Life is going to be hectic from here on out.
There’s a small part of me that keeps trying to remind me that I have no time for a relationship, zero time to spend with Liam.
But then another part of me shoots that down quicker than the thought can form.
My plan for the day and the week set, I start on breakfast for the girls. They’ll be up shortly and then the day will really start moving.
Sure enough, within ten minutes, I have two sleepy girls boycotting breakfast and clothes, but we make it out the door on time.
At Sharon’s, the girls immediately go to play, and she and I talked about the week. Thankfully, she’s only too happy to take the girls.
She also apologizes profusely for the call with Mark.
“He’s your son.”
“But his actions…” Sharon shakes her head. “I raised him so much better than that.” She looks like she’s going to cry, and I find myself comforting her. “I don’t want to lose you or the girls,” she whispers in my ear and I hug her tightly.
“You’re their grandma, Sharon. I wouldn’t take that from you or them.”
“London was so upset on Friday. It broke my heart.”
I nod before leaning back, my hands on her shoulders. “She’s fine though.”
Sharon presses a kiss to my cheek before tapping that very cheek lightly. “Good luck on your interview. You know if you need anything…”
I nod. “I know, Sharon. Thank you.” She knew as well as I do that I won’t take a penny from her and Paul, though.
After quick kisses for the girls, I’m headed on my way.
First, interview.
I’m normally a silent-drive kind of girl, but I find myself giving in and turning the radio on.
I would never tell him, but I need to hear Liam’s voice. Kind of like a good luck charm.
Thankfully, I missed the first Caught call. I could never hear another cheating story and be just fine. Liam talks about upcoming concerts and things happening in San Diego. He does really with the monologue kind of thing. There’s a three-song-long moment then, and I’m pulling into Ralph’s, the grocery store I’d applied to.
A job at a grocery store isn’t going to do much for my income, but at least it would give an income.
I’m ready to turn off the car when Liam’s voice comes through the waves again. Because I have a few minutes, I shut off the car and let the radio play, listening to the voice I’m coming to enjoy so much.
“Thank you to everyone who came out on Friday and helped with the food drive. We had an excellent turn out, didn’t we, Johnson?”
A second voice comes on; one I don’t recognize but assume it belongs to the man that was with Liam on Friday. “We did. Even when you ditched.” There’s clearly a brotherly jest there.
“Hey, now. Nothing is more important than feeding the hungry, I agree with that, yes, but… You see, San Diego, I met a girl.”
“Dun duh dun,” Johnson laughs.
“She’s not the easiest woman to court, but I’m having fun. She’s a real sweetheart.”
“And when do you see your sweetheart again?” Johnson is having fun teasing Liam, and I’m actually getting a kick out of it all.
“We have a lunch date.” He says it so matter-of-factly, semi-amused even.
“And where are you taking her?”
Liam laughs. “You know I’m not going to air that on the radio.”
“You don’t know, do you?”
“I maybe haven’t decided, no. But even if I knew, I wouldn’t announce it to all of San Diego. I mean, guys, I love you, but I’m working hard to convince this girl I’m a solid deal.”
I’m smiling and shaking my head. I’d listen to more, but I have to get inside so, as I’m sliding my keys out and getting ready to pull myself out of the SUV, I think, No convincing needed, Liam Hardt.
Chapter Twelve
Liam
It’s difficult, but I manage to hold off on texting Kensley until I’m in my truck, the morning—and the following last-minute meeting—final over.
Hey, I write, had a meeting. I’m good whenever. Not sure what your day is looking like.
She’d told me last night she had an interview set up for this morning; surely, that was over now, but I didn’t know what else she would have had to do today.
I’m just about to put the truck in drive when her response comes through and, thanks to the hands-free system, the cab of the truck reads it to me. Can you come by my place? I’m knee deep in a project. Sorry! The truck then recites her address.
I pick my phone up from the cup holder and click the hyperlinked address, Google Maps opening automatically. Soon, I’m heading toward her apartment.
I recognize the address, so I know it’s in a decent part of town, but I’m not expecting how small the interior of the place is, once Kensley opens the door.
I’m torn between commenting on how tiny her apartment is, and about the white paint that’s on Kensley’s cheek, which is pretty fucking cute.
“Hey.” She sounds excited, so maybe I won’t say anything on either front.
“Hey.” I want to bend down and take her lips with mine—it feels like that’s how she and I are supposed to greet—but I refrain, knowing we’re not there yet. “Do you not want to go eat?”
“I do!” That excitement is still in her voice. “I just have to finish this coat, but then I’m good. I’m so sorry. I wanted to get this finished before I picked up the girls.” She steps back, holding the door open further and I step in. I think that the space I’m in is supposed to be the dining area of the apartment, if the light fixture from the ceiling is any indication. Immediately to the right is a small kitchen, and in front of me is the living area—and Kensley’s project.
“What are you up to?” I ask, ignoring everything but the dresser in the middle of the living room, plastic wrap on the floor and draping the couch.
