Chapter 31

31

Davey

I need to have a word with whoever turned up time. Christmas disappeared before I could blink, and then New Year's passed in the pop of a firework, and now … Mack pulls up out the front of the hire car place in Springfield, neither of us having said much on the drive.

"Where are we, Daddy?" Kiera asks, and it squeezes my heart.

I plaster on a smile before turning to her. "I have to pick up a car. I'm going back to work today, remember?"

"But I don't want you to go."

"I know. Neither do I."

"Then why are you?"

That's the question, isn't it? Mack is stiff beside me, staring blankly out the front window, and every part of this feels wrong. And exactly the same as it always does. I just need to make it out of the car.

"I'm going to make some money, and then I'll be back soon."

Her little face crumples. "I don't like when you go away."

Fuck.

I get out of the car and round to her door so I can swamp her in a hug. "You'll be back at school soon. You'll hardly notice I'm gone."

"Daddy work?" Van asks.

"Yeah, buddy. I have to go to work today."

"No, Daddy. No work."

"I have to."

He tugs on the straps of his seat. "Me go too. Van go with Daddy. Van go to work."

My throat is too clogged up to respond, so I lean over, plant a kiss on his forehead, then close the door on their crying.

Do I feel like the worst dad in the fucking world? You betcha I do.

Mack climbs out, and his eyes are as glassy as mine, but at least he can manage a smile.

"They'll be okay," he says.

"Yeah, but will I?" Going to bed with him every night for the last week, getting lost in each other's bodies, our affection through the day slowly slotting back to what it was … how am I supposed to go from all that to nothing?

"You will." He tugs me into a hug. "Because you're amazing, and you always put us first."

I snort, and he squeezes me harder.

"It will be better this time," he promises.

I almost tell him, right then, that it really will be, because this isn't going to last long. The whole time I'm gone, I'll be searching for any and all leads that have me back home with them.

But I don't know how long that will take, so I hold off from saying anything. With the lump in my throat, I doubt I'd be able to get the words out anyway.

I just return the force of his hug, like we're both trying to meld together.

"They're going to keep you so busy on this new account for the next two weeks that you'll hardly notice you're gone. Then you'll be back home again. It'll be fine."

I still can't answer. Just duck down, pull up the handle on my suitcase, and then, before I can step away, I cup the back of his neck and draw him into one last kiss.

Mack is right. It's two weeks. And sure, it's always been hard before but never this hard. Like I'm tearing myself in half.

I blame the long time off. I've become too used to having them there at every point of my day. That's all this is.

I can't look back at the car as I let him go and head for the rental office.

Eric told me the New York office would be operating on a skeleton staff for the next week. Him, me, and two members of my team hustling to get this massive account up and running. Then next week, I'll brief the others on what we've decided for the campaign, make sure it's assigned and delegated down to the last detail, and then I'll be ready to head home again. Mack's right. It will go quickly. The office always breathes life back into me, but while usually I'm excited to brainstorm with like-minded people, the thrill of a new campaign is dulled by the memory of what actually happens when I'm back home again .

All the late calls.

The constant emails.

The laptop perched on my lap after dinner while I'm supposed to be spending time with the family. During the entire drive, my grip on the steering wheel keeps getting tighter until, when I reach New York, my fingers are cramped, and my knuckles are aching.

Sleeping in an empty, impersonal hotel bed is depressing. Waking up alone, with no Mack and no tiny Van plastered to me, hollows out my chest in a way that's never happened before.

I'm sluggish as I shower and get dressed in my suit. As I stop by the usual hole-in-the-wall cafe for my morning coffee. As I swipe into the enormous steel-and-glass building where our office is located.

Normally, being back here puts a spring in my step. Reminds me that I'm part of something bigger than me.

I'm just not feeling it.

My swanky new office doesn't do a damn thing either. And I'm sitting at my desk, waiting for my computer to reload after the long time off, when Eric taps on my open door.

"Davey, welcome back."

I nod in his direction, then turn back to my screen.

His hesitation bleeds into the room. "Did you get your Christmas bonus?"

"I did. Thank you." I only add the last part so I don't sound ungrateful. It was a lot of money, and I won't pretend like it didn't help pad our savings, but it was also a lot of money I earned. With me continually putting my life on hold for this job, the least they can do is compensate me for it.

Eric walks in and takes the chair opposite mine. "We'll always take care of you," he says. "You're a valued member of this company. Irreplaceable."

