Getting Real (Getting Some #3)(61)

And for the thousandth time, I’m slammed right in the chest. Not just by how pretty she is but . . . by how fucking sublime it feels to have her here. The way she blends so beautifully into my life—with the people I love the most.

My parents are already enamored with her. It’s there in the warm, affectionate tone of their voices and the gratitude in their eyes when they talk to her.

And I really get that.

Because I’m a father. And if one day one of my kids goes through a brutal end to a relationship, I’ll worry about him. I’ll worry that he’s lonely or hurting or unhappy. And someone like Violet is exactly whom I’d wish for him to find.

A woman who’s loving and genuine—a woman who’ll bring joy back into his life. Back into his heart.

I turn my gaze back to the grill, flipping the burgers and grinning like a goddamn idiot. Because today has been a great day. A perfect day.

Until it’s not.

My phone pings on the counter next to me with an incoming text.

From Stacey.

I’m out front. I want to talk to you.

Awesome. The message every man wants to get from his ex-wife.

“Hey, Garrett.” I jerk my head for him to come over. “Watch the grill. Stacey’s out front, I have to go talk to her.”

My family doesn’t hate my ex-wife—that’s not the kind of people they are—and she’ll always be the mother of my kids. But it’s safe to say she’s not their favorite person on the planet either.

Garrett takes the spatula from my hand and lifts his beer at me.

“Enjoy. I’m sure that’ll be all kinds of fun.”

I slip my T-shirt over my head and walk through the house and out the front door.

Stacey’s silver BMW is parked at the curb. She’s standing next to the passenger-side door, her black shoulder-length hair styled in loose waves, wearing black shorts, sandals, and a sleeveless white blouse. Her manicured toenails and fingernails are painted the same deep red as her lips and the small designer bag that hangs from her wrist.

Objectively, I recognize that she’s a good-looking woman—she always was. But there’s no attraction or fondness for what I see—not even a stirring of nostalgia for the actual good moments we once shared.

What stands out most to me is the hard set of her mouth, her defensive stance, and the sharp narrowing of her eyes as I approach. Everything about her screams annoyed and bitter—and ready for a fight.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I was at my mother’s and I asked the boys if they wanted to go to dinner and they all said no.”

“Yeah, they told me.”

Her voice is clipped and irritated. “I haven’t seen Spencer in three weeks. Brayden and Aaron in over a month. I want them to come to dinner with me and it’d be nice if you’d help me out with that. For once.”

“What do you expect me to do? Hog-tie them and toss them in your trunk? They don’t want to go. And not to be a dick, but they were set to see you Saturday and you blew them off.”

Her eyes flash. “I had to work, Connor! You of all people should understand that.”

“What happened to Sunday? Were you working then too?”

Her handbag swings as she flails her arms. “Excuse me for needing a day to myself. That’s a crime now, I guess.”

I push a hand through my hair, tugging a little.

“I’m not saying it’s a crime. But don’t give me a hard time—or the kids a hard time—if they don’t immediately rearrange their plans because you’ve suddenly decided at the last minute that you feel like taking them out. That’s bullshit.”

Her relationship with the boys has been strained for a while—especially with Aaron. And I know it’s not good, but I can’t really blame them. When Stacey has them, she does what’s convenient for her. She takes them to run errands or to the grocery store, or like a few months ago with Spencer to the nail salon and frigging Nordstrom.

“Well, I’m already here—can I come inside to see them?”

I gesture to the cars parked in front of the house.

“It’s not a good time; my family’s here. And . . . not that it’s any of your business, but I’m seeing someone. She’s here too. I don’t want to make things awkward for her.”

“Not any of my business? It’s my business if she’s around my children.”

I’m actually surprised Spencer hasn’t mentioned Violet to Stacy already. Out of the three boys—he’s the talker.

I shake my head. “Not really.”

Stacey’s dated guys, guys who have met the boys. As long as I don’t hear anything negative about them from the kids, it’s not my business.

But she still folds her arms and shakes her head, tapping her foot like a ticking time bomb ready to pop.

“I want to see my kids, Connor.”

“Well, I’m sorry—it’s not a good day.”

“I want to see my kids, Connor!” she screeches.

“Well, your kids don’t want to see you! Maybe you should ask yourself why that is!”

She flinches. Pain flashes across her face before she has the chance to recover.

And I feel like an asshole.

Because I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to fight with her. I have no desire to hurt her. There’s no satisfaction, or glee—there’s only a sick, sad sensation twisting at my insides that this is what we are to each other now.