Page 63 of The Loves We Lost

VIOLA

I’m not a hundred percent sure what wakes me up, but as I hear a squeal of laughter from down the hall, I’m pretty certain it’s my spidey sense as a mom that someone isn’t where they are supposed to be.

It’s dark, and I reach for my phone to check the time, but as I pat my hand across the bedside table, I realize it isn’t there.

The sound of Avery’s chuckle is enough to reassure me that I’m not being burgled, unless the world’s funniest petty criminal broke into our house.

After throwing back the covers, I slide my feet out of bed and pad toward the living room.

“So, what happened next, Daddy?” Avery says.

“Uncle Colton pulled a wheelie.” Miles’s words are a little slurred. Not fully drunk. But enough that he’s well on his way.

On a Wednesday.

I roll my eyes, but some of my anger fades when Avery laughs again. “You’re so silly, Uncle Colton,” she says.

“Hey, I’m a good wheelie puller.” Niro. They must be together.

“Will you teach me?” she asks. “Momma is good at some things, but not wheelies.”

“Sure thing, kid,” Niro says.

Miles chuckles. “We can start as soon as I next see you.”

The digital thermostat tells me it’s a little after one in the morning. Avery came into my room and took my phone without asking. And Miles should know better than to encourage her into wheelies.

“We can talk about wheelies another day,” I say, stepping into the room and holding out my hand for my phone. Avery’s face falls, but she has the look of a kid who knows they just got busted. “Say good night.”

“Bye, Daddy. Bye, Uncle Colton.” She waves her hand enthusiastically before handing me the phone.

“Sorry, Momma,” Avery says as she begins the walk to her room.

“Bed, little lady. We can talk about you taking my phone without asking in the morning.”

“Party pooper,” Miles says.

I glance down the hall until Avery disappears into her room. “Party pooper?” I run a hand through hair that’s probably a bird’s nest of knots. “Because it’s so easy to be the fun dad. The one who doesn’t even look at the clock and question why she’s out of bed in the early hours of the morning. Who obviously didn’t ask her if she asked permission to even take my phone. The one who encourages her to do wheelies when I have to fight her every goddamn day to get her to wear a helmet because she doesn’t like the texture of her chin strap.”

The image of Miles’s face on the screen disappears and is replaced by a moving shot of the floor and then ceiling, making me feel dizzy. Then Miles reappears. “Stay on the phone, but go lie down on your bed. I’m headed to my room so we can finish this conversation in private.”

“I don’t have anything else to say. It’s late. I’m going to bed.”

“Stay the fuck on the phone, Vi. Or I’m getting on my bike to come to you.”

“You don’t mean that. You’re clearly buzzed.”

He stops and raises an eyebrow at me. “Not so drunk that I can’t find a safe way to get to you and spank your fucking ass for not doing what I say. Get in bed, Vi.”

I debate hanging up on him, but don’t do it for reasons I fully understand.

Foolish woman that I am.

My sex drive, like a tap I turned off the day I packed my suitcase and left him, one that remained off while I raised Avery, has suddenly been turned back on.

And there is only one ... shit, I don’t know how to finish my analogy. Something about one pot I want to put that water in ... or maybe it’s something to do with a waste of wetness.

God, I’m awful. So much for being a bestselling author.