Written with Regret (The Regret Duet #1)(42)

Lying to my daughter and spending two nights a week with Hadley for the next six months was not my idea of a perfect situation, but it didn’t scare the absolute hell out of me the way the idea of Hadley’s picking her up every other weekend did.

So, with that in mind, I extended my hand toward her and muttered, “Deal.” And then my body turned to stone when she threw her arms around my neck, her whole front becoming flush with mine, her breasts pillowing between us in a manner I never should have noticed.

“Oh my God! Caven, thank you so much!”

I sucked in a sharp breath, unsure of what to do—or how I felt about being that close to her. Only that wasn’t totally true. I felt more for Hadley than I ever should have—even if I didn’t understand why.

Maybe it was because I felt like I could relax now that I’d bought myself six months of security.

Maybe it was because, after everything that had happened in the past, I liked seeing her happy.

Maybe it was because I secretly liked the way she felt in my arms.

Whatever the reason, I didn’t set her away as she celebrated her victory.

“I swear to you. You won’t regret this. I’m going to make this right,” she promised, tightening her arms around my neck.

I wasn’t positive she was right, and a part of me still very much wished she’d take off and never look back.

But as I stood in the middle of her tropical oasis, her deep-red hair complete with purple paint streaked through the top tickling my nose as she bounced and laughed, not crying, not afraid, not haunted by the past, I felt a hint of victory too.

Fucked. Totally and royally.

But victorious nonetheless.





HADLEY


“She’s going to love you,” I told myself as I stood at Caven’s front door, smoothing my unwrinkled fitted T-shirt for the tenth time. The nerves buzzing inside me probably could have been measured on the Richter scale. Given the security gate he’d left open for me, I was sure he had cameras aimed at his front door, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

I was freaking out.

Over the four days since he’d left my house with paint covering his shirt, I’d been beside myself awaiting this moment. But, now that it had arrived, I couldn’t bring myself to lift my fist to knock.

Beth had drawn up the papers agreeing to six months of supervised visitation and had them couriered to Caven’s attorney before she’d fired me as a client. She’d rehired me about ten minutes later when I’d told her I’d finally grab a martini with her at this God-awful hoity-toity bar she’d been talking about for weeks.

Caven had texted me two days later with our new schedule. He hadn’t asked if it worked for me, but I worked from home and didn’t have much of a life outside of catering to Beth’s best-friend-and-wing-lady needs, so my schedule was wide open. He’d decided on Wednesdays from five to seven and Saturdays from one to three.

It wasn’t enough. But it was a start.

Flexing my hands at my sides, I practiced what I would say when he opened the door. Funny enough, I wasn’t really all that nervous about seeing Rosalee. She’d been an absolute angel when I’d met her at her birthday party. Even if she was a spoiled brat, I already loved her with my entire soul.

It was seeing Caven again that had me on edge.

I wasn’t sure what version of the man I’d get that night. I hoped like hell it was the one who laughed and smiled. Or even the one who gave me lip twitches and chuckles as I dealt with my crochety neighbor.

But the one time I’d seen Rosalee in his presence, I’d gotten nuclear Caven.

I wasn’t real eager for a repeat performance from that guy.

My palms were sweating as I reached for the doorbell, but before I had the chance to press it—or, more than likely, chicken out again—the door swung open.

Ian nearly plowed me over. “Shit. Sorr—” He didn’t finish as his face filled with recognition—and disgust.

“Hi,” I squeaked. “I’m Hadley.”

“So I’ve heard.”

When he didn’t move or invite me in, I prattled out, “Is, um…Caven here?”

“He is.”

Again. No moving. No inviting. Just lots of judgmental staring.

“Any chance I could talk to him? He’s expecting me.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Why are you here?”

I knew what he was asking. I also knew I was going to pretend I didn’t.

Pointing to my bag filled to the brim with new arts and crafts supplies, I replied, “I’m here to teach Rosalee about art.”

“Why?” He stretched that one syllable out as if he thought I was hard of hearing or just plain dumb.

Again. I knew what he was asking, but…

“Well, because art is known to bolster creativity in children. And I know what you’re thinking—that seems pretty obvious. But did you know it also improves academic performance, enhances fine motor skills, and has even been shown to strengthen decision-making skills and focus? With the cutbacks in art programs in schools all across our country, hiring a private instructor is the only way to ensure your child is exposed to the arts as early as possible. Truly, I applaud Caven for making such a wise and bold decision for Rosalee’s wellbeing.” I finished with a grin to really sell it.