“Pick him up, Amber,” Matt answered, somewhere off-screen.
“I’m in my work clothes,” she bit back.
Matt appeared, wearing scrubs, his jaw covered in a heavy stubble. He reached into the crib and picked up Jack, who instantly plugged his thumb into his mouth and calmed. “This is all he wants.”
“Don’t lecture me again, okay?” She was upset. “I’m not cut out for this. We need a nanny.”
“I agree.” He was patting Jack, rocking the boy in his arms. “But a nanny won’t be twenty-four seven. We need to make time for each other and our family. Both of us. It’s important.”
“So is my career. You knew I wasn’t one of those women who thinks her greatest achievement is her children. That’s not who I am.” Amber crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s Felicity. And you left her, remember? Something about how she always put the kids first? How she stopped making time for you? Stopped taking care of your needs.” She sighed. “You picked me, Matt.”
Matt was quiet for a beat, then said, “Felicity is a good mother.”
“I’m not? Are you kidding me? Why do you think I’ve interviewed so many nannies? Why I’ve fired three of them? I want the best for Jack.” Amber cut him off. “Stop trying to make me the bad guy, Matt. I’ve never changed. Ever. I’m beginning to think you have.”
Matt didn’t say a word.
“The way you’re acting… I need a break. We both do.” She sighed. “Go to Honor’s graduation on your own tomorrow. Take Jack with you. You and Felicity and the kids can all be one big happy family again.”
This happened the day before the accident? It made the argument ten times worse.
“Fine.” Matt’s voice was tight.
Amber stood there, shaking. “That’s all you’re going to say?” Apparently, she hadn’t expected Matt’s answer. “You don’t want me to go?”
“Tomorrow is about my daughter, Amber.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been a shit father for the last year
, but that’s going to stop now. My kids, all of them, deserve to have a father. I want to be there for Honor. Maybe get Nick to…look at me—to start…”
“Another choice you made, Matt.” She sighed. “I can’t be here. I’ll… I don’t know what I want anymore. I don’t know about anything.” She walked out.
Matt sat in the rocking chair with Jack, barely flinching at the sound of the front door slamming.
“She’ll be back, Jack. She always comes back.” Matt spoke clearly, no hesitation. “But she’s right, and I need to tell her I made the wrong choice.”
Charity jumped at the crash behind her. She spun around to find Nick in the door, a pie splatted on the floor at his feet. But the devastation on his face, the yearning and regret, tore Charity’s heart into a million tiny pieces.
“Nick.” She was up, reaching for him, pulling his stiff body into a tight embrace.
“It’s cool, Aunt Charity.” He patted her back, shrugging out of her hold as quickly as possible. He stooped, raking the squished pie into the metal pie pan. “Guess they made up, huh, since they were all coming to Honor’s graduation. One big, happy family.”
“Nick—”
“Can we order pizza?” he asked, standing, eyeing the residual pie stickiness on the floor. “And rent that horror movie you were talking about? The shark-storm thing? After I mop.”
If he didn’t want to talk about it, she wouldn’t push it. But this was so a big deal. Technically, it was her fault her nephew had just had his heart ripped out again. How did she make this better? Could she? It was too late for Matt to fix things with Nick—but it had to ease some of Nick’s rage knowing his father had wanted to. Didn’t it?
Or, shit, had it just made it a million times worse?
“Order whatever you want,” she said. “My wallet’s in my purse. I’ll clean it up.”
Nick nodded, cradling the pie pan against his chest as he headed back toward the living room. He looked so like Matt. Acted like him sometimes. The pre-deserted-his-real-family-for-a-bimbo Matt she’d thought of as her brother. Her heart twisted again. He’d regretted leaving his family… He wanted to tell Amber as much. She wasn’t sure whether she hated Matt a little less or a whole lot more.
…
Felicity could hear Jack as soon as the elevator doors opened. Crying. Inconsolable.
“I should have been here,” she murmured to herself.