“Not true,” Ella replies, sitting the cup of black coffee on the counter so it’s in reach. “She’s been doing it to me as well.”
“She’s thirteen.” I turn the spigot on, watch the water run, then start to back up from the disposal drain. “I remember being a shit to my parents at that age.”
Ella laughs. “Me too.”
It’s her laugh and not her words that have me twisting toward her. It’s been a while since I’ve heard it in response to something I’ve said, and I’d forgotten how much I like making her laugh.
I mask my reaction, instead pointing at the garbage disposal. “I’m going to have to remove the drainpipe from under the sink. Let me get my tools.”
Ella nods, moving over to her laptop, which she has sitting on a tiny nook desk off the left of the island. I can see she has Facebook up, which she uses mainly to keep in touch with family and friends from back home in Michigan.
I head into the garage, which is off the kitchen with a mudroom in between. I hadn’t bothered taking any of my tools with me when I’d moved into my new house. It’s a rental, and anything I might need fixed, I have a landlord to handle it. But I’m good with my hands and have always been mechanically minded, so, over the years, I’ve learned all the basic household repairs that need to be made.
Before heading to my toolbox, I see a bunch of cardboard boxes stacked in the garage, a byproduct of Ella ordering most of our household needs from Amazon. It had always been my job to break them down to fit in the large recycle bin but there has to be several weeks of boxes sitting out here. No wonder her Escalade is in the driveway, as no way it can fit in here.
I take a few extra minutes to nab the boxcutter from my toolbox and make short work of the boxes, stacking them neatly in one corner so Ella can get her car in the garage.
After, I grab an adjustable wrench before returning to the kitchen. Silently, Ella scrolls through Facebook, and I roll up my sleeves—metaphorically—to get the job done. After pulling out all the cleaning supplies kept in the cabinet under the sink and turning off the main water source, I kneel on the tiled floor and get to work. I don’t bother telling her I handled the boxes for her; she’ll figure it out soon enough.
I let the silence carry on for a bit while I uncouple the pipe at the disposal drain before asking, “So… are you still seeing Mr. Ordinary?”
My back is to Ella, but I can hear her whip around in her chair. “Mr. Ordinary?”
Her tone is defensive, not inquisitive, so she knows exactly who I’m talking about. But I humor her. “Yeah… the dude you were with at the food festival.”
“He has a name,” she snaps, and I hear the scrape of her chair against the tile, then the padding of her bare feet as she marches over to stand beside me. I glance at her pretty red toenails, forcing myself not to look at her legs, and concentrate on affixing the adjustable wrench to the coupling.
“Who has a name?” I ask facetiously, hiding a smirk.
“Mr. Ordinary,” she replies, but then curses.
“Aha,” I exclaim. Tilting my head, I shoot her a smile. “You agree then… he’s ordinary.”
She’s not amused, as evidenced by the flash of fire in her eyes. Through gritted teeth, she says, “His name is David.”
“Sounds ordinary,” I reply, turning my attention to the drain.
“Sort of like Jim?” she inquires sweetly.
I don’t even look at her as I mutter, “Touché.”
My first name is James, I go by Jim, but most people in the hockey community call me Steele, which is my last name. I suppose when “Jim” is stacked up against “Steele,” it could be considered ordinary.
When I glance up, she has leaned her hip against the counter, arms crossed over her chest as she glares at me. Christ, she’s stunning. “So, are you still seeing Mr. Ordinary?”
This time, she smirks, lifting her chin. “I am, but I’m not sure why you even care to ask.”
I don’t answer her right away. Instead, I put torque to the wrench and with a mighty push, I get the joint to release. Holding up a hand, I ask, “Can you hand me a few towels?”
Ella turns, opens a drawer, and pulls out two kitchen towels. I nab them, put them under the joint, and start to unscrew it. The short pipe pops easily from the disposal unit, and I pull it out to inspect it.
