Love Rekindled (Love Surfaced) (11 page)

By the time I snap Emerson into the car seat, unload the cart, and drive back to Taylor’s, I realize, other than the pretzel, I haven’t fed her. I’m sucking at this dad thing already. Not knowing what to feed a two-year-old, and not wanting to call my mom or sister, I opt for Dylan. He’s a smart guy and should have some knowledge.

The ringing sound over the car’s Bluetooth gains Emerson’s attention. She peers at me through the rearview mirror. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to seeing my eyes staring back at me. I should already be because of Piper, but it’s somehow different with Emerson.

“Yo,” he answers, and there’s a ton of noise in the background.

“Where are you?”

“At Bea’s. She insists on singing with the contestant on The Voice.” Then I hear her squealing in the background.

“What’s going on with you two?”

They’ve been at this friendship, not friendship thing for a while, and Bea isn’t shy about wanting him, so I wonder what the holdup is.

“Nothing. We’re friends and co-workers.”

Bea bellows another note and Emerson covers her ears.

I laugh at my little girl. “What can I feed a two-year-old?”

“The shit if I know. Call your mom.” I hear muffled voices and Bea’s singing has ceased.

“You know I can’t. Not yet anyway. She’d scare Taylor. What do I feed her?”

“What on Earth would give you the slightest idea I would know? I’m a twenty-three-year-old bachelor, who is the baby of the family.” He whispers to Bea, and so help me God, if he’s letting my secret out, he’s going to get it. “Bea says stop and get chicken.”

“Did you tell her?” My hands tense on the steering wheel.

“She says that kid you’re feeding after the swim lesson should be happy with chicken.”

“She bought that lame-ass story,” I ask.

“Would you prefer she didn’t?”

“No, thanks.”

“Talk to you later. Remember, times a ticking.” The line clicks off and I look back at Emerson.

“Do you like chicken?”

“Cluck, cluck,” she says, and I purse my lips to keep from laughing at her serious face.

I continue to ask her the sounds of animals through the drive-thru and she nails each one of them. I got myself a genius.

An excruciatingly long time later, I pull into Taylor’s driveway. I stand outside Emerson’s door, wondering how to get everything inside, including her. She can’t be left alone either place, but I figure she’s safer strapped in her car seat.

“I’ll be right back, baby,” I hold my finger up in the air and she continues to play with her dolls.

Rushing, I grab the diapers and bags from Target and drop them on the front stoop. My feet hammer back to Emerson and I dig through her diaper bag for the key. With the key in my hand, Emerson in my arms, and the chicken hanging from my forearm, I’ve accomplish getting all of us into the dark and quiet house.

Emerson hurries over to her toy bin with her four plush dolls, as though she’s introducing them to the old toys. Five minutes later, I’m in the house, completely exhausted until it dawns on me I still have to feed her and she probably needs a diaper change.

Crap, diaper change.

Taylor never showed me how to do it, but it can’t be that hard, right?

Taylor

THE BITTER AIR RUNS THROUGH
me like I’m a loose piece of paper on the way to the car. I pull my jacket tighter across my scrubs, preparing for a cold ride home. The heater will never be warm enough to heat the car before I get home.

Home.

In all my twenty-five years, I’ve never felt like the house I was living in was a home, but that changed after Em. She’s my home, and the house I bought for us is a nest of love created by us. Now, my thoughts linger on Brad being a part of us. His body stretched on the couch after a long shift watching a football game at a quiet volume so as not to wake our daughter upstairs. It’s a nice thought, but a thought I can’t fully absorb yet. There are issues between Brad and me. Issues I’m not sure even the greatest love could overcome.

In the meantime though, I’ll embrace this happiness that makes my step a little giddier from the image of Brad waiting at my house for me.

My car rumbles to life. Half dying, half the cold weather making it struggle to life, but it doesn’t fail me. It never has, and I’m crossing my fingers it never will.