“This is for the girls’ room. A dresser. I’m refinishing it.” Kensley moves past me and I watch as she paints the dresser white. “I did this one quickly but that’s okay. I just need to finish this coat and then add a wax layer. That can wait. It’s not going to dry in time.” She’s not even glancing at me; her focus is completely on the dresser.
“How was your morning?” she asks, still not looking at me.
“Good. Yours? The girls do okay?” It’s easy to ask about her daughters.
“It was a rushed morning. Everyone was tired.” She stands and tips her head, studying her piece.
“How was your interview?” Last night she shared with me how she wasn’t entirely thrilled to be interviewing at a grocery store. Not that it wasn’t honest work, but because she felt she outgrew that phase of life. It was a pride thing. She then went on to tell me how she berated herself for not finishing college, how she let Mark dictate things for her, and I’d found myself pissed at the guy all over again.
I mean, I got that some of those decisions were her own. I get it, I do. But I don’t exactly care to hear her beat herself up over the past.
She caps her paint, puts down the brush, and then…
Well, then Kensley does this little dance in her spot, one that makes her look like her daughters when they’re excited. “They offered the job on the spot! And!” she goes on, finally done dancing. “Because of the timing, I’ll be there long enough to receive short-term disability when the baby’s born.”
That makes me frown. I didn’t realize… “They could have denied you a paid maternity leave?”
Kensley waves me off. “It’s the politics of human resources. I don’t really pretend to know, but I was a little worried. So now, I just have to build my time-off bank and they said they’d be open to offering the hours I need, whether it’s twenty or forty hours a week. And I’ll qualify for insurance which, let me tell you, is probably the best part of the deal.”
I’m still frowning. “Are the girls still covered?” I’ve watched London jump from swings, and Sawyer
run into walls, in her excitement.
She nods, “Yeah, Mark hasn’t taken them off his plan as far as I know.”
“And you were planning on having the baby while not insured? How much is a pregnancy?”
“Really expensive.”
My mind is racing in a thousand different directions. The rent in this area isn’t exactly favorable; between that and medical bills and regular every-day things…
“You gonna be okay?”
Now it’s Kensley’s turn to from. “What do you mean?”
“Like, financially?”
She takes a step back and her frown now almost makes her look disgusted with me, which was not my intent. “The girls and I are fine.” She shakes her head; the excitement is clearly gone from her. “You know, Liam, I told you to step back when you had the chance,” she says, doing what I’ve come to learn Kensley does best; go on the defensive. “I knew this was all going to be a problem. I knew it.”
When she moves past me and I reach for her arm, she jerks her shoulder away.
“Kensley. I didn’t—”
“I have to clean up before it’s time for me to pick up my daughters.”
She’s never before referred to the girls as ‘my.’ They were always ‘the girls,’ and her use of ‘my daughters’ feels deliberate.
“I thought we were getting lunch,” I try, following her down the incredibly small hallway. I hold my hand out to stop the bedroom door from closing after she’s moved into the room, trying to shut me out.
“I’m not hungry.” She turns her back on me and I watch as she walks beyond the unmade bed and to a mirror-sliding door closet.
There is hardly room to move in this apartment, and she’s planning on bringing a third child into it.
“I’m sorry,” I try. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just… I guess I didn’t fully realize just what you were going through. You make everything seem really good.”
“Because it is good.” She slams the closet shut and when she stalks back toward me, she doesn’t bring her eyes up to mine. “Excuse me.” Kensley doesn’t wait for me to move; she just pushes right past me and this time, when she goes into a second room—the bathroom—and closes the door, I stop myself from stopping the door from closing.
I can hear as she turns on the faucet and things are slammed on the counter top.
“Kensley,” I try again.
“Just go, Liam.” Her voice is muffled by the water and door, but even with those barriers, I can hear the hurt in her voice. I could kick my own ass right now.
“I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t answer this time and after standing in the hall for what feels like five minutes, I mutter, “Fuck,” then do as she requests.
And leave.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Chapter Thirteen
Liam
I text Kensley every day.
She ignores me. Every day.
I screwed up, and don’t know how to fix it.
Finally, on Friday night, she responds back.
I have a shift tonight and Sharon can’t cover it for reasons I’d rather not go into. Would you be willing to hang out with the girls?
I don’t even have the message completely read through before I’m answering back, Yes.
I’m staring at my phone, hoping she’ll text back.
When she doesn’t right away, I try, What time?
That one, she answers. It’s a late night. I’ll find someone else.
Kensley, I start to type but then delete it and call her instead.
She picks up on the first ring but doesn’t say anything.
She holds a grudge. I file that in my thought bank.
“What time do you want me over?” I ask by way of hello.
“It’s too late, Liam. I’ll find someone else.” She sounds sad and tired, and I hate it.
Fucking hate it.
“What time do you want me over?” I try again.
“I won’t get home until nearly one-thirty. Really. I can find someone else.”
“Kensley.”
