Page 94 of The KING Review

The knock comes again, sharper now. “Grant?” Her voice is honeyed and bright, exactly the way you’d talk if you wanted to sound like the World’s Least Evil Co-Parent. “Grant, you home?”

He squeezes his eyes shut. I kiss him again, softer.

“Tell me this isn’t forever,” I whisper. “Tell me we won’t always have to hide. Please?”

He opens his eyes. “I promise, angel,” he says immediately. “I don’t want to hide you. Just now. I swear to you, this isn’t forever. I want you too much to lose you to her bullshit.”

“Okay,” I breathe. “It’s okay, Grant. I get it.” I steal one last kiss. “I’ll hide.”

He groans, forehead pressed to mine. I squeeze my fingers over his chest, then slide away, padding back to the bedroom. I pause at the door, watch him for a second, the way his shoulders bow under the weight of everything he’s trying to do, everything he’s trying to protect. He doesn’t look up, but I see his fists clench, jaw gone granite. I wish I could tell him I’m proud of him.

Instead, I slip silently into his bedroom, trying not to burst into tears at how much I hate this. I press my back to the door, heart stuttering, like if I breathe too loud it’ll detonate the minefield on the other side.

Marie’s voice flares immediately as soon as the door opens, unnecessarily bright. They exchange their pleasantries, and I swallow down the urge to be sick.

“You remembered her sparkly water?” Marie chirps.

Grant’s answer is tight. “It’s in the fridge.” There’s a pause, followed by the sound of rustling, like maybe a backpack or a coat. “I stocked up. We’ve got plain lemon, orange, and the…” He hesitates, but it’s theatrical. “Dang, bug, I can’t remember. What’s your favorite?”

There’s an eruption of giggles. “Lime! You always forget the green one!” The glee in her little voice is so pure. I want to wrap it in plastic and keep it safe from all the sharp things in the world that could hurt her. I want to be there, right now, on the other side of the door.

I want this.

Not just the man, not just the filthy, transcendent sex or the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not watching—but that. The kitchen, the sticky juice boxes, the kid who laughs like she’s never been hurt, and the hope that, maybe, she never will be. I want his daughter to like me. I want her to know me, and I want to know her. I want to be someone who can add something good to their lives without ever taking away the things that matter most to them. I especially want to help him field this bullshit from his ex-wife.

The ache of it is so real, I find myself pressing a hand to my chest.

“Did you have someone over last night?” Marie’s voice is low and conspiratorial, but loud enough for me to hear. She says it like it’s offhand, but it’s sharpened on the whetstone of custody agreements and years of power plays.

I can practically hear Grant’s jaw flex from here. “No. Why would you think that?” I can tell he hates lying, too, but telling the truth here would be worse.

Marie hums. I hate the sound already. “Just… You seem different. Some people sleep in on weekends, others… look refreshed. You look refreshed, Grant.” The smile in her voice is so fake it feels like cold plastic pressed against my skin.

Sera’s giggles fill the gap. She’s singing to herself now, something about dinosaurs and toast. I melt. I want to see the way her whole face lights up when she’s happy. I want to make her happy, if I can.

I want all of it.

The kitchen goes quiet, and I can tell Marie is calculating. I want to storm out there and tell her to fuck all the way off, but I know it won’t help anything, so I wait out the nuclear quiet, pressed to the inside of Grant’s bedroom door like a cliché, except I’m not eavesdropping on a lover’s wife—I’m hiding from the mother of his child, feeling like the bad guy.

It’s not exactly that I think Marie is the villain here. I haven’t met her, and I have zero plans to try and play the “cool new mom” card. Sera doesn’t need another mom; she has one. I’m sure Marie is a good one, or Grant wouldn’t tolerate shared custody, no matter what happened between them. If she was a disaster, he’d be at war, not playing at post-divorce amiability with an apologetic half-smile.

He’s not built to fake anything unless it’s for Sera’s sake.

I count my breaths until I hear the front door click closed, and Marie is gone. It’s nothing dramatic, then there’s a soft oof from Grant. He sounds different, even without saying actual words. Not nervous, not hunted, not on guard. It’s gentler, softer, like I’m hearing a whole other register he keeps hidden from the adult world.

“God, bug, I missed you so much.” The words come out on a sigh. I picture Sera launching herself at him, and him powerless to do anything but catch her. My chest does a weird, vertiginous flip, heart turning to pure mush and running down the inside of my ribs like melted ice cream.

“I missed you too, Papa.” Sera’s voice is bright and uncomplicated.

He hums again, softer this time, and my entire body flares with affection. “Okay, go unpack your suitcase, all right?”

Little feet pelt across the floor, a shriek of giggles trailing behind. I hear the distant thump of a bedroom door and the muffled soundtrack of Sera’s world firing up at full blast.

I lean back, exhaling. I don’t realize I’m crying until I taste the tears on my lips.

I scrub my cheeks with the back of my hand, then swipe the heel of my palm under my nose. It’s not even a sad cry. It’s just… everything. Wanting things, things I’ve wanted for so long because I’m a romantic, and getting so close to getting them is getting me all up in my feelings.

I want to see Sera. I mean, I really want to see her. I want to tell her I like green lime seltzer, too, and that I can do a really good dinosaur impression, and I want to show her that it’s okay to be soft, to be loud, to be wild, even as you grow up—that you should stay you, no matter what.