There's no way he can hear the ringing in my ears, but even without pointing out how truly bone-deep-pissed-off I am, he knows. Normally, I wouldn't dream of saying anything. Normally, I bite my tongue and put the job first. Tell him the family is great, and I'm doing okay.

But I'm really, really not okay.

I've worked my ass off for my entire adult life, and for what? A divorce and heartbroken kids? Even the full bank account can't fix my guilt over constantly leaving them in that position. And if I feel like this, how frustrated must Mack be, having to console our children by himself over something outside of his control?

I fucking get it.

The anger and resentment that he felt is building in me too. Not for him. For Eric. For this company that supposedly takes care of me.

Eric sighs. "I know you're disappointed. I get it. I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't backed into a corner."

My computer finishes doing its thing, so I open my emails, preparing to deal with a tsunami hitting my inbox.

"Davey … come on, now."

I give him my full attention. "Come on, what ?"

"You're going to give me the silent treatment?"

"You're discussing a topic I want no part in. I'm here. I'm prepared to work. Now, unless our conversation has to do with this new account, I can only assume we're wasting company resources and my own damn time."

He spreads his hands. "What would you have had me do?"

"Personally? Tell the client that our office reopens on the ninth. Move forward on the account with the staff that we have available at the time. And let me have my remaining six damn weeks with my own damn family that I have goddamn earned after leaving them, constantly, for the last ten years."

His face falls. "It doesn't work like that."

"Clearly." I eye him. "You've been a good boss. I understand the position you were in, and I also know that if I continue to advance here, I will be sitting where you are one day. I'll have to face the same decision you did." Certainty wraps around me. "And that just isn't something I'm interested in dealing with."

"What are you saying?"

Nerves are pumping through my veins, and I have to grip the side of my desk to stop my hands from shaking. "This is my two weeks' notice." My hushed words come as a surprise, even to me. For one wild moment, logistics don't matter. Finances don't matter. They will, the second I walk away from here and realize that I've fucked my whole family over, but Mack's right. I've put them first. I've put myself through hell to make sure I provided for them. I've given them everything I thought they needed.

But they don't want my money.

They want me.

So what the fuck am I still putting myself through this stress for?

"I know you're upset, but don't do something you'll regret," Eric says.

"I've already done too many things I regret. Trust me when I say this won't even make my top five."

"Davey." He's lost for words. "Is it money? Do you need more? A promotion?—"

"My family."

"What? "

"I need my family."

He's visibly sweating. "And what about what they need? You've got your health insurance and their college to think about. Who's going to pay your mortgage?"

All those questions twist my gut. "I don't know," I answer honestly, trying not to get choked up. "But I've reached my limits. I'm stuck. I can't keep going like this."

"I can get you a bigger bonus this quarter. We've got some large accounts signing in the next few weeks. I'll give them to you."

I actually laugh. "That's the complete opposite of what I want. More work?" I huff, taking note of the nine-hundred-and-something emails I have to sort through. It's all too much. "It's clear from this conversation you're either not listening or don't want to hear it." I rub my eyes, fighting through the weariness. "I will make sure this client is happy. I will design one of the best PR briefs you've ever seen. It will launch internationally, and they will sell a fuck ton more product than they ever planned for. But then I'm done."

"Davey—"

"No. Done. You've done a lot for me, Eric, and I appreciate it. I've loved working here. The pay and benefits are outstanding, I have a fantastic team, and I genuinely love working with them." I shrug. "Some of the clients I could give or take, but it doesn't matter how much I love those things, I love Mack and the kids more. I want my family back. I want my husband back. Jobs can be replaced. He can't."

Eric tries to say something, but I hold up my hand.

"I've made my decision. Please don't make me lose the respect I have for you. Understand that I've thought about this. A lot. It's not spur-of-the-moment." Even though it definitely is. "And I really do thank you for everything you've done. "

"That's it, then?"

I guess it is.

Eric stands and holds his hand out to me. "You're a hell of a man, Davey. One of the best marketing minds I've met."

"Thank you."

"I don't want to see it go to waste."

"If it does or it doesn't, that's my choice."

He leaves, and I turn back to my work, expecting to feel a hell of a lot lighter.

And I do. For approximately the time it takes to draft and send my resignation letter, then the oh fucks kick in.

In two weeks, I'll be unemployed. I've never been unemployed in my entire life.

I ignore the way my gut churns and get back to work, constantly reminding myself that once these two weeks are up, I'm heading home.

For good.