Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
I’m not you. “What am I supposed to say?”
His voice switches. It turns softer, more manipulative. “You say that you’ll meet me at the bowling alley in ten. Please, Palm.”
My shoulders fall forward. “Fine. Don’t be late. I have to head to work, and I’m supposed to be there in twenty minutes.”
“Great. Thanks so much.”
“Whatever.”
I press the red button so hard that I’m surprised the phone screen doesn’t shatter.
And this is another reason why I can’t go to dinner with nice men. I. Don’t. Have. Time.
I grab my keys off the counter by the door and storm to the car.
CHAPTER FIVE
PALMER
Oh, little Palmer. You’ve made some bad choices in life, sweetheart,” I whisper to myself as Jared comes down the street toward me—ten minutes late.
Good thing I warned Kirk that I would be delayed.
A sign reading KING PIN ALLEY hangs on the front of the building on my right. The letters glowed in bright neon colors back in the eighties. They haven’t worked since then.
Jared’s car pulls into the parking lot a few spaces down from mine, leaving a trail of dust behind him. I wonder if he left a few empty spots between us randomly or if he knows I want to throw my Coke all over his windshield.
Probably the latter.
My heart sinks as my gaze meets Ethan’s through the passenger-side glass. He flashes me a brief, sad smile before unbuckling himself. His cowlick in the front, just above his right eye, makes his twelve-year-old self look younger . . . and more disappointed.
I open the door and swing it shut with a little more force than necessary. Hey, it’s the little things.
“Hey, Mom,” Ethan says as he climbs out of Jared’s car. “I thought Dad and I were going bowling. Then I saw you.”
He makes a face that I think is supposed to be a smile but resembles a frown just a bit more.
Once again, Jared lets me clean up his mess. He couldn’t even tell Ethan the truth.
Damn it.
I pull my son into my side and kiss his cheek. My eyes flutter closed as I breathe in the body spray that somehow fills our entire house in the mornings.
How can I make this better?
Suddenly, I remember the extra cash I have left from Cole’s bet yesterday.
Bingo.
“I told your dad to meet me here so we could go bowling.”
Ethan pulls away, his eyes lit up. “Really?”
I nod. “We have to run to my work for a minute first. Kirk just called. But then we can come back and bowl a game. Maybe grab a corn dog. How does that sound?”
“That sounds awesome.”
“Good.” I kiss his cheek again. “Go get in the car. I’m going to talk to your dad for a second.”
Ethan presses a baseball and glove into my chest. “Do you want this?”
“What do you want me to do with that?”
“Dad signed me up for baseball.” He stares at me like it’s the worst idea in the world. “I don’t know how to play baseball.”
I push the glove and ball back at him. This is going to be my problem. I know it.
“Put it in the car,” I say. “Let’s . . . We’ll deal with that later.”
“Fine.”
He turns toward my car. I turn to his dad’s.
Gravel crunches under my sneakers as I march to Jared’s window.
“Hey,” he says after the window is rolled down.
“Hey.”
He takes in my face for half a second. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t.” I stop inches away from his door. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
He looks at me with a practiced pout—one that used to work. Those days are long gone. I no longer find his puppy-dog eyes cute, and his droopy bottom lip makes me want to pull it off his face instead of kissing it better.
Easy, Palmer.
“I’ll tell you what I want from you,” I say, struggling to keep my voice low and even. “Consistency. Reliability. I want you to make Ethan a priority. I want you to make a lifelong commitment to Ethan—one like you couldn’t make to me.”
“I do.”
My eyeballs nearly fall out of my head.
“What?” he says, frustration thick in his tone. “I do, Palmer. Just because I don’t baby him all the time—”
“Jared!” I say before catching myself and lowering my voice. “You don’t see him with any regularity. You don’t pay child support. You don’t—”
“I signed him up for baseball.”
“Oh great. Another thing for me to manage. How kind of you.”
He scoffs. It’s not the sound that snaps something in my brain. It’s the face he makes.
No, it’s the familiarity that I have with the gesture that breaks me.
I’ve seen him do this so many times—for years, even. I hated that he did it to me, and I hate even more that he does it to Ethan. No one is more important to Jared than Jared himself.