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Because Tommy fuckin’ Watkins sits at the table across from my son, a chessboard set up between the pair, but both sets of eyes silently stuck on me.

My face.

My horror.

“You have got to be kidding me?!”

Tommy’s lips curl into devious lines, his eyes dancing with a taunting playfulness. But he has the good sense to drop his gaze and swallow the laughter bubbling along his throat.

“Hey, Mom.” Franky extends his arm, summoning me while he studies the half-complete game.

But when I don’t move— I can’t —he flicks his wrist in demand.

“This one is Tommy, Mom. He almost tricked me, because the first time I met him, he was smiley. Then the second time, he was cranky. He’s smiling again today, so I wasn’t sure… ”

“Mmm. I can see how that might be confusing.” God, kill me now.

Smite me down and make sure it’s permanent!

I wander forward, folding my gown tighter across my chest and retying the sash in the time it takes to reach the table.

And though I would normally breathe a little better simply because my son wraps his arm over my back and pulls me in for a side hug, my eyes remain firmly on Tommy’s barely hidden smirk.

His dancing eyes. “So you’re, uh… playing chess, honey? ”

Tommy lifts his head, opening his mouth to speak.

But I stop-sign him, shaking my head when his brows pinch closer together.

“I was talking to my son.” I look down at the board— Franky is winning —and draw a long breath.

“I guess I’m a little confused, baby. You don’t usually play chess in the mornings.

” Or with people other than me or Colin.

You especially don’t play a fucking Watkins ! “And it’s still really early.”

“He was fixing something or…” He moves his knight and shrugs. “Something. I forget. You were still asleep, and I said how I like chess.”

“And Tommy suggested a game, of course.” My lips peel back into a snarl when the man grins. “Interesting. Are you nearly done? Because Tommy needs to go back to his house, and we have jobs to do here.”

“I’m usually treated to a cooked breakfast on Sundays when I help around the house.

” Tommy moves his pawn—I’m not sure if he’s bad at the game or brilliantly suicidal—then he links his fingers together and tilts his head to the side.

“Bitsy needed some work done in the shed, and as payment, she typically cooks for me.”

“Such a shame.” I press a kiss to the top of Franky’s head before circling away and moving to the fridge. “Since she’s not down here cooking for you, I guess she’s not feeling up to it today.”

“You could cook for me.” He sits back, leisurely stretching his legs under the table and burning the side of my face with his smug stare. “Bacon and eggs sound good. And it’s hardly rocket science. Bet you could figure the stove out if you wanted to.”

“But that’s just it.” I grab a bottle of juice and slam the fridge door, jars audibly rattling inside, before I move to the cupboard to my left and pull down two glasses.

One for me. One for my child. “I don’t want to.

In fact, I have absolutely no desire to figure it out at all.

What I would like to do is hang out with my son, watch some Sunday morning cartoons on the television, and ignore literally every other person who exists in this world. ”

I pour the juice and ignore the liquid that rolls along the side of the glass, cruel flashbacks of tequila spilling over a shot glass playing in my mind. But I can’t go there. I won’t. I refuse.

I set the bottle down and take one juice in each hand, and placing Franky’s by his elbow, I bring the other up and take a small sip. “Sorry. Not enough for three.”

Tommy’s eyes slide back to the half-full bottle, my lie flickering through the room like it’s wrapped in neon lights and sparkling glitter. But then he chuckles and goes back to studying the board.

“I see.”

“I heard you arguing with Grandma, Mom.” Since it’s not his turn, Franky folds his neck back and searches my eyes. “I don’t think you’re the worst daughter in the world.”

My heart splats, dead inside my chest. I scratch my fingers through his hair and pull him in to rest his cheek against my belly. “Thank you, honey. I’m sorry you had to hear us arguing again. That must get pretty annoying, huh?”

“It’s interesting, mostly.” He straightens and swallows up Tommy’s poorly placed knight. “You never used to shout at all in New York. Now you shout all the time here.”

“A study in human beings,” Tommy mutters. “Something about how we revert to who we used to be when placed in an environment we used to exist within.”

“Also known as stupidity and shortsightedness.” I drink my juice and pray it washes down the frustration intent on clawing along my throat. “The girl I was when I last lived in Plainview was young and na?ve. Silly and rarely considered the consequences of her actions.”

