Ego Maniac

My heart dropped. “Yes, you definitely do. I’m always going to be your dad.”

“What will I call Levi then?” The thought of my son calling another man Dad was physically painful. But my own pain didn’t matter.

“I’m sure you, Mom, and Levi will figure that out eventually.”

A few minutes later, Beck asked if he could turn his cartoons back on. He seemed no worse for the wear. I, on the other hand, felt like I’d just done ten rounds in a heavyweight fight with my hands tied behind my back. I was mentally and physically exhausted.

That night, after I dropped Beck back with Alexa, I laid in my bed at the hotel, replaying our conversation over and over. It was important to me that I stood behind the things I’d said to my son today. Kids learned more from what parents did than what they said. I needed to show him I was here for the long haul, especially because I couldn’t control what Levi and Alexa did.

As I attempted to fall asleep, one thing kept nagging at the back of my mind and wouldn’t let me settle. It was something I’d said. While I believed the words to be true, if I was being honest with myself, I wasn’t exactly living up to my own edict. And it had nothing to do with my son.

People don’t leave when they love someone. They stick around forever.

The following morning, my unsettled feeling had sprouted. The root had been there for the last few weeks, but since my talk with Beck, it had grown like a vine and taken up residence in my stomach, my head. And it had coiled around my heart

so tightly I could barely breathe.

I had to drag myself out of bed so I could get to the airport for my flight. In the back of the cab, I checked my departure time and fidgeted. I knew myself, how I could obsess over shit, and I needed to know. Finally giving in, I texted Roman at five in the morning.

Drew: Is she seeing someone?

As always, he responded within a few minutes. He was the only person I knew who required less sleep than I did.

Roman: Thought I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part.

Drew: Just tell me.

Roman: You sure you can handle it?

Jesus Christ. I wasn’t actually so sure I could. If he was asking, it wasn’t good.

Drew: Tell me.

Roman: The neighbor is moving in on her. Sent her some flowers—huge thing of yellow roses. Also took her out to lunch the other day at some fancy place with a big price tag and stupid, tiny food.

Fuck.

Drew: Anything else?

Roman: Started tailing him a bit. Took some woman to dinner last night. Tall. Great legs. Halfway through dinner it looked like they had an argument. She pulled some dramatic shit, standing and throwing the napkin on the table, then stormed off. Think he might have dumped her.

The unsettled feeling in my gut was there for a goddamn reason. I was going to lose her forever if I didn’t get my head out of my ass. Pulling up to the airport, I typed one last text to my friend before exiting the cab.

Drew: Thanks, Roman.

He immediately typed back.

Roman: Go get her. About fucking time.

I was almost as nervous as I’d been yesterday when I had to break the news to Beck. But there was also something different about the way I felt. Determined. No matter what it took, I was going to make Emerie forgive me and give me another chance. I’d fucked up—I could place blame on a million experiences in my life, but the truth of the matter was I’d fucked up. And I was about to start fixing it.

There was an out of order sign in front of two of the elevators in her building. I stood in front of the lone functioning one, tapping my foot as I watched the numbers come down over the doors. It stuck on nine for thirty seconds, then stopped at eight for just as long. I don’t have time for this. I’d already wasted enough time. Looking around, I saw the sign for the stairs and broke into a jog. My heart pounded as I took them two at a time up to the third floor.

Then I was standing in front of Emerie’s door, and it dawned on me for the first time that I had no idea what I was going to say. Two hours on the plane, and I hadn’t come up with an opening statement. Good thing I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy when it comes to oral arguments.

I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and knocked.

When the door opened, I realized how completely unprepared I was.