Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

West Scott

I wasn’t going to cancel the date.

I wasn’t.

If I turned into a backslider after two years of keeping my word to myself, all this agony would be for nothing. I’d promised myself to stay firm. Alfie and I did not belong together. I’d asked for the divorce for a reason. Or several. And his being upset about my possibly moving on didn’t mean a goddamn thing in the end.

Did he think I was new here? That I wasn’t going to pick up on all the shit he kept from me? Every fucking week he dropped the children off, they had anecdotes and stories to share. I’d built up a version of Alfie he insisted didn’t exist, and what had I learned just these past twenty-four hours? Oh, I could not have been more correct.

“Daddy, look at me!” Ellie called out.

I looked at her and made sure to smile. “I’m looking, princess.”

She beamed and took a few steps back, and then she ran forward and made a big splash in the pool.

Trip stayed in the other end, where he was snorkeling and picking up colored rocks from the bottom.

“I’m gonna swim really fast now!” Ellie declared once she resurfaced. “Watch!”

I always watched. I fucking had to, with that one. My reckless little monkey.

Alfie and I had taken them to swimming lessons the moment they’d been old enough, though the ability to swim didn’t matter with our daughter. Maybe in a year or two, I could duck inside for those thirty-second trips to the bathroom or to get popsicles, but not yet. Trip was rhyme and reason personified, and he dutifully sat on the stairs when I announced I was heading inside for one reason or another. Ellie, on the other hand, wanted to bargain and negotiate. Just one more jump! I’ll be careful when you’re not here! But, Daddy, pleeeaaase! I can swim, you know!

No, little miss. You sit on the stairs with your brother until I get back.

I blew out a breath and sat up in my lounger. The sun was starting to dip lower. Within the next twenty or so minutes, the foot of the lounger would no longer be in the shade of the canopy above. And my parents would arrive shortly too.

My stomach tightened with unease and doubt. Not a single part of me wanted to go get ready for dinner with Lance.

I wanted to stay here and overthink about Alfie. Fucking hell, he’d messed me up for all eternity.

The first year away from him had been a reprieve fueled by anger and heartbreak. I’d been so done with his bullshit that I hadn’t wanted to know a damn thing about what was new in his life. I’d uh-huh’d and mm-hmm’d my way through Ellie’s dinner ramblings about Daddy’s new house and whatnot. I hadn’t wanted any details whatsoever.

With one exception. I’d asked, from time to time, about Daddy’s friends. If he’d made any new connections. Because Alfie hadn’t had many of those in the past. Two best friends from high school, Kellan from college, and one of his cousins. Not the surprise cousin I’d spotted on Alfie’s couch today.

Who the fuck was he?

I’d seen him somewhere, not at family get-togethers.

Alfie had two cousins on his mother’s side and two on his father’s. He was mostly close to Alberto—the two had grown up together as Alfie and Albie. Alberto had kids the same age as Trip too, so we’d met up with them quite often for barbecues and picnics. And not once had I heard of a cousin named Finn.

What else had Alfie lied about?

The tattoos were just ridiculous. I didn’t understand why he’d felt the need to hide them. When we’d started dating, he’d said he wanted to get at least one sleeve, and I’d admitted I found them sexy.

Too sexy, in his case. I’d almost swallowed my tongue earlier today.

Jesus Christ. And with the basketball shorts riding low, his physique …

Regardless, it proved he put on a show every week when we did drop-offs and pickups. Alfie hated dressing up. And yet, he’d begun doing it more and more when we’d moved back east.

He’d cleaned up his language. He’d become less animated when he spoke. A light had died in his eyes. He’d started buying high-end name-brand clothes for Trip and Ellie. As if they didn’t get as dirty on the playground as clothes from Target.

That was what’d killed me the most. He’d turned into the people I’d left. If I’d wanted a man from my old circle of friends and acquaintances, I would’ve asked one of them out.

Not that I rejected all the so-called finer things in life. My membership at the country club where I played golf was…not cheap. But I found much of the day-to-day routines I’d grown up with too stilted and boring. More than that, I didn’t want it for my son and daughter.

I remembered growing up in a structure where kids weren’t meant to be seen or heard. My sisters and I had been sent upstairs when Mom and Dad hosted their dinners. I couldn’t fucking imagine doing that. I couldn’t imagine a life where Ellie wasn’t clowning off when we had people over. I was sure some of our family friends believed Ellie was out of control. And they were wrong. It was their own children who were suppressed.

