Chapter 10

10

Dakota

L ate autumn in San Francisco is a beautiful sight to behold. The trees wear their gold and ruby crowns while the temperatures begin a slow but steady drop. The evenings are slightly cooler, and the early mornings find me looking for a sweater before I go out into the world. I've got a smile on my lips and a perk in my step—things that were missing before—especially right after I moved back here.

The divorce took its toll on me. My presence in court was barely needed because Keith didn't object to anything, probably because he already knew he wasn't going to be performing his duties as a father. It was the end of an era, the finale of something I never imagined would crumble the way it did. My happily ever after had vanished into thin air, and while I made the most of every situation, part of me wondered if I'd ever experience true happiness again.

Then, I accidentally walked into a Single Dads Club meeting, and everything changed.

Reed, Archer, and Maddox are truly something else. Their words match their actions. They lead with integrity and determination. They pay attention to my needs and wants. I'm not used to any of it, which further proves that my relationship with Keith was not meant to be. With the Faulkner triplets, it's different.

"How's the little princess this morning?" Chelsea asks, pouring herself a second cup of coffee. "Still sore after yesterday?"

"Oh, yeah. But I'm pretty sure we've got a future soccer star in our midst," I quip.

Chelsea and I have made it a habit of spending our Sunday mornings together at my place. She loves coming over because most of the house is the same as it was fifteen years ago, and if anybody enjoys a trip down Nostalgia Boulevard, it's my bestie.

"What did the coach say?" she asks while I check my purse to make sure I have everything I need for the store, including the grocery list on my phone. "Does he want Maisie on the team?"

"The coach was delighted with her performance, and he's ready to welcome her to the team as soon as next week. He thinks she's got what it takes. But what matters most to me is that she likes it."

"Babe, you're already doing so much; don't you think you're pushing yourself a little too hard? Maisie is growing up just fine."

"She deserves this. Just as she deserves to get into Prescott Academy, I'll get her there in two years, tops. I will."

"Dakota, that place takes a lot of money you don't have. You can barely afford to keep this house," Chelsea gives me a sober reminder.

My stomach churns, and I take a deep breath. Every muscle in my body aches after last night. I went all-in with the Faulkner triplets, and boy, do they love wearing me out. Not that I have any regrets. What we're building is special. Different and scandalous, sure, but it's special. Beautiful. It just takes a lot more caffeine for me to handle the day after.

"Yeah, I know. I'm not sure how much longer I can do that, either," I say with a low, trembling voice.

"Oh, no. Did the bank call you again?"

"Five times last week. I keep putting them off because they are asking me to commit to specific payment dates. I can't do that; it's not how my bar gigs work. There are weeks when I'm virtually free and dirt-poor, and then there are weeks when I barely have time to clean up after dinner before getting Maisie ready for bed."

Chelsea gives me a worried look. "How much do you need to bring the payments up to date?"

"A lot. Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Yet you keep investing in Maisie," she sighs, her shoulders dropping slightly.

"I will always invest in Maisie. Worst case, I lose the house and end up paying rent somewhere. It won't be the end of the world." I try to play it off, but both Chelsea and I know what a devastating blow that would be. Sally's house on the market. And for what? All because Keith had wild dreams to chase after in Los Angeles, and I was dumb enough to believe he could actually make it big. "Maisie is my first priority. Always. Her education, her happiness, her health."

"At what cost, though? If you're not okay, you can't really provide for Maisie the way she deserves to be provided for."

That's a hard pill to swallow. And a harsh truth. I can't fault Chelsea for saying it aloud. Someone had to. It's enough to stop me in my tracks and admit to myself that I have gone overboard. I have, in fact, neglected myself on several levels while going out of my way to make sure my daughter doesn't miss out on anything.

"Right now, you're dealing with a crisis. This foreclosure thing will only get worse," Chelsea adds while I linger next to my purse and keys on the counter. "Forget Prescott Academy for now. It's not going to happen, even if she does qualify for the most generous of their scholarships. Maisie will do fine in a regular school."

"Chelsea, I'm well aware," I reply, rubbing my face. "I keep telling myself the same thing, I swear. But I just wish I could figure out a way to, I don't know—"

"Fork out tens of thousands of dollars a year for an uppity school?"

"Prescott Academy is so much more than that."

"Yeah, yeah, gifted kids and whatever. But come on, how many gifted kids are there living in the slums, including here in the States? How many brilliant children aren't even considered by Prescott Academy because they're poor? Those folks are an elitist bunch, like the rest of America's Ivy League. In fact, they're worse because they're basically telling young children that if their parents are poor, they'll never have a place at their fancy schmancy table of future leaders and scientists, which we both know is absurd, cruel and unfair."

