CHAPTER 3: Terry
1099 Words
CHAPTER 3: Terry
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“What do you mean by that?” Terry had no idea why he was staying to help Maggie, except that he wasn’t ready for their day together to end.
“Isabella will care. She’s almost eight and she wants to help.” She walked down the hallway and he followed.
“Ah, I remember little girls that age.” His daughter had been his kryptonite.
She gave him an odd glance over her shoulder.
“My daughter.” He slapped her a*s.
“Don’t start.” She walked into the baby’s bedroom.
“Then stop thinking I’m a pervert.” He had to repair the damage his big mouth and temper had caused.
“I wasn’t.” She handed him a box from the corner. “Toys.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He started filling the box. “You know, I’m the one who’s supposed to be in charge.”
“Only in the bedroom.” She averted her eyes but her face turned a rosy hue.
“We’re in a bedroom.”
“Oh, we are.” Her eyes widened. “But not to...you know.”
“We could.” He definitely could.
“Bed’s too small.”
“We don’t need a bed and you know it.” He moved to a toy box. “I’m sure you remember, we f****d on the bathroom counter.” He opened the lid. “We can load this as is, right?” It was her house and her stuff, so he needed to ask.
“No. Too heavy.”
He bent and lifted it. “Not for me.” He straightened, liking the appreciation on her face. “Where to?”
“Garage. I’ll get the door.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He wanted her impressed with his strength. It’d make her wet. It might even help her forget his earlier comment.
“You sure?”
“Yep.” He hefted it a little higher. Damn, the thing was kind of heavy but there was no way he was letting her know that. “Where?”
“Door to the garage is through the kitchen.”
“Got it.” He strode out of the room and into the kitchen. It wasn’t easy propping the toy box against the wall and opening the door, but he managed. He was a man after all. He placed it near a stack of boxes.
He went back to the bedroom and began unloading a dresser, staring at the little clothes in his hands. It’d been a long time since he’d touched clothes this size.
Babies were so helpless and yet so determined–forcing him and his wife to change their lives and he’d loved every minute. One of the shirts had a faded stain—puke. He stuffed it in the box with the other clothes. Okay, he hadn’t loved every minute, not the late nights nor when they’d been sick or the toys scattered all around the house. Both him and his wife had been too tired to do anything but crash in the bed—no s*x, no talking, just exhausted sleep. He didn’t need to do this again. He didn’t want to do this again. He’d raised his kids. He was done.
He quickly filled the box and took it to the garage, coming back and taking the one she’d packed. He should go. He’d f****d her and now he could forget her. He’d tell her he had to leave. That work had called. He walked into the bedroom.
She straightened, pushing her hair from her face. “Okay, I think we’ve done as much as we can. I still need some things out until moving day. We should do Peter’s room next.” She moved past him into the bedroom across the hall.
He followed. This was a little boy’s room filled with cars and balls and action figures. His son had loved all those things when he was little. Right before his divorce. Right before he’d become a visitor in his kids’ lives.
She looked around and grabbed a box. “This is going to take a while.” She smiled at him. “Thanks for helping.”
“You’re welcome.” Only a real asshole would leave her to do this alone. He’d help until she had to go to work and then this was over.
She bent and picked up some toys. His gaze rested on her a*s. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t done with her yet. They were adults, engaging in a casual arrangement. He didn’t need to ever be around her kids. They could meet during the day or at night, whenever she had an hour or so and...”How often does your ex take the kids?”
“He’s supposed to take them every other weekend but sometimes he skips.” She frowned. “Too busy.”
“That’s bullshit.”
She stared at him.
He shrugged. “I always made time for my kids, no matter how busy I was.”
“You were a good father.”
He had been a good father. He’d read to them. Watched cartoons with them. He’d hated the shows but loved their giggles and the way they’d climb onto his lap—their little bodies snuggled against him, one on each side. And then they were gone, except every other weekend.
He didn’t want to count the Saturdays he’d spent watching those stupid kid shows by himself, missing his children. He needed to get away from this room, those memories. “I need a drink.”
“I have water, milk and juice.”
He needed a shot or two but even a beer would do. “No beer? Any alcohol?”
“No. Sorry.”
“Water then. You want one?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He went into the kitchen and grabbed two bottles from the refrigerator. He took a deep breath, staring at nothing but seeing his past. All those nights alone. He’d stayed at the office late every day. He’d had to start a new business and that took a lot of time but he also hadn’t wanted to go home.
“Terry, did you find the water?” Maggie yelled from the other room.
He could do this. He could pack those toys and those little clothes. He could keep those memories—all the lonely days, weekends, and holidays—at bay. Unless...“Do you want me to start in the kitchen,” he hollered. “We could tackle two rooms at once.”
She came to the door. “If you want. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Of course.” He handed her a bottle of water.
“Okay.” She was looking at him, an odd expression on her face.
“We can finish the bedroom if you prefer. I just thought I could get the heavier kitchen items.”
“Yeah, silverware and dishes are very heavy.”
“They are if you pack a box full of them.” He didn’t need her smart mouth right now.
“You can work in the kitchen or anywhere you like. I just appreciate the help.” She turned, walking back toward the bedroom but he was pretty sure he’d seen hurt in her big, hazel eyes.
“No. You’re right. We should do one room at a time.” Even if it killed him. He’d remember her face as he’d slid his d**k inside of her. She wasn’t a mother then. She was just the woman he was f*****g.
- Writer
