Chapter 15

15

Davey

"Shit, no, Van!" I chase the little monster through the house. He's done the dash from the shower, and his naked little body is sending water everywhere.

I throw the towel his way and miss, making him squeal and dart into the kitchen.

"Watch it! I almost dropped a pan on your head," I hear Mack shriek.

Already exhausted, I scoop up the towel and hurry to hunt Van down.

I find him crouching under the dining room table, his constant giggles giving him away.

"Not cool."

"Daddy, rawr at me."

"I didn't roar at you."

He cackles and goes to bolt, but I nab him just in time, and then I wrap him in the towel like a straitjacket and haul him over my shoulder.

"That's one contained," I cry out to Mack. "Where's the other one?"

"She was picking out toys to take with her tonight."

I make a mental note to remind her to pack clothes as well this time. Last time I dropped them off at my parents' for the night, I got a call an hour later, asking where their pajamas were. Apparently, five-year-olds can't be trusted with that level of responsibility.

I dress Van, then check both of their backpacks have everything they need before I let them pile toys on top. Then, I join Mack in the kitchen. The urge to wrap my arm around his waist and kiss his head is strong, but I remind myself that isn't us anymore.

"Smells good."

"Thanks, it's a vegetable casserole."

Which translates to a sloppy, saucy mess, but I'll eat every damn scrap on my plate. "Yum. But you know, you don't have to cook every night. I'm okay to whip up dinner too."

"I know," he mutters, face falling. "I … it's fine. I like it."

That's the biggest lie I've ever heard. Not that he hates cooking or anything, but I know there's no passion there. Still, every time I try to step in, he gently nudges me back out again.

Considering cooking isn't my thing either, I'm not going to fight him over it.

"I'll set the table."

It's another family dinner with Kiera getting food everywhere and needing to be changed, while Van is up and down constantly, either climbing around under the table or running from room to room, grabbing trucks and cars and action figures .

Somehow, we manage to get his plate cleared between us both, but by the time we're done, we're running late.

"What time were we supposed to be getting to this party?" I ask Mack.

"Seven. But if we're half an hour late, who cares?"

"Pretty sure Art will."

Mack pulls an oopsie face as he closes the front door behind us all. "Should I text him, do you think?"

"Nah. He'll enjoy his moment of being dramatic about it, and then we can all move on. It'll be like our early Christmas gift to him."

"Wait. Are we supposed to get them gifts?"

I laugh and sling my free arm around Mack's shoulders, then give in to that urge to kiss the side of his head. "It was a secret Santa, and I've got you covered."

The tension in his body relaxes. "Thank you."

"You can thank me by putting that one in the car." I nod back to where Van is stomping in the sludgy front yard. Still no snow, but we've been getting promising little fluff that melts instantly and makes the ground all wet.

"That's fair." Mack rounds him up while I dump the bags in the back and strap Kiera in.

Art's Christmas party is one of his more low-key gatherings. This one is our friendship group, plus a few friends of friends, instead of the entire Divorced Men's Club, and he always does it early in December to stop it clashing with the festival and any other family things people have on.

It usually ends up getting messy, hence why the kiddies are off for a sleepover. Not that I plan on drinking a whole lot, but I know Mack will. Which is fine by me. My husband is an adorable drunk, which isn't a thing many people can pull off.

Mom hugs me and Mack tight when we get there, and the kids rush off to show Dad the hoard they've brought. I'm about to follow them when my phone rings.

The name on the display makes my gut sink.

"Ah, I need to take this," I tell Mom and Mack before stepping into the front bedroom. "Hey, Eric, what's up?"

"Davey, how are you? How's the family?"

Fucking torture. Not that I can say that. "Everyone's good. I gave them a nice surprise by being home so early."

He chuckles. "I bet you did. This job has put a strain on you all, I know that, but the kids must love having Daddy home."

"They do. I don't think Van has slept a full night in his bed since I've been here." It slices my heart the way he climbs into my bed and wriggles after me in his sleep all night.

"Blink and you'll miss it age, huh?"

"Exactly."

Eric takes a deep breath, immediately pinging my suspicions. "Look, I love that you're getting that time with them. You've worked hard, and you deserve it."

"But …"

"Something's come up."

He doesn't have to say more than that for my gut to drop through my ass. "What is it?"

"Don't worry, you get the holidays with your family. I'd never get in the way of that."

