Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“Um, it’s okay, Kane. You should probably answer that,” she whispers, stepping back.
“Right.” I’m practically vibrating with tension, but we have an agreement never to ignore each other’s calls.
I texted her about the trouble in Maine a couple hours ago.
The kids want to stay, of course, but I’m not set on keeping them around in a situation that’s less than secure. No matter how much they hate staying with their material girl mom, I’d rather have them annoyed than hurt.
“Daria?” I press the phone to my ear, unclenching my jaw.
“Really, Kane? Is it always such torture to speak to me?”
Yes.
“Did you get my message?” I ask flatly.
“Duh. Why else would I be calling? You have the cupcakes.”
My shoulders go rigid, watching Margot fiddle with her phone. She’s pretending not to listen in, giving me plenty of space, but I know she’s in earshot.
I’d do the same thing if the roles were reversed.
I’m no damn saint, whatever my name says.
I wonder what she’s thinking. If she regrets hooking up now.
Somehow, I doubt the other men she’s dated are single dads dealing with their ex-wives.
Shit, are we dating?
No, too far.
But I’ve always been bad at labels, especially with this casual stuff.
Becoming romantically illiterate must be the price of marrying young.
“Right. And that’s a problem with everything going down in this house.” There’s a long pause. “Daria?”
“Hang on,” she mutters. Her voice goes distant as someone speaks behind her before she comes back on the line. “Sorry, I only have a few minutes. The photog wanted some late-night shots by the fountain. But yeah, if they’re in danger, just get them out of there! Go home. Like, it’s not that deep, right?”
“Daria.” I forget how damnably annoying she is, always expecting easy solutions. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You need to take them if I have to send them home. You understand? I already gave their tutor the week off, thinking we’d be on vacation.”
“What? Me?” She makes a strangled sound. “Jesus, I can’t just take them when you snap your fingers, Kane. I’m leaving LA for a shoot in Cabo and it’s totally not kid friendly. I mean, what would they even do all day? You know how stir-crazy they get, and the beaches are rough this time of year. They’ll be safer with you. You can just check out early, right?”
Not if I want to throw Margot to the wolves.
I can’t.
I won’t.
“That’s the problem, Daria. I already told the owner I’d step up and help secure this property, at least for a little while. I can’t just ghost her and—”
“For fuck’s sake!” she hisses under her breath. “Dude, why aren’t you taking them back to New York? You can figure out a sitter and then go back or whatevs.”
She doesn’t get it.
She doesn’t get a lot of fucking things.
But when it comes to their safety, she has a point.
My blood simmers.
I glance at Margot, unable to help myself.
No, I’m not stranding her in this house to face whatever the Babins have planned with nobody but the lazy-ass Mayberry cops around to stop them. If she got hurt or—
No. Not happening.
Fuck this entirely.
“Hold up. Is this a woman thing?” Daria inhales sharply. “Holy shit, are you seeing someone, Kane?”
Her scorned giggle splits my ears.
“It’s not like that,” I lie.
She laughs again like she can see right through my pathetic words.
Damn.
It’s not that Daria cares about me dating.
She’s had more boyfriends than I care to count since we split—and probably before, too. And even if she wasn’t okay with it, that wouldn’t matter.
Trouble is, Margot’s right in front of me, listening to every word.
This thing with her is so new, so fragile—and it’s not really a thing, definitely nothing that I care to share with my ex.
“It’s complicated, Daria. I can’t go just yet and you need to trust me on that,” I say. “There’s crap to sort out here, and I’m the best man to do it.”
“Oh, yes. Right. I forgot you need someone to feed your big hero complex twenty-four seven, and I guess you’ve found her. Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t have them right now. I’m going to be in Cabo for almost a week. Kyle has a pickleball tournament, too.”
My jaw pops hearing Kyle’s name, her surfer-dud boyfriend.
That joke of a relationship won’t last—they never do—and her awful taste in men remains unmatched.
It’s not jealousy, I just hate the thought of the kids being around the one-dimensional losers she brings home. Last time, Surfer-dud yelled at Dan for drumming while he slept off a hangover.
Burnout piece of shit.
“It’s not fair to spring this on me last minute,” she whines. “My schedule is so busy lately, Kane. Can’t your mom—”
“Forget it,” I snap. “I should’ve known better than to expect you to step up.”
“Hey, I—”
“No, you’re right. I’ll have my mom on standby instead, just like I figured. She’s having a spa weekend with her friends, but I’m sure she can reschedule, under the circumstances.”