By the time I pull up to the house, my fingers have warmed slightly and my nose tingles. The living room light is on, but the drapes are drawn, hiding what’s behind them. Em’s light is off, which could be a good or bad sign.

My key fiddles in the lock, and when I push the door open, Brad’s sitting on the couch watching television.

“Hey.” He smiles, but I catch his quick inhale of breath.

“Hi. How was your night?” I inspect the living room, finding all her toys tucked away. It’s immaculate. Not that I’m organized and a clean freak, but . . . did he dust? My fingers rub along the foyer table, bringing up a pile of lint. Too bad.

“It was good. She’s been out for a while now.” I glance at the monitor, the red dots are blinking rapidly up and down, revealing she’s awake.

“Was she hard to put down?” I unwrap myself from my scarf, coat, and gloves, hanging them by the door.

“Not at all. You know I have a magic touch.”

All too well, and I usually relive those memories with my vibrator.

“I’m just going to go check on her.” I move toward the steps, but Brad stands.

“No. She’s fine. Come and let’s talk.” He looks down at the empty seat next to where he was just sitting. “I have some chicken in the fridge. I can heat it up for you if you’re hungry.”

“Chicken sounds great. I missed lunch. Do you mind heating it up for me?”

“Not at all. Sit down.” He moves to round the couch to go toward the kitchen, and I act like I’m going to sit down, but at the last minute change directions toward the stairs.

“Taylor, she’s fine.”

“I just have to check.” He follows me, so my steps quicken, but so do his. He has longer legs than me, and I feel his breath tickling my neck.

“She’s good.” My stomach flips when his hands grip my hips and slide me out of the way at the top of the stairs.

“Brad.” I tilt my head as he forms himself as a human block to my daughter, who is laughing to herself in her crib.

“She’s asleep,” he says at the exact moment, Em squeals in delight and Brad’s eyes close. “Maybe she’s dreaming.”

“Doubtful.” I step forward, my chest rubbing against his. My hand sneaks through his arm to find the handle of the door. He pushes harder against me and my nipples tighten under my scrubs.

I open the door and my daughter’s hands are on the railing of her crib as she bounces up and down.

“Emerson,” Brad sighs. “You woke up?” He stays by the door, probably afraid to step forward.

I eye him and he raises his hands in the air like he has no clue why she’s awake.

“What are you doing, sweetie?” I walk to her and her arms stretch out for me to pick her up.

“Mama,” she coos, and my heart breaks that I have to be away from her all day like today.

I pick her up and Brad stays quiet in the corner. Her good night book sits on the ottoman of the rocking chair. “
I Love My Daddy
,” I read the title and eye Brad.

He shrugs with a sly smile across his lips. “Figured she needed a new favorite book.”

I touch the princess doll’s yarn hair. “And a new favorite stuffed toy.” My eyes search, finding Elephant stuffed in the corner under a pile of toys.

“I like my daughter to have new stuff.” He moves closer as I sit down on the chair, laying her on my chest.

“He got me,” Em says, and I’m impressed by the three words she managed to string together.

“I figured,” I say, unable to stop smiling.

I lean back and she lays her head on my shoulder. The chair rocks back and forth and she lulls slightly, holding that princess doll to her chest. After a few minutes, she’s out and I move to get up, but Brad gradually sneaks his hands between us, grazing my breast at the same time he takes her from my arms. Damn that felt oddly good.

He kisses her forehead and gently places her down in her crib. I don’t interrupt his moment with her, but instead stay back and admire the man I’ve loved for so long as he puts his daughter down to sleep. Tears threaten to fall, but I hold them in, not wanting to pour all my emotions on the table.

After a few minutes, he turns to me and begins to tip toe out of the room. I follow him, flicking off the lights and shutting the door behind me.

In the hallway, Brad waits for me to walk down the stairs first, and I pray my scrubs don’t cling to my ass showing off how big it’s become. That small pocket hopefully conceals how it stretched out while I was pregnant.

“Sorry. I tried, but she was wound up. If it helps, I think I bruised my side when I heard your car pull in the driveway.”