She sighs slowly. “Six-thirty.” I look at the clock; it’s already two and Guinness hasn’t had his run yet. We’ll have plenty of time for that and a shower.
“I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.”
I want to offer to bring her dinner, but she hangs up before I can. Dammit.
That’s okay. I have an in.
And I’m going to work with it.
* * *
I get to her place earlier than intended—and that was with a stop to a mom-and-pop deli. When she opens the door, Kensley looks exhausted.
As if tonight isn’t her first late night.
“God, Kens,” I mutter.
Bu then her eyes fill with tears. Not even thinking, I drop the bag and reach for her shoulders, pulling her in. “Hey, what’s wrong?” She shakes her head against my chest.
I hold her for a minute before asking, “Is it the hours? Let me help you, Kensley.”
She reaches her hands between us and wipes at her wet cheeks. “No. Although those and the hormones aren’t helping, I’m sure,” she tries to joke.
“Talk to me, Kens,” I mumble, my eyes searching hers.
She shakes her head and I take it to mean she’s blocking me out again. I hate it, but I’m going to have to be okay with it.
I follow her into her apartment after grabbing the grocery bag, leaving it on the kitchen counter. It’s then that I notice the living room is free of bulky furniture.
With her voice lowered, she says, “They’re playing in their room. I want to talk to you where they can’t hear.” Then, she leads me to her room, where she closes the door behind me.
“I wasn’t going to say anything, and hell, had you gotten here on time like you were supposed to instead of early,” she jokes dryly, “I wouldn’t have, but you caught me at the right time. Their dad’s home,” she forces out, rubbing her hand over her forehead and avoiding my eyes.
Did she…?
Did they…?
My mind is racing with what this could mean.
For her.
For the girls.
For us.
If there still is an us.
“I’m afraid he’ll try coming over. His mom has been good about keeping the girls away from him but it’s not like Mark to just…let it all go. He knows we’re not in the house anymore. He knows his mom is watching the girls.”
“I thought he didn’t do anything with them, anyway.”
“He doesn’t, but he would to get back at me. He doesn’t have time for them. Sharon told me today that he told her…” She pauses but continues quickly, “He’s going to contest custody.”
“Can he?”
She shrugs. “He’s their father.”
“But you guys were never married?” I’m trying to get all the pieces of the puzzle.
Kensley shakes her head but then changes the subject.
Why? Because she’s embarrassed? Because she doesn’t want me in that part of her life?
“So, the girls are bathed. I’ll put Sawyer to bed now, and London can hang out for another twenty minutes or so. She brushed her teeth, so no more treats.”
I want to ask more questions, but I know she needs to get going, so I let it go. “Okay.” While she gets Sawyer in bed, I go to the small kitchen and go through the bag I brought, pulling out the deli sandwich, homemade soup, and cookie—and maybe a note that I was going to skip, but ended up bringing anyway.
I realize she’s working at a grocery store and has all of this at her disposal, but I wanted to do something for her. Plus, this deli has the best homemade everything.
I look around the kitchen, opening up the few cabinets, until I find what I’m looking for—a woman’s lunch bag. It says Thirty-One on the tag. I fill it with the items I brought for Kensley, then put the rest of what was in the plastic bag in the fridge for myself, for later.
&n
bsp; It’s not much longer when London comes racing in by me, launching herself at my legs. “Liam! I’m so excited you’re here!”
It’s hard to stay straight faced with that enthusiasm. “Yeah? I’m excited to be here,” I tell her truthfully, picking her up. She’s in a pink Tangled nightgown and her hair is still wet from her bath.
She’s rattling off her plans for us when Kensley comes in. She steps close to press a kiss to London’s cheek and damn, but she almost does the same to me.
She stops mid-lean, though, then blushes bright red.
Alright.
Okay.
We’re good.
We’re gonna be okay.
“I owed you lunch,” I say, giving her a break. With London firmly on my hip, I reach for the bag I stuffed for her. “Nothing fancy.”
She’s still pink in the cheeks, but she’s smiling and shaking her head. “Thank you, Liam.” Then, to London, she points her finger. “You. Behave.” She reaches in to tickle London’s tummy and I nearly get kicked in the groin, but I dodge London’s heel just in time.
Kensley is looking around the kitchen, rummaging through drawers, until she pulls out her keys. She looks around, her eyes settling on me and London, only to look around the room again.
“I guess that’s it. I should be back by one-thirty. Feel free to fall asleep, if you need to. Shoot!” Her eyes go wide. “You didn’t pick up at the station tomorrow did you? Oh, God, I didn’t even consider…”
“I’m good Kens. We’re good. The girls will be fine and London and me will hang out for a bit. Everything’s good.”
She’s got that worried look on her face again, but she nods. “Okay. Alright.” She palms her keys and steps past us, but at the door, turns back. “Sawyer should be fine, but if she wakes up and is absolutely inconsolable, she has pacies in the cabinet to the right of the stove. We’ve managed to break the habit mostly, but sometimes…”
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