Page 17

Indi

B right orange flames shot from Ambrose and Astrid’s lovely three-story house with the wraparound porch.

Holy hell

I had assumed she’d be chasing after Finn in Vegas, but instantly I recognized this as Astrid’s feral little ferret brain at work. And she was nowhere to be seen.

“Take Julian into your yard. Keep him safe. Please,” Ambrose said through gritted teeth, and I felt my stomach do a flip-flop as I obeyed, yanking my keys out and going around to the back seat to carefully unbuckle and cradle the sleeping newborn in my arms.

Once he made sure we were safely on my front porch, Ambrose took off into the backyard of his home.

“Dad? Dad?” he called out, and my heart sunk.

No no no

I waddled into my backyard, watching as the scarlet sparks rained down on my ex-husband. He pounded loudly on each window, calling out for Harold.

But there was no answer.

“Dad? Dad? Fuck!”

I saw Ambrose rattling madly at the back door, but it was locked.

“Dad, wake up!”

Shit

Through the flames, I saw the shape of Harold clearly outlined in the living room window, lying on the couch taking an afternoon nap.

“Be careful!” I cried. “I think the roof is going to cave in!”

“I have to get him!” he roared back.

Ambrose had always been as stubborn as a mule, and he stayed there despite the falling sparks lighting up his collared shirt, the ash that blew through his hair.

There was a crash from one of the upper floors. The ceiling supports were starting to crumble.

I saw him glance around on the ground, then grab one of the heavy decorative rocks that lined the garden walkway, ripping through his silk sleeve and wrapping the cloth around his hand.

Then he smashed through the glass panels of the door and and ripped it open.

I shrieked as one of the second-floor windows imploded, holding my hands over baby Julian’s ears so he wouldn’t hear the terrifying sounds of the building collapsing.

A firetruck siren sounded in the distance, getting closer.

My heart was pounding so hard I was afraid I was going to faint, and then Ambrose burst out the door, his father’s unconscious body slung over his shoulders.

My god

My ex-husband’s face was sooty and slick, his glasses broken, and his shirt was in tatters, blood running down his wrist where the glass had cut his arm.

“Indi, get back!” he called sharply, and I saw his eyes flare at me as he stalked across the yard.

Goddamn, I hated , definitely hated when he used that bossy domineering tone with me. I was very safe all the way over here in my own yard.

But I retreated back even further until I was on my front step.

Ambrose jogged with his father across the yard and then over the fence just as the roof collapsed.

Julian was still asleep like an angel on me as Ambrose laid Harold out carefully on a soft patch of my grass.

“Dad, Dad!” Ambrose cried, his voice breaking as he loosened his father’s collar and began to pat his cheeks vigorously. “Wake up, Dad! Please—God, please be OK!”

I felt my heart give a ridiculous lurch inside me as the firetrucks swung into the driveway.

“I can’t feel a pulse, Indi!” Ambrose cried, and he looked up at me with such haunted eyes, his face looking like skin scraped over a skull.

And of course, immediately Harold popped up like a rabbit out of a hat asking, “What’s wrong? What’s all this? Can’t an old man take a nap in peace?”

Ambrose’s shoulders slumped and he gripped his father in a tight hug.

“I thought for a minute we’d lost you. Fuck! I—love you, Dad.”

Harold looked over at me, bewildered but patting Ambrose on the shoulder.

“I love you too, son. Er, sons?”

“Looks like someone tried to burn down the house while you were still in it,” I put in.

“Well, that explains that strange gasoline smell I noticed while I was doing my crossword puzzle on the couch,” Harold said.

“I saw Astrid out there with a gas can. I didn’t think much of it at the time.

I don’t understand women very well, thought it was some new TikTok thing.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone to sleep.”

“Perhaps not !” Ambrose groaned. “You’re going to give me a heart attack .”

And not only had Astrid burned her whole house down, but she’d apparently emptied out Ambrose’s checking account as well.

“You can stay with me for a few weeks,” I said after the firefighters had put out the fire and all that was left was a pile of smoking rubble. “Until you find a new place and can get your money back.”

