Chapter 10

TEN

Britt

It's Sunday night and the clock is ticking. It's almost nine, which means it's Karli's bed time. And her asshat of a father is a no-call no-show. I've watched her get quieter as the evening went on. She barely touched her dinner. Every single time my phone dinged with a text message or email, she would perk up and then deflate all over again.

I've been angry at Dakota before. So many damned times. I've been disappointed by him over and over again. But I don't know that I've ever truly hated him before, but I do right now. I hate him for breaking her heart again. I hate him for making me pick up the pieces for her.

"I wouldn't normally do this so close to bed," I tell her, leaning in to whisper in her ear, "But I think we should break in to the emergency chocolate supply." It's not really a supply. I think two left over peanut butter eggs from Easter can't really be called that. Still, I'm glad I've been holding on to them. My little girl needs a pick me up of some kind.

"He's not coming, is he?" she says.

"No, baby. He's not." I'm not going to lie to her. I'm not going to make excuses for him. I used to do that until I recognized that I was hurting her almost as much as he was.

"Why?"

That's the million dollar question. "I can't answer that. I can tell you it's not about you. Your dad has never been the sort to be dependable. He never kept up with appointments. He never kept up with the budget or expenses. And I'm not bashing him–that's just part of who he is. And when you love someone, you accept their flaws."

"Do you love him?"

"I did," I say. "But your dad stopped loving me... I'm not sure that he ever did, honestly."

"Is that why he spends time with his other kid? Because he loves their mom?"

These are the hardest fucking questions to answer. How can I tell her the truth without making her hate him? How can I lie to her without making her hate me? "You know how at your birthday or Christmas, you get a new toy and all you want to do is play with that toy?"

She nods.

"Do you still love your old toys?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's kind of how your dad is. He's always distracted by what's new and shiny. It doesn't mean he doesn't love you. But it does mean when he tells you something, like that he's going to come pick you up for a visit, you can't always count on that–because something will distract him from it. He meant it when said it. But he just forgot."

"He always forgets me," Karli says, her lower lip trembling. "I hate him."

"No, baby, you don't. You want to and I understand that. This–being disappointed–it only hurts because you love him."

"Can I go to bed, Mommy?"

I nod. "You need help with your pjs?"

She shakes her head. "No. I can do it."

"Brush your teeth first, alright?"

When she trudges down the hallway, her little shoulders slumped over in such heart-wrenching defeat, I let the tears fall. But I'm not sad. I'm mad as fuck.

Grabbing my phone, I text him.

B: Thank you for breaking your daughter's heart yet again. She's waited all week for you and then all weekend. And you never fucking showed up because you had "better" things to do.

Dickota: Don't fucking start, Britt. I was busy.

B: Was that on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or today? Because I know you inside and out, you ass, and you're too lazy to be busy that long.

Dickota: I'm gonna be straight with you, B. Tara has decided it's too weird to have your kid in our house.

My heart just stops. Only for a second–just long enough for the whole world to tilt. Your kid. He's not just disappointing her. He fucking disowning her over his twat of a baby mama.

B: You can't be fucking serious. What grown ass woman would even want to be with a man, much less have kids with a man, who can walk away from them that easily?

Dickota: She might change her mind. IDK. For now, I think it's best if I don't see Karli. Don't call me, I'll call you, right?

Basically, he's just going to ignore anything I say from this point forward. Fuck him. And fuck her. Insecure, emotionally stunted, juvenile twat.

I made it through work by the skin of my teeth. I cried so hard last night that I actually look sick. Even my boss, who hardly even looks at me, asked if I was okay. I mumbled some lie about allergies and just went on. I need the hours. Because Dakota was never great about making the child support payments. They'd show up once every few months. Now they won't show up at all. Because if Tara doesn't even want Karli in her house, she's sure as shit not gonna let Dakota send us money to help take care of her.

I close up my computer and slip my jacket on, heading for the parking lot. And when I walk outside, there's Silas. He's leaning against my car, still wearing rumpled scrubs. It's not some big romantic gesture. He's not holding a king's ransom worth of roses. But he does have a bag from Sally's in one hand and a drink carrier with two iced coffees in the other. I'd be more comfortable if it was a grand gesture. That would mean he's still trying to impress me. That would mean maybe he'd done something he shouldn't have. Or was buttering me up for some reason. But this casual and thoughtless generosity–thoughtless because he doesn't have to work at it, it's just who he is–is something I can't wrap my head around. It's just Silas's nature to be kind, to take care of others, including me. But it's that nature which is making me look at this man and think big, meaningful words like love. Like forever. Make me want him to stay forever. And that scares the absolute fuck out of me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him.

He shrugs. "When I texted you at lunch, you sounded... off. Like maybe you're not having a great day. I was hoping I could make it a little better."

"You're supposed to be at work," I remind him.

"There were two docs scheduled for the ER tonight. But it was super slow, so they opted to send one of us home. I'm still on call. That's why we're having iced coffee instead of Irish coffee," he says with a grin. "And no, you don't have to drink your coffee with me. I know you've got to get Karli from the sitter. Just enjoy the caffeine jolt and call me later."

"I can't."

"Can't have the caffeine or can't call?" he asks.

"I can't do this with you right now." I don't even know what's coming out of my mouth. It isn't what I want. It's not. But I can't seem to stop it. "I think we need to slow things down."

He's quiet, not saying anything for the longest time. Then he just sets the bag down on the hood, removes one of the coffees from the carrier and sits the other next to it. "You know how to get in touch with me when you're ready."

And just like that, he walks away. He walks away and I let him because it's easier to hurt now and get it over with than to let myself hope for something better, to depend on something better, and be disappointed again.

I guess the only good thing about Dakota being a complete dick last night is that I don't have any tears left to cry.