by Whitley Cox
“I’m Daddy, and I have to go to work. Not now, Aria. I don’t have time. Be good to Cecily and Jenny. I love you.” Then she pretended to walk away, stomping loudly.
His heart stopped along with his feet, and he stepped back toward the door to hide from view but continue to watch.
Tessa was sitting on the stage “playing” with dolls.
“I’m home!” Aria announced.
“Hi, Daddy,” Tessa said. “Come play with me.”
“Not now, Aria. I no have time for you. I never have time for you. Work and Cecily are all I have time for.” Aria frowned, pulled off the tie, tossed it to the floor, followed by the blazer and briefcase. “I have work. Lots of work. I’m so tired. Aria, don’t throw broccoli at Cecily. Go to your room.” She stomped her foot and pointed her finger in a random direction, glaring at Tessa, who hadn’t actually said much and just continued to pretend-play with the dolls. He could tell from her posture, though, that she wasn’t the least bit relaxed. This was a job to her, and Atlas’s daughter was revealing a whole hell of a lot at the moment.
“But Daddy, I miss you,” Tessa said in a soft voice, nothing like Aria’s whiny voice, which is what he would have heard if Aria had actually said it.
“No time,” Aria barked. “Go see Jenny. Go see Kimmy. You have no Mommy. Your mommy died, and I have no time for you.”
It was as if his daughter herself had stabbed him in the heart with a steak knife. He stumbled back against the doorjamb, his gut churning, his chest once again heaving.
Aria was hurting more than he even knew. More than he could heal on his own. He felt helpless and like a complete fucking failure.
Rather than stepping up and becoming mother and father after Samantha had died, he was barely being her father. Hardly present, never there when she needed him.
“Daddy?”
The gentle music in the room died, and the sound of footsteps filled his ears. But his vision was blurry, and he took a moment to shake his head and clear his thoughts, though it did nothing for the gut-wrenching feeling inside of him that he had failed his daughter and disappointed his dead wife.
“I’m sorry,” Tessa said, approaching him. She wasn’t wearing any shoes and had cute little rings on a toe of each foot. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
Then why had he? The door was open, and they were already five minutes over time. Had she meant for him to see that? Or was it the universe giving him a dose of reality by slapping him in the face with a wet washcloth?
“We were just role-playing. It’s a great way to get the children to open up and explore their feelings. Aria grew tired of coloring and wasn’t interested in painting, sculpting or mixed media. She saw the dress-up clothes and asked if we could play house.”
His house, obviously.
“Hi, Daddy,” Aria said, sidling up next to him and wrapping her arm around his leg, but she pulled away almost instantly. “You’re all wet. Gross.”
His smile was thin and forced. “Sorry, sweetie. I just went for a run, and I’m all sweaty. It’s a warm one out there.”
He glanced up at Tessa, and what met him was a heated stare that made part of his body jump and tingle. Her nostrils flared and … oh damn, that pink tongue slid out just barely and ran the seam of her plump, red lips. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Ready?” he asked, running his hand down the back of Aria’s head.
She nodded.
“I was thinking we could go and grab ice cream, just you and me. Cecily is at home with Jenny, so we have some time before dinner. What do you think?”
His daughter’s beautiful hazel eyes opened wide. “But I never have dessert before dinner. Jenny says it ruins my tummy for good food.”
“Just this once as a treat will be okay.” He tried to smile wider, but he was still processing all that he’d walked in on and was having a hard time not beating his failing ass to a pulp. “Besides, I’m the Dad, remember?”
“And you’re the boss,” she said, adding a big, fat eye roll. “I remember.”
Tessa’s throaty chuckle drew his attention away from Aria. He felt like he’d heard that laugh before. But where? “We had a good session. As always, I typically try to summarize my sessions in threes and then send a report to the parents via email. So I will compile my notes from the last three sessions and send you a copy tonight.”
He nodded. “She still have to come?”
Her cornflower-blue eyes held a glimmer of impatience, but she stowed it, letting her smile take over her face. “I would recommend it, Mr. Stark. Particularly after today’s little breakthrough.”
“Atlas,” he grunted. “You can call me Atlas.”
“Atlas.”
He nodded. They needed to leave. The woman in front of him and all that he’d watched on that stage were seriously fucking with his head. He needed to process. He also needed to fix his relationship with his daughter. Maybe this mandatory sabbatical was a good thing. He had time to repair what he’d inadvertently broken with Aria before it was too late.
“We need to go,” he said, turning back to Aria. “Ready?”
His daughter nodded. “I want two flavors. Can I, Daddy?”
“Bye, Aria,” Tessa said, turning to head back toward her canvas, undoubtably to make the most of the remaining natural light coming in from the windows.
“Bye, Tessa!” Aria called back.
Atlas nodded in Tessa’s direction, then led his daughter down the hallway. “Do you think they’ll have your favorite flavor?” she asked. “Citrus cooler.”
He shrugged, letting her press the button for the elevator. “Hard to say, but probably not. Haven’t been able to find it in years.”
“Well, if they have it, I want one scoop of that and one scoop of cookies and cream.”
He smiled as they stepped into the elevator. “That was your mom’s favorite flavor.”