My mother wasn’t heartless, but she was all about convenience and image. She’d saved my childhood drawings in an album, meant to be taken out when it was appropriate. I wanted Ellie’s doodles and glitter-bombed artwork all over the house. I wanted Trip’s swimming trophies on the mantel and his matchstick crafts on the shelves. He built the most incredible little structures out of matches. Why wouldn’t I want the world to see?

I was so fucking proud of their creativity.

Alfie and I had been on the same page there, thankfully, but he’d asked me once if I wanted him to tidy up on the fridge before my parents came over. I hadn’t understood what he meant, so he’d gestured vaguely and said, “You know, straighten the drawings and maybe put some of the older ones in an album.”

I knew he’d only tried to be accommodating, but it’d triggered something in me. Logically speaking, of course albums were eventually necessary. Ellie had at least seven at this point—several boxes too. It added up. But Alfie’s suggestion had come from the wrong place. He hadn’t asked because the fridge had become too full. It’d been because of image and how my folks would react to an untidy fridge door.

Tiny step by tiny step, these little changes in Alfie’s behavior had made me panic and feel suffocated.

The problem was, weeks would go by, and I couldn’t always put my finger on the issue, until I’d remember a specific event. And by then, Alfie had forgotten and grown defensive. Why was I hashing up old stuff? Why was this insignificant bullshit causing fights?

Just thinking about all these small problems eventually growing and turning into our demise strengthened my resolve. I may be pathetically in love with him for the rest of my life, but he wasn’t that man anymore, and we weren’t going to find our way back to each other.

I was not canceling my date tonight.

“…and remember, Ellie can’t have white bread if you’re serving that with dinner,” I said, walking over to the kitchen island. I opened the bread box and pulled out the loaf I’d made her yesterday. “This is hers. Alfie’s mother gave me the recipe. Ellie likes it a lot.”

I assumed Giulia baked the bread for Alfie’s weeks with the kids. As far as I knew, he could still burn water.

On that note, I was going to text Giulia next week and thank her for the recipe. I barely got to talk to her these days.

“That poor girl.” Mom commiserated. “Do you think she’s allergic to gluten?”

I shook my head. “We think she’s sensitive to overprocessed shit. She doesn’t react when we go to bakeries that sell sourdough bread and things like that.”

“I understand. I’ll see if I can find better options, though.” She eyed the loaf as I returned it to the box. “I don’t see a reason why you must bake it yourself.”

I felt my forehead crease. “I don’t mind—and she loves Giulia’s bread. It’s good for her.” I didn’t mention that she loved everything her nonna made. My mother would be offended.

Every child had a favorite set of grandparents. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t my parents. I couldn’t blame the children either. But as long as Trip could do his own thing and Ellie had her coloring books, they’d be fine for a few hours.

Dad did all right. He still knew what children liked, and he could lure Trip out of his room with a puzzle or a documentary. He could even humor Ellie with her collection of stuffed animals and glitter glue. Mom, however…

“I think that’s it,” I said. “No pool at this hour, no hauling out their bikes. They already bathed. I’ll be home before midnight.”

She smiled indulgently and came over to me to adjust my tie. Which was already as straight as it could be.

“You’re a terrific father, West. Don’t worry about the children, and take your time. Okay? If you and Lance hit it off?—”

“It’s a first date, and I don’t have my hopes up.” I cut her off politely and lowered her hands. “I’d prefer if you didn’t either.”

She tskd me. “Darling, you do need to lighten up. It’s admirable how you’ve focused on being a father these past two years, but it’s time for you to find your own happiness. I want you to have what your sisters have.”

Thanks, but the last part was more of an insult. I’d kill myself. They were so fucking intelligent and creative, but once they’d found their husbands, it was as if someone tapped the off button. Their idea of a packed day was dropping off the kids at school and then getting their nails done.

I didn’t say that, though. I dipped down and kissed her cheek, and then I made my way out of the kitchen.

Tomorrow, I was gonna give Evan a call. Maybe we could meet up next weekend—unless he and his wife were off on another adventure.

Not all multimillionaires were boring, cookie-cutter robots with stuck-up opinions and holier-than-thou attitudes.

Alfie had liked Evan and Malina too.