Completely clogged with God knows what. I suspect Lucy may have tried to shove something too big in there, but I don’t say it out loud.
Instead, I reply to her question. “I told you I want a shot at winning you back. I’m not afraid to go head to head with Mr. Ordinary.”
I stand, lean over the sink, and examine the clogged pipe.
“Funny,” Ella says smugly. “That was almost two weeks ago when you made that assertion. I just assumed you’d given up.”
My body locks tight as I consider that maybe I’d waited a little too long to make my move. I knew I was taking a risk not coming after her immediately. I realized it could piss her off or make me seem disingenuous.
But I didn’t want to come on too strong either. Ella knows me inside and out, and she knows what a bulldog I can be when I want something. I go after it, and she would expect that. My thought was I’d keep her off balance by doing the exact opposite of what she expected to keep her guessing and to make it more interesting.
I didn’t make the decision lightly. It’s not a game with me. The real risk was that while I was easing very slowly back into her life, her relationship with Mr. Ordinary would potentially progress too far.
Ultimately, though, I went on gut instinct because I knew Ella inside and out, too. If she thought for just a fraction of a second there was a chance we could work our marriage out, she wasn’t going to fall into bed with someone. Her heart was too pure and loyal.
Now, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t continue to date Mr. Ordinary, but she’d slow it down a bit on the off chance I was genuine.
The key was in not appearing too eager, so she was a little off-kilter, but to not wait so long she would give up on me.
She remains silent to my reminder I was gunning for her. I try to provoke a reaction and gather information. “Just how is Mr. Ordinary doing?”
“It’s David,” she snaps, then her voice lightens a bit. “And he’s far from ordinary. He’s a surgeon.”
“Wow,” I mutter as I grab a butter knife out of the drying basket beside the sink. I start poking at the stuff inside the pipe. “A real smarty pants.”
“Yes. He’s smart, attentive, caring, and generous with his time.”
I keep my expression and tone bland, but she landed a direct blow there. “All the things I’m not,” I state, voicing the conclusion she was aiming at.
“Well,” she drawls with a tiny bit of sympathy. “I do think you’re smart.”
I shoot her a side eye-roll and step around her, nodding at the pull-out cabinet that conceals the garbage can. She opens it for me. I lean over, cleaning all the gunk out, which looks like an entire slice of pizza stuffed in there. Ella wrinkles her nose while she watches me.
When it’s empty, I move back around her and squat to hook the pipe back up. “How often are you seeing him?” I ask, deciding to get downright nosy so I can figure out what I’m up against.
“He travels a lot, so we try to see each other when he’s in town,” she hedges.
I look up from the pipe before I put the wrench to it, frowning. “Why does a surgeon travel?”
Maybe he has a secret family somewhere, and he’s totally playing Ella. I hope against hope it’s true as that would make me the stronger contender for sure.
My hopes are dashed with one word. “Robotics.”
I give my attention back to the coupling, torquing the wrench so it tightens the coupling. At the same time, Ella launches into a long-winded, prideful speech about the fact he teaches advanced surgical robotic techniques all over the world.
He sounds like he could walk on water, but I do learn something valuable. He’s not
around much.
“You can’t have been on many dates then?” I ponder aloud.
“True,” she chirps, a gleam in her eye as she sticks the knife in. “But when he’s gone, he’s making sure I know I’m always on his mind. He sends me flowers for the hell of it, calls me every day and we text all the time. Just earlier this week, he sent a limo to pick me up and take me for a surprise facial and massage at a day spa.”
Fuck. I didn’t think Ella would fall for that crap, but the bigger realization is I never thought to do that stuff for her. I was the self-absorbed type of person who figured she knew I thought about her all the time when I was on the road. We were married, and I just presumed… she knew.
God, I’m a fucking shit head.
Pulling the wrench free, I stand again. I turn the water on, flip the switch for the disposal, and see it churning freely.
