Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Niko

"You're late," Peyton announces upon opening her front door. Despite her downturned mouth, she looks flawless in a pink sundress and slicked-back ponytail, a full face of makeup on even though she is home alone on a Saturday morning.

"It is nice to see you too," I reply, hefting Ayana's bags up the steps. I drop them just inside the door before retreating to the edge of the porch.

My ex peers past me, her brow knitting. "Where is she?

"In the car, saying goodbye to her dog." Paul started training last week, and Ayana is taking it quite seriously. The dog must now sit before he is allowed through any doorway by his tiny taskmaster.

Peyton folds her arms and frowns up at me. "I'm not getting a dog, you know."

"I did not ask you to."

She scoffs, flipping her ponytail. "Right. You're just the fun parent now who buys her puppies."

Since the last thing I want is an argument, I turn away, intent on retrieving our daughter from the vehicle.

"It's not all fun and games all the time, Niko. Parenting is hard work. Thankless work."

I pause, turning back to Peyton. "Yes. I am aware."

She sniffs. "You've got a nanny to do the work for you."

I take a breath and hold it for a few seconds to keep myself from losing my temper. "The nanny is for when I am working."

"I always schedule my work around Ayana's schedule. She needs a parent, not a nanny," she insists, a decidedly unsubtle note of superiority in her tone.

Despite my best efforts, my voice rises in response. "And I need to work so none of us are homeless and you and Ayana can enjoy a nice life." She knows as well as I do that her lifestyle would be substantially different without my money.

"We both know she should be with me." Her voice is little more than a hiss.

Now we are getting to the crux of the matter.

I sigh, sinking my hands into the pockets of my jeans as the sun relentlessly beats down on my head and shoulders. "I disagree. And so does the judge."

"We'll see."

"It is done, Peyton. The representative submitted her report and has approved of the home I can provide. The judge will grant joint custody."

I almost feel sympathy at her stricken expression, but she has gone to such lengths to keep my daughter from me that I cannot quite get there. Without another word, I walk to the Rover and hold Paul back as Ayana slips out the door. Paul paws the window with the most pathetic expression he can muster.

"Don't forget to keep up the training, Dad." Ayana looks up at me, worry in her eyes.

"I give you my word." I place one hand over my heart and the other on her head, memorizing her features and trying to loosen the knot in my chest.

"Baby!" Peyton exclaims, bounding down the stone steps to intercept us on the walkway. She folds our daughter in a tight embrace. "Goodness, I missed you," she says into Ayana's hair.

"Did you know I'm on a real hockey team now?" Ayana asks, pulling from her mother's arms. "And the dog trainer says I'm an excellent trainer and should maybe consider making it my life's work."

I cannot help the quirk of my lips.

"Wow." I must give Peyton credit for not reacting with the disdain I know she is feeling inside.

Our daughter's next words, however, test Peyton's acting ability beyond its limits.

"And wait till you meet Chloe! She's not just a nanny; she's a killer hockey player too. She's my coach and she makes super yummy pancakes and she loves dogs. She's ah-mazing!" Ayana's gesticulations only add to her enthusiasm—and to the tic in Peyton's jaw.

"I see," is all she manages, but Ayana has already turned to hug me goodbye.

I crouch down, allowing her to throw her arms around my neck while I pull her to me. "Bye, Dad. I'll miss you tons."

"Goodbye, zajushka ," I tell her as I stroke her fine hair. "I will see you very soon. I promise."

With that, she breaks free of my hold and races up the steps and into the house, calling behind her, "Take care of Paul and Chloe!"

I straighten and turn to leave, anxious to exit the scene before Peyton has a chance to deliver another speech. But it is impossible to miss my ex-wife's expression. It is one I have seen before, and it fills me with uneasiness because it is the kind she wears when she is preparing for battle. And that is the last thing any of us need.

My mood is foul the rest of the day, and I take it out on Mac, even though he has been doing his best to toe the line these past two weeks and put in the proper effort. When I shout at him for missing a puck even I would have had trouble intercepting, I know it is time to call it quits for the day.