Alfie, Alfie, fucking Alfie.

I released a breath and headed into the den, where Dad was watching the news. Ellie and Trip sat on the floor with their iPads.

“Sweethearts, I’m off to dinner. Be good for Grandma and Grandpa, all right?”

“I’ll do my best!” Ellie smirked.

I shook my head in amusement.

“Who are you going to dinner with?” Trip wondered. “Can I come?”

“Oh, I couldn’t put you through that torture, son,” I chuckled, adjusting my cuff links. “It’s a friend of a friend from work.” Sort of. A colleague’s friend’s brother, whom I’d been introduced to at a work event. He’d asked for my “socials,” and I’d felt put on the spot.

Apologies, I’ll be late. There’s been an accident on Broad, and it’s completely backed up.

I sighed and checked the rearview, then peered up ahead to the next turn I could make. Right now, I wasn’t going anywhere. Saturday night and city traffic. Fucking great.

As I waited for Lance’s response, I went to Instagram and checked the alerts from my latest update. Every other week, I dusted off my private account to post photos of Trip and Ellie. Alfie did the same on his weeks, though he posted every now and then when he didn’t have the kids too. Exclusively Philly photos from his daily runs.

After today, I’d say he did more than run.

I still couldn’t believe how defined his abs had become.

And all that ink…

He’d been out-of-this-world gorgeous when he’d been a model, but this was something else. He had an edge to him that’d sharpened to a new point.

He’d commented on the photo I’d posted of Trip and Ellie by the pool.

Wait. That was his profile picture, but he’d changed his username.

@theodwyerdad: they grow up too fast.

O’Dwyer.

I swallowed and clicked on his profile, immediately scanning his name and bio.

Alfie O’Dwyer

Dad of two li’l stars. Philly.

He was changing his name back.

He’d once said he was keeping mine because he wanted to share the same one we’d given the kids. Now, he’d changed his mind. He was leaving Scott behind.

It shouldn’t hurt, but it did.

His account was private too, and I was mildly embarrassed to admit I kept track of his followers. All forty of them. But who could blame me? He never told me anything about who he hung out with, who he knew, and if he’d made new friends.

I scrolled through the list, recognizing the majority of the handles. Some parents from Trip’s school, some from Ellie’s kindergarten. A teacher or two. Family and friends.

I flicked a glance around me. Still no movement.

Fuck, I just wanted to go home again.

I popped open the glove compartment and dug out my smokes, and then I rolled down the window.

Once I’d lit up and taken the first drag, I made my way through his photos, not for the first time.

Hundreds of pictures of our children—and never in a location that revealed much about how he lived. Sure, there were several of Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, some from the couch in the living room. Just…always at an angle that didn’t give anything away about the size of his house.

For the area he lived in on Pine, the house had to have been at least one point five.

Most of the photos were taken outside, however. In the car—his very expensive car—at the grocery store, water parks, toy stores, road trips…

That was one of the things I missed more than I could say. We’d loved heading out. Spur-of-the-moment road trips—and I never cared where we went. Down the shore, to Florida, New York, DC, the weekend we’d spent in Savannah, the time we’d tried hiking in the Shenandoah.

And the food places.

Alfie wasn’t great in the kitchen, so he knew the best spots in the city. Rarely fine dining, more like hole-in-the-wall pizza places with good steaks, the best donut locations, fried chicken, and an abundance of hoagies.

He also put together the best picnics and snacks for road trips. He’d raid a deli and a bakery, and we were off.

I took another drag from the smoke and rubbed at the tightness in my chest.

What the fuck was I doing?

Alfie O’Dwyer.

No longer Scott.

O’Dwyer.

If I ordered another drink, Lance was going to think I had an alcohol problem.

This restaurant setting was way too romantic for a first date. I had major regrets about picking it. In my defense, I hadn’t known. I’d looked at the reviews and the menu. No pictures.

I smiled politely and cut another piece of my steak.

Good food, shitty company—and that was my fault. Lance was perfectly lovely. An up-and-comer in marketing for an agency that had offices all over the East Coast. He was born and raised in Manayunk.

Alfie and I had looked at houses there before we’d found the place I lived in alone now. I liked Ardmore, but in retrospect, I should’ve listened to him when he’d claimed we’d picked the quietest part. The most boring part. Ardmore did have a good nightlife scene these days, albeit small, but?—

Alfie O’Dwyer.

