Chapter 9

9

Davey

Mack's idea was a good one, but the execution? Fucking hell. When he gets excited about things, he jumps into them headfirst, which means we have a fifty-fifty shot at either a fun time or sheer fuckery.

The camping trip wasn't anywhere near as bad as he made it out, but that doesn't stop him from moping about it the whole way home.

In fact … I wasn't lying when I said I loved it. I'd left my phone in the car and just focused on being with them, picturing what it would be like if we were still married. That means embracing the good and the bad because if I hadn't been there for Van's tantrums, I also would have missed the way he clung to me all night. If I hadn't helped Kiera through the pain from her burns—which was totally on us—I wouldn't have gotten su nrise cuddles with her telling me about her friends at school while Mack and Van slept in.

I only wish he'd go easier on himself.

It's not until we pull into the driveway and I'm climbing out of the car that I hear him mutter, "Can't even manage the perfect stupid weekend."

Perfect weekend?

I close my door and take a second before reaching for Van.

Mack wanted the perfect weekend? But … why?

Is it because our time together is so limited? Because he wants our family together as much as I do? Or, more likely, does he know that with him dating, everything is going to change?

I'm not an idiot. Mack is a fucking catch; my parents don't have to keep reminding me. I'm shocked he's managed to stay single this long, but once he finds someone, he'll hold on to them. That's who he is.

And if there's another man in the picture, we won't have this anymore.

Weekends away with the kids? Snuggling in a tent? That all stops, and rightfully so. No matter how I feel about Mack, I'd never jeopardize another relationship for him.

Are these three months the last we'll have like this? I haven't seen Luke again since the morning he showed up, but that doesn't mean he isn't visiting Mack at work. If I know my husband— ex —like I do, he would have asked him not to stop by while I'm home. He's respectful like that, but it also means I can't keep an eye on the guy.

We bring the kids inside, leaving the rest of our things in the car, and I look around our living room, feeling a pang of love and regret.

None of the decorations are up yet because we normally do it the week or two before Christmas when I'm home to do it with them.

But I'm home now.

And this might be our last chance, just the four of us, to make it special.

It's too late to manage a perfect weekend, but I can at least try to give Mack a perfect night.

I start a new chat and add Art, Keller, Orson, Payne, and Griff to it.

So, I hear Griff came up with the fantastic idea for Mack to take us camping.

Griff:

Summer. I thought he'd wait for summer. Or at least spring.

I laugh before I write back.

And since I'm assuming the rest of you supported this idea, you now owe me.

Payne:

Ever since I joined this group, I'm constantly being dragged into fuckery.

Art:

You're welcome. Now what do you need, Davey?

What do I need? I think through my plan and what the first step will be.

Okay, first, I need one of you to call Mack and take him to do something this afternoon. The rest of you are going to cancel your plans and come over here. We have crafting to do.

Art:

Goddamnit. I told Joey that having friends was a bad idea.

Orson:

We'll be there. Want to fill us in on your plans?

Me:

Apparently Mack wanted the perfect weekend and he feels like camping went to shit—not far off, honestly. So I thought tonight we'd put the Christmas tree up with the kids, but because Kiera and Van are monsters half of the time, that could be either family fun or complete chaos, so I want to skew the odds in our favor.

Payne:

I'm not helping you drug your kids.

Dear god.

Art:

Why not? Bit of rum on my pacifier did me fine as a baby.

Keller:

Thank you for making Payne's point.

Me:

No drugging. Well, kind of. We're going to keep them busy with shiny ornaments, hot chocolate, and treats after a day of one of you wearing them out. Plus crafts. Lots and lots of crafts. I want this place to look incredible .

Art:

I don't like where this is going.

Me:

If you think I'm letting you and your dick brain anywhere near the crafts, you're mistaken. Uncle Art gets to do energetic stuff.

Art:

Since Joey makes me keep you fuckers around, he's definitely getting roped into this.

Orson:

I have an idea. And Ford will help.

