“You wouldn’t have slept with me if you were married,” I say with certainty. “So you’re either separated or divorced. You’re most definitely not seeing anyone, or you wouldn’t have a condom in your wallet. You’re not that type of guy.”
There’s that flash again, and it’s most definitely irritation. “You don’t know anything about me anymore. I could be that type of guy.”
I shake my head. “No. You’d never be that type of guy. At your core, you’re too honorable.”
Ladd scrubs his hand over his face, eyes flitting to the window. He’s collecting his thoughts, and I wait to see what he wants to discuss. I wait for him to ask me why I showed up at his place all those years ago.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he stands and glances back down at me. “I need to go. I want to get a flight back to Pittsburgh tonight.”
And just like that, it’s over.
Without another word, he moves into the bathroom and shuts the door. I scramble off the bed, pulling my clothes on. I wear them like armor and move into the main living area. I wait by the window that overlooks the parking lot. Somewhere down there, Ladd most likely has a car he’ll take to the airport to catch a flight back to his life in Pittsburgh.
I hear him come out of the bathroom, the sound of him getting dressed. I keep my eyes pinned on the parking lot.
“Greer,” he says from behind me, and I turn to see him at the edge of the short hall that leads to the door. He has car keys in hand.
I stand where I am, knowing inherently he doesn’t want a goodbye hug or for me to make this awkward.
“Safe travels,” I say with a smile.
“You too,” he replies. My heart squeezes when I see the indecision in his eyes and know it’s causing him pain.
I don’t want him to have another painful moment at my expense.
“I’m okay,” I say with a nod toward the door. “You should go.”
For a moment, he holds my eyes and then nods at me.
I’m already turning to look out the window before the door shuts behind him.
CHAPTER 9
Ladd
Rinsing out my coffee cup, movement out the window over the sink catches my eye. A dark gray Tahoe is coming up my driveway. It snowed early this morning, but only a few inches accumulated. I hear the crunch of the snow and gravel as the Tahoe pulls onto the parking pad in front of the porch.
My heart rate picks up with joy as the passenger door opens and my son, Ethan, bounds out with his backpack slung over one shoulder. He’s got sunny-blond hair like his mom, worn a bit too long for my taste as former military, but I indulge his desire for individuality. I can’t see them from here, but he has my blue eyes.
Britney gets out of the driver’s seat and comes around the front of the Tahoe, her heavy winter coat doing nothing to hide her rounded belly that comes into view before the rest of her. She has a hand at her lower back, and I know from watching her pregnancy with Ethan that it hurts.
I’m turning from the window when Ethan bursts through the front door and yells, “Dad! I’m home.”
He looks right into the living room and then left into the kitchen, sees me, and tears around the island. Christ, he’s getting big and nearly bowls me over as he throws himself at me. I pick him up—glad for my strength that I can heft my ten-year-old who still thinks it’s cool to hug his parents.
Ethan’s arms band tight around my neck for a moment.
“Missed you, kid,” I say gruffly.
“Missed you too,” he replies, then he’s squirming to be let down. Affection time is over.
My eyes go to the backpack he tossed on the floor, and I nod at it. “You know it doesn’t go there.”
“Right.” His grin is impish, and he runs back into the foyer and grabs the pack just as Britney walks in. He runs up the stairs and disappears from sight.
Britney closes the door and smiles fondly up the staircase after him before turning my way. “I swear they ply that kid with meth at school. I don’t know where that energy comes from.”
I snicker and move her way, bending to place a light kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for picking him up for me.”
“No problem,” she replies lightly, not bothering to remove her coat. She’s not staying because we’re no longer married, but we have remained very good friends. A relationship that many marvel at and most can’t understand.
Britney and I called it quits when Ethan was just five, but we did so with a deep commitment to doing our best to keep Ethan happy. We felt the only way to achieve that was to co-parent with open hearts and a vow to keep any animosity that might brew up—because let’s face it, there’s a reason people get divorced—between ourselves, and never in front of him.
It’s worked out well.
Better than well, actually, as the divide that broke our marriage seemed to mend once we divorced and settled in as nothing more than friends. We stayed in the DC area until last year when Britney wanted to move to Pittsburgh because her new husband, Ben, got a great job offer. He’s a surgeon, now working at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center.
Up until then, I worked as an analyst in the headquarters at Langley, having left behind my career in clandestine affairs when I married Britney. I wanted a family more than the adventure, and I was ready to settle down.
But when Britney told me about Ben’s new job and that they were moving, I knew there was no way I was going to be separated from my son, even if it was a quick flight. Our custody arrangement is loose and laid-back, and if I want to see Ethan on any day that she has him, I’m welcome to do so. Same goes for her. There was no way I was going to miss baseball games and chances to help with homework or deprive him of any need he might have of me.
So I left the CIA and joined Jameson, and I’ve not regretted my decision once. Ethan is the most important thing in my life. Where he goes, so do I.
My son bounds down the stairs, taking two at a time. Britney chastises him, but I just grin at his energy and absolute disregard for safety.
That’s what boys do.
“Give me a hug,” Britney demands, and because Ethan is a sweet kid who loves his mother the way he loves me, he gives her a good one.
“Can I play Fortnite, Dad?” he asks once released from his mother’s hold.
I glance at my watch. “Thirty minutes, then it’s on to homework.”
“Awww… come on,” he protests. “An hour.”
“You heard your dad,” Britney chimes in, giving him a stern look. “Accept your thirty minutes graciously, or you can start your homework now.”
Ethan’s eyes come to mine, but I nod toward his mom. “What she said. Thirty minutes, then homework.”
Huffing his disappointment, he moves into the living room. When his back is turned, Britney holds out her fist. I bump mine against it.
One of the things we agreed upon early when we separated is that we would be united in all decisions and would never let Ethan play us against one another. The Golden Rule is when a parent lays down a rule in the house, the other supports it. If we disagree, we discuss it in private and adjust as necessary. Britney and I have remained a united parental block, and in my opinion, Ethan has flourished under the consistency, despite the fact he has divorced parents.