9
Atlas in a wet gray T-shirt and running shorts. Yes, please.
Tessa fanned herself with a magazine as she stood at the window of her studio and watched Atlas and Aria on the sidewalk below. The ice cream shop was only a few doors down from the office building, and although she never ate ice cream anymore, she did enjoy reading and fantasizing about their monthly flavor specials, which they advertised on a sandwich board outside.
This month: salted caramel pretzel ice cream. Yum.
Could she go in there and ask if they could specially make an ice cream flavor? If she found the ingredients and flavor profile of citrus cooler online, maybe she could custom order a flavor as a thank you for David.
They’d spoken for nearly an hour last night, and she’d gone to bed with a big smile on her face and dreamt nothing but good dreams. A first for her in quite a while.
Her session with Aria had been incredible, but she felt bad that Atlas had walked in when he did. Though, in the end, it probably benefited him seeing his daughter act out how she sees him on a daily basis. Too busy for her.
And, of course, he had to come in looking like a sweaty popsicle, and she wanted to lick every drip. He hadn’t even smelled bad. Maybe it was a mix of his natural manly smell, sweat and his deodorant, but she’d found it more appealing than anything. Not to mention the way his damp T-shirt clung to his frame, defining every ridge of muscle, particularly around his arms and the planes of his stomach.
She’d been unable to stop herself and licked her lips at the thought of taking care of that delicious-looking bead of sweat on his upper lip. She bet it tasted delicious.
“Down, girl,” she murmured to herself when Aria and Atlas were no longer in view. She turned back to her painting, the one he had admired, even though it wasn’t finished. She had another hour before she knew that Carlyle and Blaire would be home, then she was going to their apartment to confront them and, hopefully, oh God, hopefully, finally get her beloved Forest back.
In the meantime, she had an hour to work on her painting. It was almost done anyway. In addition to being one of
her passions, art helped her clear her mind and focus on what she needed to do. And right now, she needed to figure out exactly how she was going to handle seeing Carlyle and Blaire the witch. She couldn’t expect them to just hand Forest over, otherwise they wouldn’t have taken him so deviously in the first place. But she had to try. She had to let them know that she’d found them and she wouldn’t leave them alone until she got Forest back.
Grabbing her paint palette and a fresh bouquet of brushes, she angled the easel toward the beam of late-afternoon sunlight coming in through the window and started to paint.
Her PhD defense was scheduled for exactly five weeks from today, and although she felt adequately prepared, she knew that as the days and weeks drew closer to D-Day, as she called it, her stress level would begin to rise. The same way it had when she defended for her master’s degree. She’d been a total ball of nerves, with sweaty-pit stains, a roiling gut and a fat tongue that refused to cooperate. Or at least, that’s how she felt.
Her supervisor said she made it through her defense with flying colors and he couldn’t have been prouder. Here’s hoping she had Forest back by then and Carlyle was out of her life for good, otherwise she’d have more than just nerves to contend with when she defended her dissertation.
She was just finishing up on the highlights around the frontal lobe when her phone vibrated and dinged on the window ledge.
You going to confront Carlyle today? It was David.
She grinned at his message as she typed back her own reply. That’s the plan. Just finishing up at work, then I’m going to head over. How was your day?
They hadn’t asked each other how their days had been before, and she hoped she wasn’t breaking any unforged rule.
Day was good. Just hanging out with my kid after a workout. How was your day?
Swoon. A devoted father and a man who took care of his body. Was there anything sexier? Maybe that devoted father working out while wearing his child in one of those carrier things. Yeah, that might be sexier.
She texted back, leaving a paint smudge on her screen. Day was good. Had my last client and she did great. Mentally preparing to face the Blaire witch and her project though. Need to psych myself up like an MMA fighter heading into a title match. She finished her painting, then headed over to the sink to wash her brushes, her phone now in the back pocket of her red denim capris. He still hadn’t asked what she did for work. Maybe he didn’t want to know, maybe he didn’t care.
Or maybe he’s actually a serial killer and thinks you might be a cop, so by not finding out you’re a cop, he’s slowly gaining your trust only to inevitably peel off your face and wear it as a mask.
Wow, that went dark fast. No more serial killer documentaries right before bed. They made her hypotheticals get creepy and morbid.
Her phone chirped in her back pocket as she dried her hands and set her paint brushes in an old pickle jar on the windowsill to dry. This is the fight for the championship belt. But I have faith that you will kick some serious ass. If not, call one of the lawyers I recommended. They’ll help you get your Forest back.
The time on her phone said it was nearly six. She felt like she was going to be sick.
You got this, his subsequent text message said. Let me know how it goes.
She replied with a simple Thanks. Will do. then grabbed her keys, her cardigan and her purse and headed for the door. She would have loved to ride her bike to work. It was a hot, beautiful day, but she had to err on the side of hopefulness and have room for Forest to accompany her home. She’d thought about getting her buddy a sidecar for her bike, but he was a bit of a chicken and didn’t even like sitting in the front seat of her car, let alone a little metal pod on the side of a crotch rocket with the wind in his face.
