17. Dex

dex

. . .

I was prepared for Justin to grill me at work the next morning, but he didn’t. In fact, he said nothing to me at all, which made me feel even worse.

Naomi sent me some photos of the girls’ first school morning, and their joyful smiles tugged at my heart. I felt terrible for yelling at them yesterday. None of this was their fault.

I went through the motions of my shift, which was uneventful. On one level, this was a good thing, since it meant there were no dire emergencies. But it left me with a lot of free time and headspace to think about things—Winnie, my father, my sister, my kids, my behavior—and none of it made me feel good about myself.

After dinner, I finally broke down and sought Justin out in the dorm room where he slept. He was seated at the desk flipping through a binder.

“Hey.” I leaned on the doorframe.

He barely glanced up. “Hey.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me about yesterday?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not my business.” He shrugged. “And Bree told me not to.”

I frowned. “Is she mad at me?”

“No, I wouldn’t say she’s mad . I think she’s hoping you’ll change your mind, but she understands why you feel the way you do.” He flipped a page in the binder. “She knows you.”

I hung around in the doorway another minute, scratching at a nick in the frame. “I was a dick to Winnie yesterday.”

“I figured something must have gone wrong.”

“It did.” When he didn’t ask me what it was, I kept going. “She knew I was upset about something, and when she wouldn’t leave me alone about it, I jumped down her throat.”

He nodded. Turned another page.

“I was mad at my dad and at the situation, and maybe even at my sister for being so trusting, and I took it out on her.” I cringed. “I said something real fucking shitty to her, and I’m sorry about it.”

Justin finally looked up. “Maybe you should be saying this to her, man.”

I exhaled. “Yeah, I know.”

After leaving the station Wednesday morning, I ran some errands and spent the afternoon painting the girls’ bedroom as a surprise for them—the wall behind Luna’s bed pink, the one behind Hallie’s bed lavender.

Dad guilt in all its pastel glory.

I looked at my phone a hundred times, but with every hour that went by, it just got harder to reach out.

Around seven, I called the girls, who told me all about their first couple days at school. Hallie was excited about a new friend she’d made, Luna adored kindergarten so far, and neither of them said a word about Winnie or my grumpy mood the other day—it was like they didn’t even remember it.

But I was sure Winnie hadn’t forgotten a thing.

Finally, just after eight o’clock, I sat down at the foot of my bed and sent her a text.

Sorry about Monday. I was a jerk.

I sent that, and while I was wondering if I should offer an excuse, she replied.

You were.

Exhaling, I texted her again. Can I explain?

You can try.

I don’t want to do it over text. Can I come over?

She didn’t respond right away.

I just got out of the shower.

Give me five minutes.

But I was so anxious to get the apology off my chest, I only gave her three—I didn’t even put shoes on, I just ran over there in bare feet, gray sweatpants, and a white T-shirt.

She answered the door in a short robe that tied at the front, her hair wet and uncombed, and a brush in her hand. She looked so young and pretty without makeup, my breath hitched. But her expression was anything but friendly.

“Come in,” she said tonelessly.

I followed her into her living room. When she sat on one end of the couch, I sat on the other. Rubbed my hands over my knees. Took a breath. “I owe you an apology.”

She began brushing her hair. Pinned me with cool, detached eyes. “Yes. You do.”

“I’m sorry for the way I treated you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“You really hurt my feelings.”

“I know.” I swallowed hard. “I could tell.”

“I was just trying to make sure you were okay. As a friend.”

“I wasn’t okay. But that’s no excuse for the things I said.” I took another deep breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Winnie. I was angry about something else and lashed out at you. I sincerely apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” she said, tugging at tangles at the back of her head.

Relieved—and grateful she was so understanding and sweet—I leaned over and reached for the brush. “Let me.”

“Huh?”

“Come sit here.” I moved toward the middle of the couch and widened my knees, patting the cushion between them.

She looked a little dubious, but she did as I asked. “You’re going to brush my hair?”

“Yes,” I said, starting at the bottom. “I have to make up for being a jerk to you. And besides, I’m good at this.”

She was silent as I combed through her hair with slow, smooth strokes. It smelled delicious—like coconut.

“How was your interview?” I asked.

“Good.”

“Did she offer you the job?”

“Yes.”

