and today was one of those days. No one eagerly signed up for health issues—their own or a loved one’s—that slammed the pause button on their lives at random times. Dallas sure as shit hadn’t volunteered for it. Neither had her mom, stepdad, or I. But the three of us were there for her because we were her parents and of course were going to take care of our kid. There was no question.
Sometimes, though, I secretly wondered if Nick would have stuck around if he’d met Haley after Dallas’s migraines had started. He was as devoted to her as if she were his own kid, but I knew the stress wore him down as much as it did Haley or me. The financial strain, the constant fear of an employer deciding they’d had enough, and of course the utterly draining helplessness of watching your kid in excruciating pain that you couldn’t do a damn thing to fix—it took a toll on everyone, and it had definitely put their marriage to the test more than once.
Haley had even admitted to me in confidence once that our split custody arrangement was probably the best possible thing for the three of us. While it didn’t do a damn thing to help Dallas—God, nothing did—it at least gave the adults a break so we were rested and ready to help when she was in pain. It was the kind of raw admission we couldn’t make to other parents without them thinking we resented our child or that we wanted a break from her. Seemed like the only people who understood were those who’d been in similar trenches. It was perfectly okay to admit that newborns were exhausting or that teenagers were why some animals ate their young, but heaven help anyone who said out loud that being the parent of a child with health problems was its own special hell.
I was thankful beyond words that Dallas’s medical issues weren’t more serious. They weren’t life-threatening and there were other far more painful and terrible things she could be coping with than unpredictable and debilitating migraines. But that was only so comforting when I was holding her while she tried desperately not to cry because crying would only make the already unbearable pain worse. It only did so much when I was barely staying upright because I couldn’t sleep when she was in that much pain, and that pain lasted for hours. Sometimes days.
I loved my kid more than anything in the world. I would walk through fire for her without a second thought. But that didn’t mean the fire wouldn’t burn me, and it didn’t mean that any of this was easy. It was hard. It was fucking exhausting. I wouldn’t wish it on any child, and I wouldn’t wish it on any parent.
Which made dating a delicate issue.
I had to ask myself every time if I was willing to bring a new person into this endless cycle.
And they had to ask themselves if they were willing to join it. If being with me was worth the package deal.
For a lot of people—for the majority of the people I’d dated—the answer was no. If they could get past me being a single dad, then the rest ended up being too much, and before too long, it would be just me and Dallas again. I could almost set my watch by it these days.
So where did that leave things with Jase?
We had a connection. Maybe it was just sexual, and this thing would start and end in the bedroom. I could live with that. But what if it was more?
He’d known from the start about Dallas’s migraines. He’d bent over backwards to make sure she finally got to watch a hockey game for her birthday, but there was a big difference between a one-time thing for a fan, and committing to something ongoing.
I closed my eyes and sighed.
Is it really too much to ask for something that lasts?
Leaning my head back against the couch, I stared up at the ceiling, exhaustion clinging to my bones and pulling down on my shoulders. I knew why people didn’t stick around. I got it. But goddamn, it hurt, and it was lonely as fuck, and just like it did every time I met someone, the same question burned hot in my mind:
This one time, can I be worth the price of admission?