I nod slowly. "You make a fair point. But Prescott Academy has these special programs that could really help Maisie get farther ahead in life. It's a straight line into MIT, too. They're working with specialists in developmental science, Chelsea. They treat every child like their most valuable and most precious project, but without overwhelming them, without the risk of burnout or anxiety. They don't even start testing until the kids are twelve or older. And they have so many options. They don't offer those options anywhere else, not at that level, anyway."

"Dakota, listen to yourself. You're dreaming about something unattainable while struggling to keep your house."

"I'm not stupid," I say, feeling the tears working their way up to my eyes.

"You just don't want Maisie to go without things like you did," Chelsea replies, giving me a sympathetic smile. "I know, babe. And I get it. Honestly, that makes you a better mother than most. But part of this thing we like to call a life experience is learning when to let go. When to hit the brakes and change direction, if only slightly, to find a better path forward. And you need a better path."

"Do you want more coffee?" I ask, abruptly changing the subject. I'll mull over what she said, but I've reached my bandwidth for this particular topic. I'm exhausted, and I'm not yet ready to admit defeat. "There's a box of espresso machine pods in the cupboard just above the stove."

"I'm good for now, thanks," Chelsea replies. I will always appreciate her for not insisting when she could easily drive that same point home a thousand times. She lets me figure the conclusions out on my own. As my friend, all Chelsea can do is guide me toward the right door. I'm the one who's supposed to walk through it. "How are the guys?" she asks, slightly narrowing her eyes.

She's searching my face for micro-expressions before I even answer.

"They're good. Still working out their issues with Trevor, but they're doing their best and everything that they can, just like every other parent in that club."

"How is it working out? Your, what do I call it, relationship? Is it a relationship, or is it just a fling?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure. They take me out. They treat me to the finest dining experiences. We go out with the kids on weekends. It may be unconventional, but it's definitely more than a fling. It has to be because we have these deep conversations, and they're getting to know me better while I'm certainly getting to know them better. And in the middle, there's just… us. It's working out incredibly well, and I am genuinely happy when I'm with them. I just don't know where it's headed."

"Where could it possibly be headed?" Chelsea asks.

"You're not helping," I grumble and finally grab my bag, ready to step out.

"Don't be mad at me."

"It's the reality I'm mad at, not you," I say as I head for the door. "I'll be right back."

And when I return, Chelsea will be there, affectionately waiting for me. By the time I'm done with the groceries, Maisie will probably be up as well. The girls know the morning drill by now. Gosh, how can life be so beautiful yet so aggravating at the same time? It's a mixed bag, and I never know what the hell I'm going to get.

My phone buzzes as I walk into the grocery store two blocks down from my house. I check the screen. It's a text from Keith. Instantly, my stomach drops.

"What the hell does he want?" I mutter, then read the message.

I miss you .

Nausea builds up in the back of my throat. Anger and grief return to pummel me as I put the phone away. He's been texting me recently, once or twice a day. Nothing of substance, just tiny bits and pieces meant to rattle me. I wonder if he does that with every woman he meets these days. Or does he love-bomb them into an actual relationship only to dump them afterward? I shudder when I think about the unfortunate subject of his affection nowadays.

You're eight months behind on your child support , I text him back. I always reply with these same specific words. It usually shuts him up.

I'll make it up to you , he says.

Now, I'm pissed. How dare he? Over the past year, he's been living it up on cruise ships and rubbing elbows with rich folks, probably screwing their wives while mixing their martinis, enjoying his newfound freedom while I've been working my ass off to raise our daughter alone. Only for him to come around again and make passes at me? Seriously?

You must've contracted some kind of fever in the Caribbean . Eight months. Pay up, or I will get the lawyer involved .

Green suits you .

I freeze. Putting the phone away, I take a deep breath in the middle of the produce section, then slowly turn around. My blood runs cold as I analyze every movement, every person in sight, until I see him. He looks exactly the same as he did the last time we were together the night before he left.

I still remember every second of it. Every gesture. Every word he said, even the unspoken ones. He acted like it was just dinner, as usual. He helped Maisie with her food and then went to bed early. I put Maisie to sleep and stayed up to do the dishes. He left first thing in the morning.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I gasp, my whole body overcome with tremors of rage and indignation.

"I wasn't sure you'd want to talk to me, so I figured I'd meet you somewhere public," Keith replies with a weary smile. He runs his fingers through his brown hair, his blue eyes measuring me from head to toe. He can still rock a t-shirt and jeans and make it look like he's the latest hunk off a TV commercial, but I know him for who he truly is.