I cleared my throat and reached for my glass. The wine was almost gone. I wanted whiskey or vodka or rum.

“…and then I went up to my boss, gave him a piece of my mind, and I was promptly fired,” Lance laughed.

I chuckled, wanting to shoot myself in the face.

This was such a farce. Lit candles, romantic music, and happy couples all over.

And me.

“I’m so glad my new job is better,” he finished.

Riveting.

Why on earth had I agreed to this?

He wasn’t my type. He was too…plain. I’d forget his face the minute I left.

He was the same age as Alfie, but he carried himself differently. Like he was older and trying to come off as more experienced.

Alfie, Alfie, Alfie—for fuck’s sake!

“Now I just have to find the time for a hobby or two,” Lance said. “You play golf, right? I played when I was younger.”

I inclined my head and scanned the establishment subtly for the nearest waiter. “I do. It’s my meditation. Not that it doesn’t infuriate me from time to time.”

He grinned. “I remember that part. I’m a horrible putter. What’s your handicap?”

I squinted, trying to give a fuck. “Four.”

He let out a low whistle. “Damn. I won’t try to impress you, then. Before I quit, I think I was at, like, twenty.”

Twenty wasn’t exactly horrible.

This date, for instance, was much worse.

It made me feel guilty, because this guy had done nothing wrong whatsoever. He had social skills, a good balance between sharing things about himself and showing interest in me, no excessive flirting, he wasn’t too eager or too aloof, and he was… Fuck if I knew. I just had this feeling that he probably didn’t struggle to find partners.

But I wasn’t going to be one of them.

“You’re young—you’ll have plenty of time for hobbies,” I said, right as my phone dinged in my pocket. “Sorry. I thought I put it on silent.”

“It’s okay.” He smiled as I pulled out my phone, and the preview on the screen caused me to cough.

Still on your date? You fucked him yet?

A liquid, rage-filled heat pressed closer to the surface, and I managed to flag down a waiter as he was about to leave the table next to ours.

“Yes, sir?”

“A vodka soda, thank you,” I said, glancing at Lance. “Would you like anything else?”

“I’ll have a beer, thanks,” he said. “Whatever you recommend with the steak.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Mother of Christ, I didn’t know how to react. Truth be told, I wanted to scream or?—

Another message popped up as I switched to silent mode.

Remember how hard you fucked me after our first date? In the alley?

I clenched my jaw and pocketed my phone again. My ears felt hot, and a low, rushing sound drowned out some of the background noise in the restaurant. For a dizzying moment, I stopped hearing soft laughter and glasses clinking, and instead, I was in Los Angeles. Behind a fucking dumpster, drilling my cock into Alfie’s tight ass. He’d met every goddamn thrust, and he’d begged me for more.

“Harder, papi. Fuck, that’s it. Oh my fucking God, you feel good. Please don’t stop.”

Anger and desire weren’t the best combination.

I swallowed hard and stared unseeingly at the steak.

He had to be drunk in order to text me something like that.

“Are you okay, West?”

No, I fucking wasn’t.

“I’m fine. Just a check-in with the kids. All is well.” I faked a smile and returned to my food.

Thank fuck, my drink soon arrived.

I wasn’t gonna be able to drive home.

Uber, it was.

I released a breath as we left the restaurant, and I’d hoped for fresh, crisp air…to clear my head.

That wasn’t happening in July.

What a fucking disaster of a night.

“Where did you park?” Lance asked.

I pulled out my phone to go to my Uber app. “Uh, garage by 15th and Locust,” I replied. “But considering how much I let loose with the drinks, I’ll pick up my car tomorrow.”

I wanted to get out of the city before I did anything stupid. Alfie lived just a few blocks away, and that was a circle of hell I didn’t need to visit.

“I don’t suppose you wanna go to a bar?”

Fuck. Time to end this on a decent note. He deserved an explanation from me.

“Unfortunately, I’ll be up way too early because my children don’t care that Sundays were meant for resting,” I chuckled. “I’d like to apologize if I came off as distracted tonight, though. It’s my first date after the divorce—I think I told you. So I guess you can say I’m rusty.”

He smiled, and he might even have looked a bit relieved. “I totally get it. I hope you’ll text me if you wanna do this again sometime.”

I don’t.

I smiled back. “I will.”