“What did you do, throw her in the crib and run downstairs?” I laugh, imagining the thought.

“Yeah,” he admits, shame written on his face.

“It’s okay, Brad. Not every night is perfect. She’s two and finding her own personality.”

I jog down the steps, hoping the faster I go, the less time he has to notice my gigantic ass.

“I got a glimpse of that personality at Target,” he says behind me, and I can’t stop the smile from crossing my face. After Cindy, our neighbor down the street, called from his phone, I felt bad, because it must have devastated him to have someone question his relationship with Em. Then I couldn’t stop laughing, picturing Em’s very bad outbursts and the panic he must have been burying inside.

“She has quite the willpower.” I round the end of the staircase and head to the kitchen. My stomach growls from hunger. The winter cold has hit Roosevelt and the overfilled hospital rooms proved that there are no lengthy lunches to be had in my future.

“Willpower? She switches on a dime.” He gently touches my shoulders and leads me away from the fridge right to a chair.

“Yeah. It’s the terrible twos,” I comment, rubbing my foot.

He busies himself in the fridge, pulling out the chicken and the plastic containers filled with mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese. A girl could get used to this treatment.

“I read about them last night. Someone said three is worse,” he mindlessly talks, dishing up spoonfuls of mashed potatoes onto the plate as my voice catches in my throat. I stare at his back, well-sculpted even through the T-shirt. The grooves of his perfect swimmer’s muscles haven’t faded.

“You read?”

He glances over his shoulder and shrugs. “I wasn’t going into this blind. Had to find what I was up against.”

The fact that he searched out information about two-year-olds elates me more than I wish it would.

“Up against?”

“The stories had me a little worried.” He moves to the microwave and then leans against the counter, looking right at me. “But she’s great, Taylor. You did a great job.” His smile reaches all the way up to his serenity filled brown eyes.

“Thanks,” I choke out because tears are welling up in my eyes from his praise, and I refuse to look like I needed the compliment. I know I’m a great mom, but hearing him say it confirms it somehow.

“No, thank you. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you.”

I shrug as though the late night feedings and recovering from a C-section weren’t excruciating. The job searches while requesting time to make sure I could find fit daycare. The student loans that never seemed to go down, and still haven’t been paid in full because I had to choose to keep my good credit or feed her. I’m not ashamed of those unpaid loans, because my daughter is perfect and healthy.

“I know I’ve said it a zillion times, but I’m sorry for not telling you.” I pull my legs up to my chest as though they’ll protect me from the wrath he’s yet to give me for stealing years with our daughter from him.

“Why didn’t you?” he asks, and I busy my thumbnail digging into the cracks on the oak table I bought at a secondhand shop.

“You changed before me, Brad. I had no idea who you were, and I had flashes of my dad, my sister, and their own addictions. Then the girl—”

“I’m sorry, Taylor. You’re right, I wasn’t me then. Not that I’m excusing myself.”

I nod. I understand it, I do. The anger of him cheating has faded over the years, but I’m not sure forgiveness has happened yet either.

“Do you remember that night?” I ask, my voice as shallow as a kid’s pool.

His eyes look everywhere but toward me. “Not much until you walked in. You sobered me up fast.”

I fight with myself, searching for something I’ll never get answered. Why did he do it? I’m not even sure he knows why.

The microwave dings, and he turns around and grabs silverware from the drawer. He moves around my kitchen like he belongs here, and I wish I hated him more than I do. He places the dish in front of me with a napkin and silverware right next to it.

“Eat. Your stomach has been making noises since you walked in that door.”

My hand falls to my stomach, embarrassed that he’s heard the rumblings. He sits down in the chair next to me. This whole scenario is intimate and I love it. Maybe I shouldn’t have let him get Em and should have made him prove himself more, but that demon I cast him as for two years isn’t inside him anymore. I don’t know who he is, but there isn’t one part of me that doesn’t feel safer with him near.