“I—” he began.

“There’s more than enough room for you and Julian and Harold,” I said.

My ex-father-in-law looked up from where he was patting the little bear ears of Julian’s little fleecy jumpsuit.

“I think I’ll camp out in the backyard. I’ve always wanted to go camping but Millicent said it was not for people in our tax bracket.”

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” I told Harold. “You disreputable old bastard.”

He grinned at me. “I’m feeling quite young again. There’s so many things I want to do in my retirement that I haven’t gotten to yet. Like buy a farm out in the country and raise chickens. And it’s not looking like Millicent is going to forgive me.”

Never had a man been so happy at the prospect of being divorced.

Once we had been advised to contact the police if we saw Astrid, we all went inside and I ordered a massive amount of veggie sushi from the fanciest and nicest place in town.

“I’ll keep a record of what I owe you,” Ambrose said earnestly, his face smeared with grimy soot. “Hopefully I can get this situation straightened out with my bank soon.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I shrugged. “Finn is filthy rich. I have way more money than I know what to do with.”

I saw him swallow hard and nod at me.

“When you talk to him tell—him that I appreciate you letting me stay here.”

“Finn and I aren’t together,” I said, a bit more sharply than I expected. “I can do what I want.”

“But he’d do anything to keep you,” Ambrose said. “I know the feeling.”

I turned away. I wasn’t going to give him any hope, but there were tears in my eyes that I didn’t know how to explain.

As each week of my pregnancy progressed, I grew rounder and rounder, and my baby more and more active in my belly, thumping my bladder with vigorous karate kicks and jabs. My feet had not been seen in some time.

There was no word from Astrid. The police had not been able to find her.

Now there were a few things always true about my ex-husband. He was stubborn, earnest, and a hard worker. He had the semester off now that Julian was born, and he never once asked me for help.

He did all his laundry, the baby’s laundry, and even my laundry. He changed every diaper, made every bottle, was up with Julian’s slightest cry.

When I offered to help, he handed Julian to me and told me to just kick up my feet and relax and snuggle the baby while he ran loads of laundry, vacuumed, or braised pork chops.

And I had to reluctantly note that Ambrose had been serious about turning over a new leaf. He had completely changed in how he treated his father. Instead of contempt or disdain, he now treated Harold with kindness and respect, was interested in his father’s opinion and hobbies.

Harold was very happy to hold baby Julian and discuss the crossword puzzle with him, but said if Ambrose were to take over the more active parts of parenting his little brother, it would be ideal for his own hip replacement.

Unfortunately, the longer I was in a confined space with Ambrose the more a certain problem appeared. It surely meant nothing. It was just that how good he was at domestic work and how loving he was with his little brother did not mix well with third trimester hormones.

And I was crawling with third trimester hormones.

I resisted them when Ambrose insisted on doing a full Sagittarius star chart.

I resisted them when Ambrose came with me to get the winter herb seeds for my garden.

But I was crawling with hormones.

What was wrong with me?

After all, I was supposed to be considering Finn’s offer. Finn was everything every woman would want—movie star good looks, talented, filthy rich, massive muscles, heavily tattooed, those forearms , devoted to me, that accent .

So why was I sat here on the couch at 10:30 pm trying to watch a movie and ignore Ambrose mixing up formula for baby bottles in his sweatpants?

There had always been some particularly unholy attraction to Ambrose in sweatpants and a T-shirt, like seeing him out of his starched-up proper clothes just reminded me of that coiled passion underneath his proper exterior.

I glanced over as he bent down to empty the dishwasher, his long stronger fingers moving deftly to stack bowls and plates, swipe a few clean bottles.

There was a muscle that flexed in his broad shoulders, and I couldn’t help the way my eyes dragged down the V-shape of his back to the way his sweatpants sat low-slung on his hips.

What was wrong with me?

I was not sat here carnally desiring my cheating ex-husband!

It took me a while to get to sleep, and then when I finally did I had to wake up again in an hour to pee. After stumbling to the bathroom, I heard Julian start to wake up.

Half-asleep, I stumbled down the hall and into his room, thinking only that I’d help Ambrose for once since I was already awake.

