Page 11 of Monochrome Without You
Once they’re gone, I shove a hand into my pocket. “I’m sorry Tate acted out.”
Georgie tilts her head. “It happens more often than you’d think.”
“Jules and I… we try so hard to give him as normal a life as possible.” I exhale, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “But going between houses, things get lost.”
Her gaze softens. “Of course.” She hesitates, then folds her arms. “Can I offer a suggestion?”
I nod.
“Tate has made it very clear to his teacher that he craves family time withbothhis parents.” Her voice is gentle, but the words hit like a sledgehammer. “I know that’s not always easy when parents are divorced, but it might benefit him to do something every once in a while with Mom and Dad together.”
I feel a lump form in my throat. Tate wants more time with both of us. And we’re too wrapped up in our own shit to see it.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Georgie gives me a tight-lipped smile and motions toward the door. “If you need anything, I’m always here to help.”
I thank her before heading outside.
When I reach my car, Jules is leaning against the driver’s side door, her shoulders trembling. Tears streak down her face as Tate watches from the backseat.
She doesn’t even notice me until my arms wrap around her. She buries her face in my chest, fingers hooking around my shoulders like she needs something to hold onto.
Her breath shakes. “S-someone hit him.” The words come out in a choked whisper, her body practically folding into mine. “Someone hit him.”
I press my lips to the top of her head, pulling her closer.
I wish I could fix this.
I wish I could take the pain from her. From Tate.
But I don’t know how.
So I just hold her.
And don’t let go.
Chapter Three
Jules
“Are we going to talk about why your ex-husband showed up here this morning?” Sarge crosses his arms over his chest, watching me like he already knows the answer. “And why he dropped you and Tate off this afternoon?”
I scratch my nose, avoiding his gaze as I adjust a tray of coffee beans. “Family stuff.”
Sarge scoffs, rolling his green eyes. “He ended your marriage, Jules. Why are you hanging around with him?”
Wednesday afternoons are slow. Quiet enough that I can rearrange plants and tables and paintings—anything to make the space feel alive again. I hate when things stay in one place for too long.
I pick up a small fiddle-leaf fig in a pink ceramic pot, avoiding the conversation.
Sarge doesn’t let me.
“Tate got into a fight,” I remind him.
“Yeah, I’m aware.” His tone sharpens. “But why did Corbin show up here this morning? Why did he drive you to the school? Why did he drop you off? Unless…” His voice trails off.
I still. “Unless what?”