To my relief, there isn't a hint of attraction left in me for this man. It's funny how people can kill the love in other people. "You look fantastic, Dakota. You've really blossomed."

"Were you following me?" I ask.

I grip my shopping basket so tight that my knuckles turn white. I have a mind to smack him over the head with it, but I might as well fill it up with heavy stuff first.

"I saw Chelsea come up to your place," he says. "I didn't want to cause a scene. Dakota, we need to talk."

"No. No, we don't. You need to pay your child support; you're eight months behind. Again."

"I know, you've told me, and I'll sort it out. But we still need to talk."

I start walking again, making my way along the produce aisle and taking a moment or two to inspect every crate before I select a few pieces and put them in my basket. Keith tries to approach me, but I give him a hard, unyielding look. Enough to keep him at a reasonable distance. Inside, I'm boiling. Outside, I reckon I appear as stiff as a corpse.

"There's nothing to talk about, Keith. You wanted to leave, you left, we divorced, and now you keep failing to make your court-ordered payments."

"I miss you."

"Oh, fuck right off," I snap. "How dare you?"

He stills, giving me an offended look. "What? It's the truth. I miss you; I miss Maisie; I miss our life together."

"Where do you get the nerve?" I calmly ask. "You're the one who left, Keith, out of the blue. You didn't even have the spine to break things off like a man. You ran off and left me to raise our child together. And now, a year later, you start texting me, and then you stalk me into the grocery store to tell me you want to make up? Are you for real?"

I look at him intently. Suddenly, I see the dark circles under his eyes. The growing stubble along his jaw. The creases in his t-shirt. The dirt smudges on his jeans. I'm starting to think something didn't quite work out for him. He looks slightly disheveled. Keith used to be meticulous about his appearance.

"I was wrong, I was so wrong, Dakota. I shouldn't have left the way I did. The truth is, I was overwhelmed. I wasn't ready for a wife, a kid."

"She was four! It was a little too late for that."

"I know that now. It took me a while," he says. "All this time that I've been at sea, I couldn't stop thinking about you, about how I treated you. As soon as my contract was over, I had to come see you."

"Keith, we're done. There is no turning back. Things will never be the way they were again because the way they were wasn't okay, either."

"I can do better," he says. "I've grown a lot in this past year."

"Maisie has grown a lot, too. Yet you haven't asked to see a single picture of her."

"You post her on social media once in a while. I see everything. And yeah, you're right; Maisie has grown a lot. She's so cute. Can I see her?"

I snort. "You know what you have to do first."

"Come on, Dakota, that's not fair. I hit a rough patch, but I'm going to get better. You can't keep me from seeing my daughter." He's getting angry, which is preposterous in and of itself, considering the circumstances.

"You really do have quite the nerve. Showing up like this. Thinking that I might, what, exactly? Welcome you with open arms if you just say you're sorry? Go to hell, Keith. We're done. And you're not allowed to see Maisie until you catch up on your child support payments. I've been raising our daughter on my own since you abandoned us to party with trust fund babies in the Caribbean. I don't give a damn about your rough patch. This whole damn year has been a rough patch for me."

"Please, let me just—"

"Get back!" I raise my voice when he tries to get closer.

He stills and raises his hands in a defensive gesture. The people around us stop and stare, waiting to see what might happen next. A security guard comes around from one of the aisles, watching us closely, likely trying to decide whether to step in or not. The last thing I need is more aggravation, however, and Keith seems spooked enough by my reaction.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I just… I really miss you, Dakota."

"Go miss me somewhere else," I bluntly reply. "I explained the terms and conditions, and they're a direct result of your behavior and your failure to comply with the court order. And just to be clear, I will reach out to my lawyer and get him involved if that's what it takes. Now, I'd like to continue with my grocery shopping and not let you ruin the rest of my day."

With that, I leave Keith standing in the produce aisle and make my way over to the frozen foods section, constantly glancing over my shoulder. To my relief, he doesn't follow me, but it's only when I see him walk out the front door and get in his car that I'm able to fully breathe again. I'm shaking like a leaf by the time I get to the register. I barely pay attention to what's happening, my hands moving robotically as I bag my groceries and pay the cashier.

Once I'm back behind the wheel of my beat-up Honda, I finally come apart at the seams. I start crying, rivers flowing down my hot cheeks as everything comes back to me and emotions overwhelm me. What is Keith doing trying to get back into my life—and into Maisie's?

I've found comfort and something truly soothing, something special, with the Faulkner triplets. Chelsea continues to be my constant support. Life was finally getting better despite my financial troubles. And then Keith had to come along and throw a monkey wrench into the whole scenario.

Who the hell does he think he is?