“What else does he do for you?” I ask after I turn the disposal off and it goes quiet. I turn to face her, just as she’s blinking in surprise.
“Why?” she asks suspiciously.
I shrug, pivoting to the sink to wash my hands, then drying them with a few paper towels. Balling them up, I meet her eyes. “Because… I’m in it. I told you that I want our marriage to work.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, trying to read my tone and whether I’m bullshitting her. Finally, she replies primly, “I’m not giving away his secrets.”
What the fuck does that mean? Have they had sex? I would have bet a million dollars they had not because I know Ella and she wouldn’t enter into that deep of a relationship lightly.
I can also see by her expression that’s she’s not about to admit or deny a damn thing. Much like I wanted to keep her guessing, she’s doing the same fucking thing to me.
Tossing the wadded paper towels on the counter, I make a sudden step into her. My arm goes around her waist and I pull her body into me, so she is flush, not a single inch of space between us. Her mouth opens in a gasp of surprise, and I use the opportunity to kiss her.
Hard.
Her hands slap against my upper arms, and her fingers dig into my sleeves. Even as she’s pushing me away, her mouth opens, her tongue touching mine ever so briefly.
It’s enough for me, so I pull back. “Has he ever done that to you?” I demand.
Ella looks dazed as she murmurs, “Not quite like that.”
My arm around her waist tightens, and I press her into me so she can feel the fact that just that hard-and-fast kiss made me hard for her. “Do you make him feel this way?”
She shakes her head, breathlessly admitting. “Not yet.”
Christ, is this guy gay, or is he just too fucking scared to make a move on this incredibly gorgeous and sexy creature in my arms? Not that I’m not grateful he hasn’t, but still… I have to wonder about him.
One more thing I need to know, though. I loosen my hold, bring my hand to her lower back, and then slide it down her ass, cupping her intimately from behind. Moaning, Ella leans into me. “Does he touch you like this?’
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she lets her eyelids flutter closed as her teeth bite into her lower lip.
Fuck. I could drag her to the floor right now, and we could go at it. My body wants it.
Without a doubt, my heart demands it.
Instead, Ella comes to her senses, blinking rapidly and giving me a tiny shove backward. I release her immediately.
“You’re not playing fair,” she accuses.
Damn right I’m not. I grab her upper arms, pull her back into me for one last kiss before I let her go just as quickly. “I’m playing to win. Fairness has nothing to do with it.”
Ella takes a step back, brushes a wisp of hair from her temple, and puts on a cool expression. “That’s not going to make me take you back.”
I smirk.
She waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re great with your hands and your mouth, but a lot of men know how to please a woman.”
I’ll give her points for trying to make me jealous, but I refuse to fall for it. Instead, I give her a devilish smile and dip my head toward her. “That may be true, but no one will ever please you the way I can.”
I’m enjoying this little rift of matching wits, and I expect Ella to come up with a snappy retort that might make me kiss her again.
Instead, her expression saddens. “I wish I could be happy with that.”
My heart squeezes, and I lift a hand to palm the side of her neck. I wait until she meets my gaze. “We’re more than just sex, Ella. I just wanted to remind you of one thing we had that was incredibly good.”
Her eyes drop and she nods, admitting reluctantly. “I haven’t forgotten.”
When I squeeze her neck, she lifts her eyes. “But I also know you need and deserve more. As I said, I’m ready to prove that to you.”
Finally, something that seems to resonate. Ella jerks in surprise as if she suddenly understands my game.
Except it’s not a game. I love my wife, and I am going to get her back.
I lean in, pressing my lips to her forehead. “Remind Lucy to be ready at nine sharp in the morning.”
She doesn’t respond as I pivot and head through the living room, letting myself out the front door.
All in all, I think that went very well.
CHAPTER 2
Steele
Lucy answers the front door as soon as I knock on it—promptly at nine. She even smiles as she tosses her backpack over her shoulder, and I lean in to grab her rolling suitcase. She has a ton of stuff over at my house already, but she still insists on bringing more.