"Then …"

"We've gotten a new contract. Huge client. Near unlimited budget." His tone turns regretful. "I need you on this one, and it's a tight turnaround. Issues with their last PR company."

My mouth has dried up. "When?"

"January second."

I can't speak. That's over a month earlier than I was supposed to be leaving again. They'd promised me I could get my work done from home, given me hope that I'd be able to leverage more of that opportunity in the future. Hopefully do a good enough job to make it a permanent arrangement.

I awkwardly clear my throat. "You gave me twelve weeks here."

"I know. And I hate that I'm even asking, but we're desperate."

"Why can't someone else do it?" My voice starts to rise, and I smother it again. "Anyone on my team. Surely there's someone who can take this on. Come on, Eric, that only gives me three more weeks here." The rapid beating of my heart is sending my panic on edge. He can't do this—well, he can, but surely he won't . I've only just mentally adjusted to being back home and having a chance to be present for my family for the first time in … well, ever.

"The only other person I would have trusted with this is out of the country. You're the only choice. Once we get something signed off on, you can step back again. Maybe we can look at another monthlong stint in the?—"

"I get it." I don't mean to snap, but fuck .

"Davey …"

"Don't. It's fine. I'll change my plans."

"As soon as it's done, we'll talk. I think it goes without saying that you've got a big bonus coming your way. You're irreplaceable. Your loyalty to the company is second to none."

That compliment, more than anything, makes me stupidly want to cry. And not in a good way. My loyalty to the company is great and all, but not when I don't give my family the same dedication. I hang up the phone, wishing I'd never answered. Maybe then I could have put off this conversation and kept playing perfect family .

Because that's all I'm doing. Playing.

I sink down into a crouch, phone clunking to the ground, and press my hands to my eyes. This is all part of the job. I know that. As marketing director, sometimes I have to do the shit that no one else wants to do—especially when it's the CMO asking. Six weeks at home is still better than the two or three I'm used to. It's practically a year in comparison.

Instead of focusing on the time I'll miss, I need to remember what I had. It's what I've done since I started this damn job.

I'll manage. It's a reflex to stamp the pain down at this point.

But I'm dreading telling Mack. I'm dreading leaving the kids. Maybe it was selfish of me to want so much time with them; they'll all just be getting used to having me here, and then suddenly, I'll be gone again.

But what other choice do I have?

Saying no will be seriously damaging to my career. If Eric is putting this on me, the account is clearly important, and fucking with something like that? Eric wouldn't even be able to save me if the higher-ups end up losing money.

My hands are tied, but I don't think Mack is going to get that. He never has. When it comes to my job, he doesn't want to hear how it works or have me defend the company. It's black and white in his eyes. It probably should be in mine as well.

I pick up my phone, picturing what would happen if I called Eric back and said no. If I emailed him my resignation right now. The hope that blooms in my gut is thwarted by all the what-ifs that plague me daily.

The same stupid thoughts I've been over more times than I can count .

Then I'm hit by a solid, undeniable thought that I've never let myself have before.

I can't do this anymore .

I can't.

Finally acknowledging that is like a dam of pressure flooding out of my system.

I thought I could have it all. I've clung, desperately, to this life I've built up for the four of us, but it doesn't matter how hard I push or how much I make, that life is getting away from me. These last few weeks have been too much. They've forced me to see what life should be like, and maybe finding something else will be more pressure. Maybe it will mean Mack has to get another job, or we'll need to sell the house or cut back on some things …

The thought of that financial pressure threatens to smother me, but before I let it take over, I shove it back again.

My thoughts stew, a lumpy mess of mortgage, college, medical that I can never seem to shut off.

Leaving my job means leaving those things in limbo.

I take a deep breath and stand.

Okay.

So.

I can't just quit. Spontaneity never suited me anyway.

But I can look for an out. Even if that means having to leave again right after Christmas, I'll be able to go knowing that this time it might be different.

I'll hang on to every moment with the three of them. Every giggle and every tear and every time Mack blushes. I'll use those memories to help me through the doubt. To push me through the moments when I remember how much I love my job and the people I work with.

They might be great, but my family is greater .

I need to remember that.

Starting right now.

I have three weeks to put feelers out for anything. I don't have to limit myself to Kilborough—Springfield might be an option. Hell, maybe even so far as New Haven. The commute would be a pain in the ass, but anything has to be better than what it is now.

Anything.

I take a deep breath and go join my family, no clue yet how I'm going to make this work.

But knowing that I have to.