The Broody Brit for Christmas (Holiday Springs #1) - M.J. Fields Page 0,42
leave me. Your ex chose his mum over you. And if he married you, you would have had a lifetime of sitting in second place.”
The look on her face told me I had crossed a line. She turns her back to me, lying on her side. I look up at the ceiling, knowing I fucked up.
Shit. She’s sniffling. I hurt her.
As I turn toward her, she’s scampering to the slide.
I quickly jump down and land in front of the yellow tube’s exit as she slides down it.
The look on her face causes me to step back and give her some space. Still, I need to apologize. “I’m sorry. I was too harsh.”
“I want to go home.” The rims of her eyes are red.
“Nikki.” I step forward and pull her into a hug. “I’m sorry.” She sniffs, and I step back. “Red, don’t—”
“I’d like to be alone. I know we weren’t technically married, but we sort of were. Together for years. Lived under the same roof. Shared a bed. Worked side-by-side.”
I scratch the back of my neck. “I’d like to talk this out.”
“You mean keep reminding me that I’m nothing but a pushover.” She stops talking.
“Nikki, I know what lost feels like, and I also know how to start over and finally breathe again. I can’t explain why, but I need to be the one who—”
“I’m not your cause,” she snaps in frustration.
Just as frustrated, I snap back, “No, I’m pretty damn sure you’re my reward.”
“Oh my God, will you stop making me feel like more of an unstable bitch?”
Fuck, I step back again when I really want to step forward. “Get some sleep, and we’ll talk in the morning.”
I pull back the covers on Nathaniel's bed.
She shakes her head. “I’m not ready—”
“Get some sleep, and when you get up, we can talk about what you need from me.”
“Obviously, it’s not you. It’s me.”
“We’re gonna add that to the ever-growing list of things we shouldn't ever say to one another.”
She eventually climbs into his bed, and when she does, I see the road rash on her arse from her ride down the slide.
“I’m going to get you some cream for that burn.”
“I don’t need it,” she says as she curls up, facing away from me. “But thank you.”
“Dad.” I hear Nathaniel's whisper and immediately sit up in my bed.
“Is everything okay, Nathaniel?”
“Just had to get my rain boots. Do you know Miss Nikki from Winterfield’s Sweet Spot is sleeping in my bed?”
Fuuuuck, I think as I nod, attempting to nosedive back into dad mode, but the use of the name Winterfield’s Sweet Spot and its reminder still fresh on my tongue makes it difficult.
“Did she get drunk again?” He smirks. “She’s funny when she’s drunk. So is Joshua’s mum, Miss Jenny. Were they together down in the bar again?”
I scoot out of bed and blatantly lie, “Yes.”
“Does she drink all the time like old man Chappy?”
“No, Nathaniel, she doesn't.”
“Why is she here and not in the drunk tank?”
“Jesus, does your aunt tell you everything that pops into her crazy head?” I stand up, walking into my bathroom to piss.
“I heard that!” Faith laughs from downstairs, and I can imagine her rubbing her hands together like the schemer she is.
“Oh, I’m sure you did. By the way, I wasn’t trying to hide it,” I call back to Faith.
He follows me in. “So why?”
“Beckett stayed next door.”
“Oh.” He stands right behind me as I finish pissing. Having a kid means never using the bathroom without an audience.
I flush the toilet and walk over to the sink to wash my hands.
“Do you think maybe you should talk to Miss Nikki and tell her she should look at old man Chappy and see how wrinkly he is?”
“Why would I do that?” I squirt toothpaste on my toothbrush.
“Cause she’s real pretty and.” He pauses, and I see him smirk.
“And what?”
“You know how all those ladies come in, and sometimes I hear them talking about your pecker?”
I nearly choke on the toothpaste. “What?”
“You know how sometimes it looks extra big in your clothes?”
“Nathaniel, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if—”
“Aunt Faith thinks it’s funny. She says they want to date you, and maybe that’s why Miss Nikki comes in because she wants a date, and maybe if you take her on one, she won’t drink so much, and the other women will stop talking about your pecker.”
“Faith!” My voice booms through the flat. I need to have a serious talk with this woman.