This bothers me, obviously, because it means she’s resolved that Ella and I aren’t getting back together. Of course, she’s never been given any reason to think otherwise.
I glance past her into the living room to part of the kitchen I can see. “Your mom around?”
“Nope,” Lucy replies, stepping past me onto the porch. “Out for a run.”
Interesting.
Two things are, to be exact.
First, I was actually feeling a little desperate to see Ella. I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment we shared in the kitchen yesterday, and while I didn’t expect any major conversation, I wanted to see her.
Second, I find it interesting she’s out on a run and not here to say good-bye to Lucy. I mean, she’ll only be gone for the day and evening with me, but Ella is always there to send her off with a kiss and an “I love you”. I can only surmise she said her goodbye’s earlier and went on a run to avoid me, which doesn’t bode well.
Whatever.
I’m determined, and that won’t dissuade me.
Once Lucy’s bags are in the Rover and she’s belted in the front seat, we take off.
“Want to get some waffles for breakfast?” I ask. It’s her favorite, and I wouldn’t turn my nose up at them either. I’m generally diligent about my diet and exercise routine because… hello, professional athlete. But I occasionally like to indulge. What better way to do it than with my daughter?
“Already ate,” she replies. I don’t detect any sulkiness in her tone, but I don’t quite trust I have happy-go-lucky Lucy today. I’ll have to see how it plays out.
I glance over as she stares out the windshield, one arm resting on the middle console so she’s leaning my way slightly. Everyone always says she looks like the perfect combination of Ella and me. She has Ella’s face… same nose, eyebrows, cheeks, and chin. The only part of me is her smile, which is slightly lopsided and has a dimple on one side.
As she is growing up and entering her teens, I hate noticing she’s starting to develop a body that’s definitely going to be like her mothers. Luckily for us, Lucy hasn’t reached a stage where she wants to wear ridiculous clothing liked cropped tops and shorts that barely cover her butt.
Not that it would do her any good to want those things, because Ella and I would be equally united in saying NO.
Where Lucy shines, though, is her personality, which is
also a combination of Ella and me. She has Ella’s sunny disposition—unless she’s in one of her moods—and always sees the bright side of things. She’s caring and always looking to make others feel good.
From me, she gets her stubbornness—which can be a good quality at times—and a sharp sense of humor. Probably the thing I’m most proud of is her work ethic, but, truthfully, she gets that from both parents. She watches me hone myself for my job seven days a week so I can be the best of the best, and she learns there is no wasting time on achieving goals.
Her mother is a hard worker as well. While she was a stay-at-home mom when Lucy was younger, she started working toward her degree on a part-time basis. When Lucy entered school, Ella knocked out her undergraduate degree in graphic design and now works remotely for an ad agency based out of New York. From her, Lucy learned it’s never too late to set new goals and reach them. She saw her mom doing that while being the primary caretaker since I travel fifty percent of the season.
All of this has made Lucy into a diligent student, and she’s at the top of her class. She’s there with a little pushing, enticing, or bribing from us, but she understands the rewards that come with hard work.
An intense swelling of pride erupts within me to know my child has watched us and learned. She has taken these lessons and made herself successful with them. That’s especially so since she’s just started in a new school here in Phoenix when we moved from Quebec.
“How’s school going?” I ask, always a safe subject because she enjoys it and excels.
“Great,” she replies happily. “I really like social studies.”
“Any neat projects you’re working on?”
Lucy tells me about a paper she has to write on the Industrial Revolution and how much she likes her teacher. She bemoans math class, but is really into English and the book she’s reading—A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
“Never heard of it,” I say. English was probably my least favorite subject and I excelled at math. Again, she takes after Ella here and not me.
Lucy tells me about the book—she’s only halfway through it—but already knows what the theme of her term paper will be. “I’m going to focus it on overcoming adversity.”
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