Page 33 of Scoring Chance

“How about you?” I ask. “How are you doing?”

He shrugs again, but it’s different this time. Slower. Heavier.

“I hate not working,” he admits. “Feels like I’m failing them. Like I’m not doing enough.”

I chuck a freshly fluffed pillow at his face.

“What was that for?”

“For that baseless response. Not doing enough?” It’s like Ina Garten calling herself an okay cook. “You’re raising four kids, keeping a roof over their heads, being present. That’s more than most people can manage. It took me a month to get around to scheduling an oil change.”

“I was good at my job,” he says. “It wasn’t my passion like advertising with you, but I had a routine down. Without that routine, I feel so unmoored.”

I can imagine how important routine is to a single dad struggling to make the trains run on time. “You’ll find a new job soon, and you’ll get your routine back. Until then, you have me.”

He meets my gaze, something unspoken passing between us. I recognize the feeling. That quiet desperation to feel needed. Useful. Whole.

Sometimes, I lay awake at night worried about losing my job. There are always younger people with fresher perspectives coming into the field. Ad guys are always one bad campaign away from getting tossed. If this fake marriage doesn’t get me fired, then bombing the Silq Cosmetics pitch will.

“You will find something. You’ve been unemployed for less than a month. Give it time. And don’t beat yourself up, Tanner. The kids will be alright. I promise you that. They have a great father.”

“And stepfather.”

Weird to think that I’m a stepfather. I don’t hate it as much as I thought I would. Orange soda and lasagna-stained outfit aside.

“That should do it.” Tanner tucks in the last side of the pull out bed.

The silence stretches again, but it’s not awkward. It’s…peaceful. Tanner closes his eyes and smiles at something, like he’s found Zen.

“I forgot how nice it is,” he says, “when they’re all asleep.”

I smirk. “I didn’t know silence could be this loud.”

“It’s kinda perfect.”

He walks over to the thermostat, adjusts it slightly. “One last chance,” he says, casual but not. “You sure you don’t want the bed?”

“You hate the couch, Tanner.”

“I’ll live. Or…we could share the bed. It’s a queen size.” Tanner’s cheeks flush for a moment. “Not like how you’re thinking⁠—”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” I quickly interject.

“I meant. There’s room on there for both of us. We can put a wall of pillows if needed.”

The idea of sharing a bed with Tanner sends a flicker of heat down my spine. I’ve never thought of him like that. Not really.

Okay, maybe a little. Like when he grins with his whole face. Or when he carries Lulu on his shoulders like she weighs nothing. Or when he says my name and it sounds like something he’s always known.

I clear my throat.

“I’ll stay here,” I say. “Saw movies are underrated.”

He smiles, half-laughs, nods. “Suit yourself. Goodnight, husband.”

“Goodnight, husband,” I reply, unable to help the way my lips tug into a grin.

He turns off the living room light. I lie back on the couch-bed, staring at the ceiling fan slowly turning above me.