Page 38 of Make Me

“Daddy!” she says right before she hugs me. Sam is on the side of the bed licking my hand. I get them both out of the room, and I get Ivy ready. After a quick breakfast, she helps me walk Sam, and the three of us get in the car for the short ride to the daycare.

By the time I return home, Laci still hasn’t stirred, so I start breakfast. A few minutes later, I hear the bedroom door open and footsteps approaching.

Her eyes widen when she sees me, and she puts a hand to her chest.

“I woke up to the smell of bacon.” She leans against the wall, as far away from me as possible. “You weren’t due to be home until later.” I open my mouth to respond, but she talks over me and says, “I have to get Ivy ready.”

“Already done,” I yell after her retreating back. “Just got back from dropping her off.”

“Okay. Thank you,” she says, leaning against the wall again.

“You don’t have to thank me.” I leave the bacon on the stove, walk over to her, take her face in both hands, and give her a kiss hot enough to heat up this cold December day. “I missed you.”

“Did you, or did Aunt Mae make it seem like you had to come to my rescue?” The words are sharp. Sharper than anything she’s ever said to me.

“So what if she did?” I say back. “If you need rescuing, I’m going to be here to get the job done.”

“I’m not a job.” She says sadly. “I want to be your partner, not something for you to fix.”

Chapter 23

Laci

He takes a step toward me,and I take another one back. Despite my long night of sleep, I’m still exhausted, and for the first time in a long time, all I want to do is go back to bed.

“Partnership means that I take care of you when you need it. I expect you to do the same for me. Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you, Laces? You’ve shut me out since Saturday.”

“I’m going back to bed.” I take a step back, not willing to address what he just said. I take two steps before he speaks again.

“I’m making breakfast. Your favorite. Bacon, eggs, and pancakes.”

“I’m not hungry.” This time, I turn my back and walk down the hallway to my bedroom. He steps inside before I can close the door, but I climb into the bed and cover my entire body with the comforter.

“I missed you, Laces.” He slides into the bed right behind me. His arm goes around my waist, and he pulls me into his chest. “I love you.” He kisses the side of my neck. Tears pool in my eyes and start to fall before I can wipe them away. “Talk to me.”

My phone vibrates across the nightstand, and I grab it. When I see the number from Ivy’s daycare, I start to panic. My heart drops when Margie tells me Ivy’s sick, and I need to come pick her up.

“Stay,” Cooper says. “Let me go and get her.”

I ignore him and strip out of my pajamas. I grab the closest pair of jeans and sweater and put them on.

“She’s my responsibility, Cooper. Not yours.” I walk out of the bedroom and shut the door. He doesn’t follow me, and when I get to my car, I lay my head on the cold steering wheel. A chill runs through me, and I belatedly realize I didn’t bother to put on a coat.

By the time I make the round trip back home, Cooper’s truck is still in my driveway, and guilt over how I spoke to him earlier hits. I push it down and grab my daughter from her booster seat.

“Tummy hurt,” she says before putting her head on my shoulder.

We step inside the warm house. Sam starts to jump and bark the minute we walk in.

“Hi, Daddy,” Ivy says to Cooper. “Tummy hurt,” she repeats. Cooper comes over, and Ivy reaches for him, jumping out of my arms and into his. He cradles her and kisses her temple.

“You don’t feel warm. Let me put you to bed, and I’ll bring you some medicine, okay?” She nods and lays her head on his shoulder. I follow them into the room and watch while he takes her coat and shoes off and helps her get into bed. Sam takes her usual position on the floor.

“I’ll get it.” I leave the room and grab a bottle of Pedialyte from the kitchen. I give it to Ivy, and I sit on the edge of her bed until she falls asleep. I nearly collide with Cooper on my way out of the room.

“What did you feed her this morning?” I ask him. “She’s never sick.”

“Cereal. The usual,” he says.

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