Tumble (Dogwood Lane #1)(30)

Aerial announces classes are over. The other two groups head into the locker-room area. Before my three girls can take off, I turn to them.

“One more time,” I tell Mia.

She trots to the corner of the mat and takes a steadying breath.

“You can do it!” Madison tells her.

“Use the adrenaline,” Keyarah yells.

Mia laughs, lifting her shoulders, and then sprints across the room and delivers.

“Yay!” I say, clapping. “Good one.”

“Thank you,” she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I can’t wait to show my—Dad!” Her face lights up, and she scurries across the mat, tripping off the edge.

“Don’t hurt yourself now,” I call out, laughing at her decent rebound. As I turn to see her leaping into a set of strong, tanned arms, my breath catches in my throat. Looking at me over the top of her head is a pair of green eyes that can belong to only one person.

Dane.

Oh my gosh.

My heel catches the edge of the mat, and I wobble backward, completely caught off guard.

“Careful, Miss Neely,” Keyarah tells me as she and Madison head to the locker room. I barely hear her over the white noise flooding my ears.

He holds her tight, his hand flat against her back as she hugs him hard. It’s an image I’ll never unsee or forget.

Dane as a father.

Dane as Mia’s father.

The things I said last night rattle through my brain. I cringe, wishing the mat beneath my feet would turn into a hole and swallow me. Guilt swallows me instead.

My chest refuses to expand. As every moment I’ve regretted him sleeping with Katie, as every terrible feeling I’ve had toward her and their child takes this opportunity to come barreling back, I think I might vomit.

Setting Mia back on her feet, he rips his eyes from mine and turns his attention back to his daughter.

His daughter.

Bile bubbles at the base of my throat.

“I did my back tuck, Dad.” Mia’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Miss Neely gives the best pep talks.”

Dane lifts his gaze. There’s no warmth there. It’s filled with an indifference that may as well cut me in half.

“Good job, rascal,” Dane says to Mia. His features change as he gives her a high five. “That calls for some ice cream, don’t you think?”

“Two scoops, okay? Because the back tuck is a big deal.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Two scoops, but they have to be matching scoops. Two vanilla or two bubble gum, because the last time you got two weird flavors . . .”

She rubs her stomach. “Deal.”

They share a laugh that tugs at my heartstrings. I want to interject, to tell him how great she did today, to apologize for last night, but it feels like there is a wall between them and me. A wall built from shame.

She heads into the locker room, leaving Dane and me alone. He jabs a hand in his pocket and starts to turn away.

“Dane—” I call but am interrupted by Keyarah.

“Madison and I are staying all night with you soon,” Keyarah calls from the doorway of the locker room. “And we’re kicking your butt in rummy.”

“You two cheat,” he tells her, making her laugh as he heads toward the door.

“And we’re ordering pizza because you burn it.”

“Once. I burned it once. You have no forgiveness.”

“Nope.” She laughs, skipping back into the locker room.

Mia emerges and hands her bag to her father. She looks at him adoringly before turning to me. “Bye, Miss Neely.”

“Bye, Mia.” I give her my best smile before looking at Dane. I open my mouth to say goodbye, to smile, to do something, but am stopped by the apathetic look he gives me in return.

The door opens, a stream of sunlight coming inside that does nothing to warm my chilled heart.





CHAPTER ELEVEN

DANE

Two plates. Two forks. Two glasses. One frying pan and a cereal bowl from breakfast are freshly washed and drying on a towel beside the sink. Scent from the lavender dish soap that Mia picked out because she liked the color wafts through the kitchen.

The pipes in the ceiling squeal, and the distant sound of the music Mia plays while she showers goes quiet. Her footsteps patter overhead, and it’s just a few moments before I hear her run down the hallway and the door to her room slam shut.

I shake my head. She’s been scared of that hallway her entire life. Only in the last six months or so has she managed to get out of the shower and get to her room without yelling at me to come upstairs. Why I always listen in hopes she’ll call for me is anyone’s guess.

Drying my hands and throwing the towel on the counter, I make my way through the kitchen and living room. I stop and pick up Mia’s gym bag and hang it on the hook I put up for her near the door.

Flipping off the television and turning on a lamp by the sofa, I pause.

Artwork courtesy of my daughter hangs off an old board I fashioned with a few metal clips over the sofa. Pictures of her with her friends from Aerial’s, and a few with me, are framed along the fireplace in the corner. She picked out the blue rug in front of the television—insisting it was perfect for relaxing and that she now needed only a puppy—and the various throw pillows that I’d never choose. But they make her happy. That’s all that matters.