Alex’s side since he got here.”
“That’s fine. It’s sweet he likes Alex so much.” I take a bite of my toast, forcing it down my raw throat, and a cup of tea is set down in front of me. “Thank you.” I take a sip and my stomach rolls; this time it doesn’t feel like it’s going to come up, but maybe down.
I fly up from my chair, through the house, and up the stairs. As soon as I clear the bathroom door, I shut it and lock it. I hear Brock’s voice through the door a moment later. “Are you okay?”
Embarrassment fills me. “Go away!” I shout. The asshole chuckles. “You’re a dick. Get the hell out of here.” Tears fill my eyes and I cover my mouth so he can’t hear me cry. Why am I crying? I take a deep breath and suck the tears back. “If you grab my phone, you can call my mom to come sit with Alex.”
“Don’t cry. I’ve got Alex, and I want you to go get in bed, okay? Alex will be fine.”
“Thank you.” I hear his ‘you’re welcome’ through the door and then pray for death.