She was on the road in no time, weaving through downtown Seattle rush-hour traffic. It would take at least thirty minutes to get to Greenwood and through all the lights. That gave her time to gather her wits, her cojones and her courage, because she would need every single ounce of it all if she was going to get her dog back.
“Carlyle!” Tessa hammered on the door to his apartment unit again. She saw his car in the parking lot out front, and the hood was still warm, so he’d only just arrived home. She pressed her ear to the door, and the sound of muffled voices and shuffling told her the place was not empty. “Carlyle! I know you’re in there. I can hear you. Open up. Give me back my dog!”
A dog’s whimper and four paws struggling to gain traction on a hardwood floor drowned out the murmurs of conversation. Then she heard his nose sniffling at the door and his whines of desperation.
The strings of her heart tightened to the point of agony. Her baby was just on the other side of that door.
“Carlyle!” She was now pounding continuously on the door with both fists. “I know you’re in there. I can hear Forest. Forest, buddy. Are you in there? It’s Momma.”
Like she knew it would, that caused Forest to go berserk on the other side. He was now jumping up and dragging his nails down the door, barking. His tail thwacked the wall with a heavy thump thump, and his whimpers of need to see her picked up fervor.
Footsteps and grumblings competed with Forest’s excitement. “Don’t scratch the door,” came a woman’s voice. “Get back. Get back.” Her voice was mean and scolding. If Tessa didn’t already hate this woman, she now certainly did for how she was speaking to her perfect Forest.
The door handle jiggled, and the sound of a deadbolt being flicked was like a gong going off in the quiet, empty hallway. The door opened just a crack, and brown eyes peered out. “What do you want?”
Well that was the dumbest question ever. She’d announced it to the entire apartment building at least twice. “I want my dog back,” Tessa said plainly.
The woman yawned an obvious fake yawn. “I was sleeping. I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is my dog.” She made to close the door again, but Forest was no shih tzu, and he managed to wedge his big body between Blaire and door, shoving the door open and launching his fury, wiggling frame at Tessa. She was unable to keep her balance and, laughing, found herself on the floor with Forest’s nose all over her face, following by rough licks to her hands and cheeks. He was stepping all over her, his entire body jostling as his tail wagged with intensity.
“Your dog, huh?” she said, scratching behind Forest’s ears and taking him under her arm to calm him a bit. Like the good boy that he was, he settled right down on his bottom beside her, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, a big smile on his black lips.
Blaire sniffed. “He’s like that with everyone.” Wow, she really wasn’t going to give up this pathetic ruse, was she? Ridiculous.
“Where’s Carlyle?” She had no time for this bullshit or this home-wrecker. As far as she was concerned, Blaire was a nobody and Tessa wanted nothing to do with her. She just needed to deal with her asshole ex and get her dog back.
“He’s … out.” Her eyes shifted sideways back into the apartment at the same time a toilet inside flushed.
“Out, huh? Out of the bathroom, I’m assuming you meant. Carlyle? Get your ass out here. I’ve come for my dog.” She stood up, and Forest stood with her, remaining at her side and heeling like the four-legged angel that he was. He’d come to her a timid rescue, and with patience and love, she’d molded him into her ideal, obedient companion. There wasn’t anything Forest wouldn’t do for her or her for him. She would fight Blaire and Carlyle to the death if she had to.
As if he had all the time in the world, Carlyle sauntered around the corner, looking every bit the blond, blue-eyed frat boy he’d always been. How had she not seen him for the douchebag he was before now? He was beyond a pretty boy; he was a conceited, plastic, vacuous excuse for a human being. “Tessa,” he said smoothly, his lips far too red to be natural. “Didn’t Blaire tell you that I would be in touch when I was ready?”
“And didn’t you know that the world doesn’t revolve around you, Carl?” She tossed her shoulders back and
her breasts out, squaring off with both of them.
Carlyle’s eye twitched. He absolutely hated it when anybody called him Carl. Which was precisely why she did it.
His lips curled into a sneer. “You always were a bitch.”
“Was I?” She wasn’t playing into his insults. She didn’t care about him or his witch with obvious implants, lip injections and gray-blonde-platinum-dyed hair. She just wanted her dog back. “Whether you think I was a bitch or not is irrelevant at this point. You proved who the true monster was in the relationship when you left me the way you did. Taking my dog. Not even having the decency to end our engagement, our five-year relationship to my face.” She shrugged, hoping her body language told them she already knew she was so much better off without him. “I am here to make an exchange. Your comic books and records for Forest. I want my dog.”
Blaire’s dark eyeliner covered eyes slid sideways toward Carlyle and his toward hers. They both smiled slyly.
“He’s actually not just your dog. He’s considered joint property because in the eyes of the law we were married, given how long we lived together. My name is on his registration too. I am just as much his owner as you are. He’s like a couch, not a child.”
Heat flooded every cell in her body, and she speared him with a glare she hoped punctured that shriveled organ he called a heart. “He doesn’t even like you.”
Carlyle’s eyes rolled, and she wanted to smack the smirk off his face. “Blaire here is a first-year law student. She knows things.”
Oh, she bet Blaire knew things, like how to suck the chrome off a bumper.