“Did you accept?”

She hesitated. “Yes. I did. But I haven’t even told anyone yet. You’re the first.”

“Congratulations,” I said, even though my heart sank at the thought of her leaving. “You must be really excited.”

“The hotel is undergoing some renovations, so I won’t go until early October, but yes—I’m excited. I think it will be good for me.” She paused. “I think maybe I need a change.”

“Change can be good.” Her hair was all combed out, but I kept brushing it. “Bree said my father wants to see us. He’s got terminal lung cancer. That’s what upset me on Monday.”

“Oh.” She put a hand on my leg. “I’m really sorry, Dex.”

“The last time I saw him was at my mother’s funeral. That was seven years ago. He hadn’t been around before that in years—she had breast cancer and went through treatment alone. Then he showed up all sad and somber, like he gave a fuck.”

She didn’t say anything. Her silence was inviting, and the fact that I could talk without eye contact helped too.

“I guess he’s sober and remarried now. Bree is in touch with his new wife. She asked if we’d consider reconciling with him.”

“That’s got to be a tough decision.”

I exhaled. “Bree feels bad for him. I don’t know if I do or not. What does that say about me?”

“It says you were very hurt by him as a child. And that your feelings are complicated.”

“Yeah.” I watched the bristles slide through her hair. “Bree has always been more forgiving than me. She’s like our mom was.”

“You make being forgiving sound like a bad thing.”

I frowned. “It is where my father is concerned. You can’t trust him to mean what he says. How do we even know he really has cancer?”

“Dex,” she said softly.

But I dug in deeper. “I will never allow him near my children. He forfeited that right years ago.”

“He wants to see the girls too?”

“Yes. And Bree’s kids. She said she’s thinking about it.” I dropped my arms. “But I can’t. And I won’t feel bad about it. I’m protecting them.”

“That’s your right as a father.”

I sighed, tipping my forehead against the back of her head. How did she know exactly what I needed to hear? Again, I was really fucking sad she was moving away. And I didn’t want to think about my family anymore.

Winnie took the brush from my hand and set it aside, then surprised me by circling my wrists and wrapping my arms around her like a blanket. “You’re a good dad, Dex.”

“But I’m a shitty friend.”

“Oh, I don’t know. This was a pretty nice apology.”

“I had to make things right with you. Your face was haunting me.”

She laughed gently. “Good.”

Her hair smelled so nice, I couldn’t resist burying my nose in it and inhaling. Or sliding one hand inside her robe. Or pressing my lips to her shoulder. “So have I?”

“Have you what?” she whispered as I moved her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck.

“Made things right.”

“I mean, you’re on the right track...” She tilted her head, allowing me to devour one side of her throat. “But it might take some more effort.”

“Yeah?” I pulled the belt on her robe loose and moved both hands to her breasts. She arched her back, pushing them into my hands.

“Dex,” she whispered. “Do you want to come upstairs?”

Without hesitation, I stood up, sweeping her into my arms and heading for the stairs. “How’s this for effort?”

She gasped and looped her arms around my neck. “This is such good effort. Don’t stop.”

I carried her up the stairs. “Last time I came up here, your smoke alarm was going off.”

“This time there’s a real fire,” she murmured, kissing the side of my neck.

I entered her bedroom and placed her on the bed, then opened up her robe and slid her underwear off. Her blinds were open, and moonlight spilled in through the windows, bathing her skin in silver. “Finally. God, you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

I took off my shirt and ditched my pants in record time. Then I climbed onto her bed and stretched out above her, my cock thick and hard between us. “I’ve been thinking about this for days.”

“Me too.” She wrapped her legs around me and slid her hands into my hair. “I would lie here at night and think of you one wall over, and wish you were here. Of course, that was before I got mad at you.”

“I’m here now,” I told her. “And I won’t leave until we’re friends again—no matter what it takes.” Then I stopped moving. “Fuck!”

“What?” She realized before I even said it. “Oh—no condom.”

“No condom.” I started to pull back, but she held on to me.

“Wait,” she said. “I’m okay if you are. I’m on the pill.”

“I haven’t been with anyone since my divorce—and actually a while before that.”

“Then don’t stop,” she whispered, kissing my jaw as she tightened her legs around me. “We’re not quite friends yet.”