Relief washes over me at how easily they've all jumped on board. Maybe they had plans, maybe they didn't; it doesn't matter because not one of them has questioned me or given pushback.

Griff:

Given my last advice went so horribly, I'll be the one to take Mack out. I'm suddenly agreeing that I might not be the romantic one of the group.

Art:

Thank you. My title has been restored.

I close out of the chat, then wait for the moment Mack's phone rings.

Okay, okay, okay . I give myself a pep talk while I wait for Mack to get home. I'm nervous as I pace the living room while Kiera and Van polish off their dinner. I've already dressed them in festive outfits, a decision I'm already regretting based on the pasta sauce covering Van's face.

But at least they're quiet.

And away from all the white.

I pace back toward the living room door and glance inside again. The tall pine is bare in the corner, with a giant box of decorations right next to it. The rest of the room? Well, it looks like a cloud threw up in there. Orson and Ford have covered the place in white roses while the kids, Payne, Keller, Art, and Joey all helped me make paper snowflakes to hang from the ceiling. Christmas carols are playing—thanks, Keller—and Payne lit a whole bunch of cinnamon candles that have been placed up well out of Van's reach.

Nighttime is pressing on the two large front windows, and I've dimmed the lights right down.

Now, all I need is Mack.

Fuck, I hope he likes this.

The soft sound of a motor lets me know someone has pulled up out the front, and I scramble to tidy up the mess the kids have made and clear their dinner from the table. Then I scrub at Van's face, pick the stray spaghetti off them both, and grab the tray of snacks I stashed in the fridge.

I've just set it on the living room table when the front door opens.

I can hear him in the hall, shuffling about, dumping his keys in the bowl, and kicking off his boots. His coat will go next, then the scarf and his jacket. My whole body warms at the familiar motion.

Van goes to dart forward, but I hoist him up off the ground instead.

"Dadda."

"I know, buddy. He's coming now. Can you surprise Dad with a big smile?" He tries. "Bigger. Biiigger ." I tickle his ribs as a distraction, and he lets out the most adorable giggle?—

Right as Mack steps into the room.

His droopy expression changes instantly to surprise as his big eyes move from me to the kids to the tree.

"Wha … what's all this?"

I put Van down and watch him launch himself at Mack.

"Daddy said we can decorate the tree." Kiera claps her hands together. "Can we start now?"

"Yeah, of course."

Kiera and Van run for the box of decorations and get to work while I approach where Mack is still standing.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you pick up the tree."

I shake my head. "If I told you, it wouldn't have been much of a surprise, would it?"

"You wanted to surprise me?"

Those big blue eyes meet mine, and the urge to touch him is almost overpowering. He still loves me. I know that, and I hope he knows that I still love him too. But sometimes love isn't enough.

I'm not selfish enough to say the words out loud, so I hope that showing him, making him a priority when I'm actually here to do it, is enough.

I gave him the divorce he wanted, but I never, ever stopped loving him.

Not for a minute.

"You wanted the perfect weekend. You put in a lot of effort to make it happen, and I'm sorry you didn't enjoy camping. I wanted to find something to put that smile back on your face again."

The smile I love comes, and he hauls me into a hug. He grips me tight, face turned into my neck, and I press mine into his shoulder as I hold him back.

I fold as much emotion into the hug as I can, and it's torture. Torture to be this close but further from him than ever.

He lets go too soon, and I force myself to step back.

Mack isn't mine.

He's not mine.

My heart clenches as he turns to where the kids are setting up.

"Do I get to help?"

Kiera holds up an ornament she made at school. "This one."

He laughs and goes to join them, and I have to swallow around the lump building in my throat. These three are the reason I do everything. The reason I've built my life to be what it is.

So why do I suddenly feel like I'm looking in on a private family moment? One that I'm not part of?

"Don't think you're getting out of helping," Mack says, grinning at me over his shoulder.

I shake off the sudden melancholy and join them.