I grind out a weak apology and stalk from the locker room in search of peace. When my mind immediately goes to Chloe, my steps quicken as if I might have the ability to outrun my own thoughts. It is no use.

She was gone when Ayana and I woke this morning, having left only a note for Ayana on the dining table. "See you soon! XOXO." It has not escaped my attention that she has been avoiding me ever since our encounter in her bathroom. The image of her naked body is burned into my brain, and I hope it never recedes. The woman tests my self-control like no one ever has, and it brings me a level of discomfort and confusion I do not often experience.

I am used to always being in control, and Chloe makes me feel as if I am driving while blindfolded. My skin feels too tight for my body as I pull from the parking lot and tear down the street, nearly running a red light as my mind races. Fuck. I need to pull myself together.

When I arrive home, Chloe's Bronco is in the driveway, but the house is empty. It is quieter than I remember, Ayana and Chloe's voices having filled it for the last two weeks. The only sounds are Paul's nails on the tile and the dull hum of the air conditioner. When I look for another note from Chloe, this time for me, I do not find one.

"You're sure you flipped the fuse off, right?" Benny asks through my earbud.

"Of course," I mumble around the small flashlight clenched between my teeth.

Benny's family owns a construction supply company, so he was the first person I thought to call for help with my little home improvement project.

"Once you remove the plate, you should see wires with plastic connectors." He pauses. "Tell me again why you can't just wait till Monday and get a handyman to install it."

I finish unscrewing the plate and drop it to the mattress beneath my socked feet before pulling the flashlight from my mouth. "Because it has to be tonight." That is all the explanation he needs.

While I have much experience with farm chores and physical labor, installing a ceiling fan is beyond my scope of expertise. Still, I am determined to complete this project before Chloe returns from wherever she might be tonight.

My restlessness from the earlier silence and the absence of my two companions meant that I had to find another purpose for my hands and mind. Before I knew it, I found myself at the local hardware store purchasing a ceiling fan for the guest room. Chloe's room. I had not thought any further than procuring it when I realized I should probably call for help before electrocuting myself.

"Okay, okay," Benny says. "Tell me, am I going to be this grumpy when I become a dad?"

When I ignore his question, he continues with the next set of instructions. It takes over an hour to finish, during which Kaitlyn commandeers Benny's phone to pepper me with poorly disguised inquiries about Chloe and me. But I deflect them by asking about her pregnancy and sharing unflattering stories about her fiancé.

I am just clearing up the last of the mess when headlights flash through the draped window, telling me that either Chloe has returned or the Jehovah's Witness evangelists have started working nights.

While I do not know for certain where Chloe has been, I have not been able to ignore the likelihood that she was out on a date. My conflicting emotions on the matter are concerning, which is why I have steadfastly pushed them aside all evening.

The two distinct voices—one feminine and familiar and the other foreign and masculine—coming from the front porch have my pulse galloping, and I force myself to continue hauling the fan packaging to the garage. This is none of my business.

As I re-enter the house, the sound of the front door closing brings my spine stick straight. Did she invite him in? Is she taking him to her bedroom? Red clouds my vision at the thought, a mix of anger, denial, and self-loathing racing through me and lighting every muscle, bone, and string of sinew in my body. I am moving before I know it, my feet closing the distance to the front door.

And then...there she is. Alone and achingly beautiful in a red dress the same color as her trademark lipstick. I catch a glimpse of her lower lip trapped between her teeth before her mouth drops open and her startled eyes lift to my face. Whatever she sees there has her blue irises going liquid and her cheeks flushing with pink.

"How was your date?" My voice sounds foreign—a sharp strum on a cable stretched tight enough to snap.

A sense of intense dread washes over me as her eyes drop. I command myself to turn and leave her alone, but the soles of my feet have grown roots. After what feels like an entire season, she merely shrugs one shoulder before returning her eyes to mine, this time with one corner of her mouth lifted.

"Meh," is her answer, but it is followed by a yelp of surprise as I advance with undisguised intent, walking her backward until her shoulders hit the entryway wall and my lips slam down on hers.