As I opened the door, I collided with my ex, Ambrose’s arms going out to steady me, his fingers sliding under my thin tank top to keep me from stumbling.

I gasped at the contact. I was barely wearing anything—only a thin little tank top and boy shorts to sleep, and his touch seemed to make my already overheated skin burn, my nipples suddenly hardening so fast I felt the tips of them sting. Was I starting to produce milk already?

I was breathless suddenly, and Ambrose gripped under my hair.

“You ok?” he asked. “Fuck, didn’t see you there.”

His voice was rough with sleep.

“I’m fine,” I gasped, trying to make my pounding heart relax. “I can rock Julian to sleep if you want. Since I’m up already.”

“Of course,” Ambrose said. “Let me grab his bottle.”

I sat in the chair and fed Julian. He was getting big, strong, his tiny newborn arms filling out with plump rolls.

He was a loved baby.

Julian snuggled in and fell asleep in my arms.

I looked over and saw that my ex-husband was crying on the bed, his head buried in his hands.

“It’s fine,” I said. “You know I’m over it, right? You don’t have to worry that you’re hurting me. Or about what happened.”

“It’s just—” Ambrose said, his voice shaky, and then he choked and had to start again. “It’s just that—seeing you with a baby— it’s everything that I had ever—have ever dreamed of.”

“Ambrose—” I began, but I didn’t know what to say.

“And all along, it was me. I was the reason that you couldn’t get pregnant right away. It was my fault. If it wasn’t for me, you would have had babies a long time ago. The whole time it was me.”

I felt my heart constrict so tightly I could barely breathe.

“It was no one’s fault,” I said firmly, “It doesn’t mean you can’t ever be a father in the future.”

Ambrose shook his head.

“But I want to have a baby with you . You and me. Now I fucked everything up. And I don’t know how to unfuck it.”

“Yeah, you did fuck it up,” I said.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed it, but my mother has always sort of treated me like a prince. Perhaps that wasn’t ideal.”

“Hmm, I had noticed that,” I said neutrally.

He laughed and shook his head, trying to wipe his eyes on his T-shirt.

“You tried to tell me so many times I was full of it, in such a nice, sweet way too, but I was too stubborn to listen. I am so, so sorry for everything I did.”

His eyes met mine and I felt that old, familiar buzz begin to grow between us, as I saw that raw emotion in him.

But how could I go back? It was impossible, ridiculous to think we could ever build something new after obliterating what we had.

“Think nothing of it,” I said. “Think of us as friendly co-workers now. Or friendly co-habitaters now. Or whatever it’s called when your ex-husband lives in your home.”

I put Julian carefully on his back in the crib and Ambrose rose from the bed. Then I walked out the door, and for a moment, just a moment, Ambrose held my arm, his breathing fast, passionate, my back tingling as I felt him behind me.

“I love you,” he said in a low tone, his breath rustling the hairs on the back of my neck. “Desperately. Madly. Give me another chance. Please .”

“Goodnight, friend,” I said sternly, pulling my arm gently away and heading down the hallway as quickly as I could at 39 weeks.

It was none of Ambrose’s business that I was horny.

And it was definitely none of his business that I didn’t feel merely friendly toward him.

But once back in my bed I could not go to sleep.

Once again, that same throbbing heat between my legs tortured me.

Twisting my body, I slipped fingers past the band of my panties.

But when I closed my eyes, I felt the ghost of Ambrose’s breath across my throat still. Felt the press of his fingers on mine.

Fuck

I decided to walk about in the garden a little bit. Maybe that would clear my head. Make me stop thinking about just fucking Ambrose, just a good old-fashioned fucking dirty fuck.

I could not stop thinking of the feel of his hands on me, how they had felt slipping under the band of my top.

I needed something to distract me from these insane third trimester hormones.

And just as I wandered into the front yard, two huge, bright beams of light shone on me, and I heard a loud, screechy voice say, “Oh, I see one of us was able to keep her figure. You’ve let yourself go, Indi.”

She revved her engine.

“Hello, Astrid,” I said.