Page 28 of Better Daddy

“We need to push for Cartwright or Sauter. Both tend to be more pro-father.”

Straightening, I turn toward her door, my body once again eager to be near hers.

As she turns the corner, her eyes widen, and she breaks into a look I know without a doubt means she’s pleasantly surprised to see me.

My chest swells. It’s been forever since I’ve had this kind of effect on her. This is officially the greatest moment of my day.

That is until I take her in and discover that Will fucking Higgins is touching her.

The sense of elation that hit me at the sight of her is quickly stomped out as I zero in on her lower back, where Will’s hand rests just above her ass.

Any lower and I’d have to kill him.

It takes superhuman strength not to lose my fucking mind when he looks up and breaks into a taunting smirk. “Sully, what brings you out of your shithole office and back toNew York?”

Lo complains about our place in Jersey constantly. That I can handle. But as the words leave Will’s mouth, my hands tighten into fists. I want to snap back, but I have absolutely no legitimate argument. He’s right. The place is a shithole.

“You’re early,” Sloane says.

Those two words are enough to wash away the urge to punch the motherfucker beside her in the nose. This woman is what matters. Her and our children.

And the delighted surprise on her face. Because dammit, she still looks happy to see me.

“It’s not your job to wait for me,” I tell her, taking a step closer. “It’s my job to wait for you.” I give Will a pointed look, and the arsehole has enough sense to step back.

With a huff, Sloane rolls her eyes. “Because I’m the incubator.”

Fuck.

“No.” I hold out the decaf caramel macchiato. “Because being with you is the best part of my day.”

To my utter shock, for what feels like the first time in a millennium, my wife smiles at me.

Chapter 9

Sloane

Idon’t know what to do with my hands as Sully eases into traffic. Do I put them in my lap? Is that how I normally sit when I’m the passenger in someone’s car?

I actually have no idea because I’m rarely a passenger sitting in the front. Normally, if I’m driving with anyone other than Sully, it’s a hired car, so I sit in the back. Before Sully and I were separated, I think we’d hold hands. Or I wouldn’t focus so much on my damn hands because we’d be talking. Or maybe T.J. would be in the back, screaming, and I’d be working to entertain him so he wouldn’t drive Sully nuts.

I reach for the coffee he picked up for me and take a sip, settling my nerves. The gesture was sweet. A surprise. Just like how he showed up early to pick me up.

I’d even go so far as to say I liked it. For a singular moment in time, I forgot all of our baggage, and when his eyes met mine, I couldn’t help but feel the tiniest flutter in my stomach.

But now it’s back to awkwardness, because I’m not sure what to do with my fucking hands.

It’s one thing to spend time with him in the apartment. At least we’re not alone there, and I can wander into another room if I’mfeeling uncomfortable.

Even in our bedroom, T.J. is with us, and I ensure all conversations stay centered around him.

Now that it’s just the two of us, I don’t have the first clue what to talk about. I used to tell this man my every thought. He, on the other hand, has never been a big talker, even when we were at our happiest. When we didn’t have a lot to say, the silence was comfortable. Or we’d turn up the music—normally sixties rock—and he’d rest a hand on my thigh while he drove.

That’s what I’d do with my hands. I’d settle mine on top of his. The memory leaves my thigh feeling unbearably cold.

I glance over at Sully, wishing I could somehow say how much I’d love his hands on me again. How much I miss his hands.

Now he keeps both on the steering wheel, in a grip like he’s strangling it. Rather than music, the only sounds come from the traffic around us. And there are no smiles to be found.