“I got the cup-stacking thing down.” Nick pointed at Jack’s handiwork.
Diana laughed, peering back over her shoulder. “Dad. You coming?”
Graham Murphy was taking a hell of a long time with the unpacking. Stalling, maybe? “What did you bring?” Nick asked, pushing off the blanket. “I’ll help.” He headed across the sand to the grass, then the parking lot beyond. “What can I carry?”
“I’m good.” Graham held a small ice chest and towels, shouldering the straps for two beach chairs. “Thanks.”
“Here.” He took the chairs. “We’ve got room. Diana’s there.” He headed off before the man could argue. Because he was going to argue.
Chaos ensued while they rearranged the canopy, making sure everyone had shade and room, doling out drinks, then rearranging the chairs so that everyone would see the fireworks when they started.
Graham didn’t say much. But the way he looked at his mom—it said enough. His mom was all jumpy and red-faced, trying to avoid Doc Murphy, both tense, barely looking at each other or talking to each other. Because of Nick. He felt like shit. He’d done this to them. In a sick, twisted way, it was seriously cool that they’d sacrifice their happiness for him.
He’d messed this up. Tonight, he was going to fix it.
…
Graham threw some dry sticks on the fire he was building, watching the embers dance to life. The sun was going down, and the fireworks would start soon—just not soon enough. He’d missed Felicity, and this was killing him.
Every time her green eyes met his, he was reminded of all that could be and should be between them. Their kids together like this, laughing and teasing, made it that much harder. Because he loved them all. Felicity, yes, but her kids, too. He’d missed them all.
“You’re awful quiet,” Diana said, nudging him. “What’s up?”
He smiled. “Thin
king.”
“About what?” she asked. “Right this second, spit it out. Don’t think.”
He laughed. “The fire.”
She frowned. “What about the fire?”
“Is it big enough for s’mores?”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re so full of shit.”
“Di, language.” He glanced at Jack, close enough to hear.
“Fine. You are full of piles of poo.”
He laughed again.
“You want to leave?” she asked, her enthusiasm wavering.
He shook his head.
“Liar.” She sighed.
“What is he lying about?” Nick asked, offering him a soda.
Graham took the can. “Thank you.”
“What he’s thinking about,” Di answered.
“Can I talk to you about something, Dr. Murphy?” Nick asked, catching him by surprise. “Alone, Di?”
Di’s brows rose. “Is this the talk? Go easy on him, Dad. He’s young and innocent and all.” She headed back to the canopy.