Love You More(62)

I hold my breath.

“Yeah?” Mick says.

“I know you’ve been doing so much here. But if Billie and I decide to move forward with guardianship, would it be hard for you to step back?”

“Step back?” Mick blinks.

I shoot Dean a look. He misses it.

“Would you be okay if we ended up pursuing sole custody?”

Mick’s eyes flare, but his voice stays calm. “Yes. As I just said, the ball’s in your court.”

Dean shifts in his chair. “I thought you were talking about court filings. Not real life.”

“Look,” I say. “We all want what’s best for Phoebe—right?”

They both nod.

“So we need to work together here,” I say, looking directly at Dean.

Footsteps pad on the stairs. Phoebe appears in the doorway.

“Are you guys fighting?” she asks, her voice small.

“No,” I say. “We’re just talking.”

She nods, looking unconvinced. “Gram’s in bed.”

“Thank you, honey.”

Phoebe hesitates. “I know I asked if I could sleep over with you, Billie, but I think I should stay here tonight. With Gram.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” I say.

“Can you stay over, too?”

I glance at Dean. “Not tonight, sweetie. But I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

“Okay,” she says, stepping into my arms.

Over her shoulder, Mick meets my gaze, then looks away.



* * *



— As Dean and I enter my parents’ house, Hank barrels out of the kitchen, nails skittering across the hardwood. I kneel on the floor, taking one deep breath of his warm dog smell before clipping on his leash and straightening.

Dean hovers just inside the doorway as if he might step wrong.

I brush past him and down the porch steps, and he follows me into the yard while Hank meanders, nose to the grass. The night presses down.

I wait for Dean to speak, the silence tight between us.

“Are you mad at me?” he finally asks.

“What do you think?” I say. “Tell me how you think that conversation went.”

He blinks. “I thought I was asking a harmless question.”

“It wasn’t harmless, Dean. It felt like a grenade.”

“He heard it the wrong way. Clearly, you both did.”

“Well, what’s that tell you?” I say. “And it’s a hell of a way to show gratitude after all he’s been doing for Joan and Phoebe.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to navigate everything—”

“I know you are. But I need you to dial it back a bit. Right now we need to stabilize things, not make big decisions.”

“I wasn’t trying to make big decisions. I was trying to discuss options.”

“Look, Dean.” I take a breath. “I appreciate that you’re invested in Phoebe’s future. I really do. I’m just asking you to take a beat.”

“I’m trying.”

“Thank you. It means a lot to me that you skipped Bobby’s wedding to be here. But you don’t know Phoebe. You didn’t know Erin. And uprooting an eleven-year-old and plopping her into your two-bedroom Manhattan apartment isn’t a no-brainer.”

Dean’s eyes snap up. “Neither is co-parenting with your ex.”

It lands like a jab.

“That came out wrong,” he says, “but I do get the sense he wants joint custody.”

“No. That’s what Erin wanted.”

“Yet there’s no evidence of that.”

“Joan told us—”

“She’s hardly a reliable source.”

“What are you saying?” I stare at him. “That Mick conspired with an Alzheimer’s patient?”

“I don’t know what’s going on. I feel out of my depth.”

“We all do, Dean. It’s a terrible, tragic situation.”

He meets my gaze for a long beat. “Just tell me you don’t still have feelings for him.”

“Wow,” I say quietly. “Is that what you think is happening here?”

“Just tell me.”

“I don’t have feelings for him,” I say, my voice softening. “I love you.”

“Do you think he has feelings for you?”

“No. I think he has a wonderful girlfriend he barely sees because he’s so busy looking after a child and an elderly woman.”

“I think you’re wrong about that. I see the way he looks at you—”

“That’s not what’s happening here, Dean—”

“And no matter how you slice it, this is a messy tangle. If we’re going to take this on, I think it should be cleaner.”

“Cleaner how?”

His throat works once, twice. “Mick shouldn’t be part of it.”

The porch light flickers overhead; somewhere a sprinkler starts.

He exhales. “I’m just being honest with you—”

“Well, thank you for your honesty.”

We stand there.

Hank tugs me forward, his collar jingling, the sound small in the night air.