Page 79 of Buckin' Around

“Only a daddy could say that.”

Her finger brushes over my temple, and I turn my head, my gaze catching hers. “You have some crackers in your hair...”

She holds her finger out. Cracker, mushy and wet sits on the end of her finger.

“O’Malley, that is gross.”

Her face lights up.

“Well, you’re going to be really happy to know it’s all through your hair.”

“Ah, shite.”

“Spencer Lockwood, did you just curse Irish-like?” Her face is strained under mock shock.

“It’s all your fault, Riley O’Malley, you eejit.” I give her my best Irish accent, and she doubles over with laughter, arm over her stomach.

My shoulders shake with laughter, and when I look down at Ives, her little eyes are alternating between Riley and me.

My throat closes over, and I force a swallow.

I know, baby girl.

I know what she’s thinking. Hell, I’ve been thinking it for weeks. Ivy is attached to Riley now. We are her people. She’s going to be confused and devastated when Riley leaves us.

Me too, baby girl, me too.

Fuck, that was fast.

“Excuse me, think I need to wash this out before it sets like concrete.” I rise and pad for the master en suite.

I know it’s been a particularly tough day. Maybe that’s why I’ve started feeling every damn thing when it comes to these two girls.

I strip down like a man on fire, pull the lever, and wait until the water is steaming, the bathroom shrouded in cloudy steam.

I wash my hair and run soap over my body. And if stress could translate into weary muscles... my body is worn out.

It’s not the uncertainty that gets to me, it’s the opposite actually. I’m certain that I can get my life back on track, if I get my shit together. I’m certain that the circuit will keep us afloat. The other guys manage, so I will, too. Those few things I know, and they keep me levelheaded.

It’s the last certainty that eats at me, more and more every day.

Riley is going home to Northern Ireland in around six months.

I, we, have roughly one hundred and eighty days left of her in our life. I know it’s going to go too fast. I know it’s going to be hard for Ivy.

Fuck.

My palms meet the tile. I shake my head.Snap the hell out of it, Spencer. Get your goddamn shit together.

I rinse off and towel dry.

Dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, I pad back to the sofa.

Riley glances up from the television. “All better, da?—”

I run hand through my damp hair, looking around the floor and the furniture. No Ivy.

“Where’s Ivy?”