On this, at least, Tommy seems to agree. He coughs out a scoff that verges on a yep .

“She was also a child of trauma,” I continue.

“Someone who didn’t know how to love herself.

And that’s not to say her trauma was, like, the worst in the world.

It wasn’t. But its insidiousness made for complicated internal monologue and codependency on outside voices to make her feel worthy of love at all. ”

You, Tommy Watkins. You were who I relied on for love.

“But that girl no longer exists. Because that’s what happens when we grow up. The person we used to be is gone, making room for the person we’re meant to become.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.” Franky, too friggin’ logical for his own good, glances up again.

“Because maybe the person you used to be went away, and the person you became existed in New York. But then we moved to Plainview, and you’re different again.

So did the first person go away, or was she on pause, waiting here in Plainview? ”

“She wasn’t here, kiddo. We thought she died.” Tommy charges forward with his queen, knocking pieces off the board and earning a panicked gasp from the depths of my son’s soul. “Checkmate.”

“That’s not how you play the game!” Frantic, Franky tries to put the pieces back where they should be. “Tommy! That’s wrong.”

“It’s the queen. She can do whatever she wants.”

“No!” Franky shoves to his feet and puts his fallen king back on the board. “That’s not the rules!”

“Queen makes the rules.” Standing, too, Tommy comes around the table and takes my juice before I think to stop him. “Can we talk on the porch for a moment?”

“Mom! He messed up the pieces!”

Chuckling, Tommy sets the glass down and meets my son’s eyes. “Sorry. You won. I was just being silly.”

“I didn’t win! You didn’t play it right.”

“But I forfeit, which means I lose. You won.”

“That’s not winning!” My poor baby spins out of control, his mind racing and his hands flying across the board. “You have to play it properly.”

“Porch?” Tommy’s eyes come back to mine, burning with a quiet mix of rage and hurt. Wonder and, dare I say, hope. “I just need a moment of your time.”

“You’re not allowed to play chess anymore!” Franky growls. “You don’t play it right.”

“Alana…”

Tell him to leave and cut him off completely?

Or give him his two minutes on the porch and explain why this isn’t happening?

The first, I did ten years ago. The second, my penance, I suppose, for the hurt I’ve caused.

So I nod. “Alright. Two minutes. Then I’m coming inside.” I meet my son’s eyes. “He was never a very good chess player, honey. You should ask Chris. He’s way better and always follows the rules.”

Unhappy, Franky screws his nose up and glares at a smiling Tommy.

“Reset the board for us.” I bend and kiss the top of his head.

“I’ll play you just as soon as I get back.

Come on.” I step around them both and move through the door and onto the porch, and though I might wonder if Tommy will leave me waiting, he follows on fast feet, snatching my hand and crushing it in his steely grip.

He drags me down the steps and around the side of my house.

“Tommy!” I try to pull free, hissing when I step on rocks in bare feet and yelping when I almost stumble. But he yanks me around and slams my back to the side of the house exactly how he used to when we were younger.

In fact, right where he used to do it.

“You need to stop!”

“I wanted to make sure you woke up okay.” He pins me to the wall, his legs pressed to mine and his eyes searching my face. My lips. My flushing cheeks. “You drank a lot last night.”

“We can’t do this.” I won’t participate in the game he’s set on playing. I refuse to re-ignite the relationship I ran from a decade ago. “I’m not doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“ This ! Us.” I set my hands on his infuriatingly firm chest and push back… or at least, I try. “No.”

“You did it last night.” He tilts his head and peels a lock of loose hair off my shoulder. “Worked out fine.”

“It didn’t work out fine! We were drunk and angry. We were toxic and mean. You can dress it up however you want and call it whatever you think sounds nice, but it doesn’t change the facts. We are no longer who we used to be, and we cannot recapture what we used to have.”

“We could.” So gently, so sweetly, he traces his thumb over my bottom lip. “We still want each other, Lana. We’re still it for each other. Sure, we have some shit to overcome, but that’s what couple’s therapy is for. We’re not done for as long as that spark is still between us.”

“You’re fooling yourself,” I groan. “And you’d rather destroy yourself to prove a point, than admit we no longer exist.”