“Where should I be?”
“Can you ever answer a question?”
“Can you?” She crawled across the bed. I spread my legs and settled my hands on her stomach once she was nestled between them.
“What else is good?”
She leaned her head against my shoulder. “Why do I like this so much?” she asked against my cheek.
“Why are you fighting it so hard?” I kissed her forehead.
“You know why.”
“Because of someone who’s never coming back.” She wiggled in my hold, but I refused to let her go. “Do you want to be happy, Wicked?”
“I only remember what that looks like. Not how to do it.”
“Let me remind you.” I brushed my lips against her neck. She relaxed a fraction.
“It’s wrong.”
“We’re right. Who else could put up with me?”
“What makes you think I can?” Her hands rested on top of mine. “Or that I want to?”
I nibbled her ear. “You wouldn’t be here right now if you didn’t.”
“I’m here for the free vacation.”
“Free? I’m sending you a bill when we get back.”
“You’re an ass,” she said half-heartedly.
“Which is why you love me.”
She twisted around. “I do not love you.”
I pressed my mouth to hers to cover up the sting. “You know what I meant, Wicked. I understand your feelings or rules, whatever they are, perfectly.”
“If you did, you’d leave me alone.”
“It’s exactly why I can’t.” I turned her, so that her back rested against my front once more. I buried my face in her neck.
“Patrick.”
“Tell me how you see this playing out.”
“We’re not”—a moan escaped her—“going to play family.”
I nipped the crook of her neck. “We are a family.” I sank my teeth into her earlobe. “This one, you picked.”
“I didn’t choose you.”
“Did I force you into my bed?”
“I’m not sure.”
I froze and tipped her chin. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Let’s go ride the ferry.”
“What?” She looked at me like I’d grown another head.
Maybe I had.
I motioned to the fading form down the street. “Your dad has Blake for the night. Did you have big plans back over in Jersey?”
She nibbled her lip, stared past me at Dino’s. Marlow was all confidence, all the time. This uncertainty—vulnerability—threw me a curve.
“Come on.” I linked my arm through hers. “Whatever you were going to do wouldn’t be nearly as fun as hanging out with me.”
For a few steps, I dragged her, but she finally walked beside me.
“I haven't been on the ferry in ages.”
I nearly tripped at the hint of excitement in her voice. It wasn’t much, but it was there. And that spurred me on.
“You’re missing out.” I wasn’t sure if it was the breeze or the water or what. Even if I was going nowhere, riding that boat helped to clear my head. I hoped it helped clear hers too.
“Seems to be my specialty,” she mumbled under her breath.
“No time like the present to join the fun.” I hated the sadness she wore like a cloak. Hated that she was on her own and withdrawn from her family. Tonight was the first time she’d been to Sunday dinner in ages.
“I don’t remember what that is.” Her tone was so soft, I almost didn’t hear her.
“Let’s see what we can do to change that.”
“You have a way of getting people to do what you want.”
“Not that.”
“Especially that. You made me forget I wasn’t supposed to do that. I cheated on my husband.”
“He’d been dead for almost two years,” I said incredulously. She recoiled. “I—fuck. I really hate that guy.”
She looked as if I’d slapped her. “You didn’t even know him.”
“I know he’s cock-blocking me from my kid.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I do want to live with you, Marlow. But not in that haunted house.” I set her to the side and shot out of the bed. “I want to live with our little girl. You’re going to fight me every step. Keep me from her.” I plowed a hand though my hair. “I’m trying to make this difficult situation easier. But you won’t help me even an inch.”
I couldn’t look at her anymore. I stormed from the bedroom out the back door. What did the woman want from me? I’d given her more than I ever had given anyone. I was willing to do whatever she wanted as long as it involved seeing my gummy as much as possible.
It never once occurred to me I’d have a family. I sure as hell never thought it would include a dead man.
Chapter Thirty-One
Marlow
“You should have a week. I should have a week. With the understanding we can see her whenever we want.”
I leaned against the island. Patrick stirred something on the stove and turned down the stereo. “Ain’t No Way” by Aretha Franklin played softly. I tried not to read too much into his music choice.
“She speaks.”
This was not the amicable man who’d brought me here. Somehow, in this small house, we’d managed to avoid each other or give each other the silent treatment. He’d moved to the couch. I hated that. Just the sounds of someone sleeping alongside me was something I’d missed—craved—desperately. And now he’d taken that away.
“Does that work for you?” I asked him.
“It’s too much time apart.”
“It isn’t practical to move her around every other day. Or even a half week. And like I said, we agree to visitation whenever one of us wants.”
“We try it for six months, then we assess and renegotiate if it’s not working.”
“Fair enough.” I climbed onto a barstool. “I want her to have my last name.”
The spatula clattered on the counter. Fury blazed back at me. “No. She’s a Whitley. The end.”
“We’ll hyphenate then,” I said casually.
“She is not having his last name. If you want to do Dixon-Whitley, I’ll consider it. Anything else is out. Non-negotiable.” He stabbed at what he was cooking aggressively.
“Dixon-Whitley would be okay.”
He tossed me an incredulous look over his shoulder before all I had was his back again.
“Holidays—”
“We spend all of them together.”
I shifted in my
