My Perfect Fiance (Perfect Guy Book 2) Page 4

  “I’m a bartender,” he snaps. “I was trying to break up some fighting customers.”

  “Right.” Now it’s my turn to snort. “You stink of booze. Drinking on the job, huh? Real responsible.”

  “I just got alcohol on my clothes during the fight.”

  “Oh, yeah? You want me to run a blood alcohol level on you then?”

  Theo is quiet. He knows damn well he’s been drinking.

  “Bailey deserves a better husband than a guy who gets drunk and cheats on her.” I fold my arms across my chest. “And Lily deserves a father who isn’t a loser that stands her up half the time.”

  I get a lump in my throat when I say that last part. I know exactly what it’s like to have a dad who’s a loser, who never shows up anywhere he’s supposed to be. No kid should have to go through that. As much as it hurt when my father took off when I was ten without even saying goodbye, it was a relief to stop getting let down by him over and over. To actually be able to get a new pair of shoes to replace my old worn ones with a big hole over the toe, because for once, my father hadn’t squandered our bank account.

  “Don’t bring Lily into this,” Theo says. “It’s none of your business, Walsh.”

  “Maybe not,” I say. “And you’re lucky, because it was up to me, you’d never see Lily again.”

  I don’t mean that. If I could snap my fingers, I wouldn’t take Lily’s father away from her. It’s just hard to watch her face every time he disappoints her. And maybe there’s a threat there too. Start being a better father… or else.

  My words get to Theo. He stares at me with venom in his eyes, even as the blood is dripping down his forehead. I square my shoulders and make a solid fist with my right hand, ready in case this guy tries to attack me. We’ve got security guards, but they wouldn’t be here fast enough. I could take Theo, but I’ve got to be ready for him. I don’t have balance on my side.

  “Lily is my daughter, not yours,” he growls at me. “And Bailey is my wife. You are not going to take them from me. I promise you that.”

  “It’s too late, buddy.” I take a step back, holding onto the doorframe. “I’ll get Dr. Cross to see you. That’s a nasty wound on your forehead.”

  Theo looks like he’s got more to say to me, but before he can get the words out, I’m out the door.

  Chapter 7: Bailey

  My mouth is dry. There’s a problem with Lily? What could the problem be? Lily is perfect. She’s absolutely perfect.

  Well, no. She’s not absolutely perfect. She is stubborn as all hell. She once made me make her five different dinners in one night because the first four were somehow unacceptable, and I gave in because I had a splitting headache and it was easier to just do it than listen to her cry. She wakes up at the crack of dawn even on weekends, for Christ’s sake.

  But no child is perfect. Lily is wonderful. I love her more than I ever thought it would be possible to love another human being, and it’s hard to believe other people don’t feel the exact same way. How could Mrs. Babcock say there’s a problem?

  “Oh?” I manage.

  “She can’t pay attention,” Mrs. Babcock says, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “When the other kids are listening to the lessons, she’s looking elsewhere. Singing or just staring at the window. Or worse, she distracts the other kids.”

  I swallow. “She sings during class?”

  “Not loudly. But enough to tell me she’s not paying attention.” Mrs. Babcock shakes her head. “And yesterday, during Book Time, she was sitting with her book upside-down.”

  That sounds like a classic Lily move. Silly Lily, I call her sometimes.

  “I was trying to ignore it at the beginning of the year,” she continues. “But now it’s affecting her academically.”

  I shift in my tiny seat. I wish she’d given me an adult-sized chair. How hard would that have been? Instead, I’m an entire head shorter than the teacher as she tells me what a failure my child is, implying what a failure I am as a mother. “What do you mean?”

  The teacher frowns. “Lily is falling behind on her reading. We’ve had to put her in a special group for children who are struggling with their reading.”

  Lily is falling behind. She is being singled out for special help. I can’t believe this. Tears spring to my eyes. “Do you think she’s dyslexic?”

  “No, I don’t get that sense.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “Bailey,” Mrs. Babcock says, “do you read with Lily every night?”

  “Yes!” I cry. “Every night!”

  “And how does it go?”

  Now I feel my cheeks grow warm. I got a class email from Mrs. Babcock at the beginning of the year, saying that our kids should read to us for twenty minutes each day. So I took out some books from the library, and sat with Lily to read.

  And it was… so… painful.

  Lily hates to read. She would spend the first half-hour complaining about how pointless it all was, and I’d have to convince her that she couldn’t get through life without learning how to read. After that was done and we cracked open the book, she got restless immediately. I’d have to point to the same word ten times, then she’d look at me blankly like she wasn’t sure what I wanted her to do. She would shift in her seat, flopping back and forth. At one point, she took a toilet paper roll and tried to read through it like it was a telescope.

  And if she didn’t know a word, she refused to try to sound it out. She’d make a half-hearted attempt, then whine and sob until I told her the word.

  I bought a book called Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Lessons. I started at the beginning of the book, working our way through the lessons. Lily hated those lessons though. She would cry and scream, and refuse to work with me. So I tried a different book on how to teach your kid to read, and then a third… and a fourth. None of them really helped.

  But I never gave up trying. Every night we would sit down and try to read together, even if it meant Lily would get frustrated and I’d lose my patience. But since Mrs. Babcock never said anything, I assumed she was still on target for her age.

  Apparently not.

  “It’s very difficult to read with her,” I admit. “She hates it and…”

  I hang my head. Even though I couldn’t afford it, I should have hired a special tutor when I realized I was struggling at teaching her to read. Or I should have pushed her harder. I’m really all she’s got—it was up to me to teach her how to read, and I failed her. I’m the worst mother ever.

  Mrs. Babcock’s eyes soften. “It can be very challenging to read with a young child. And I know Lily can be… especially headstrong.”

  “I can do better,” I promise. “I know I can. Does she really need to be in the special class?”

  “Please don’t look at it as a punishment.” She tucks a strand of her dark brown bob behind her ear. “There’s no stigma associated with this reading group. Lily needs this boost right now, and I think it will help her.”

  Maybe she’s right. But I can’t shake the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  I’ve failed. I thought I could be a good mother all by myself, but it’s obvious I haven’t been keeping it together as well as I thought.

  “In many ways though, Lily is a delight to have in class,” Mrs. Babcock says, offering me a conciliatory smile. “Lately, she’s been very interested in insects, and she’s been sharing facts she learned about them. The other kids are fascinated.”

  I manage a tiny smile. The one achievement Lily’s made in the last year is courtesy of Noah. “My fiancé got her interested in insects.”

  “Is this… Noah? The one who picked her up from school a few weeks ago?”

  I nod.

  For the first time since I sat down in this miniature chair, the teacher’s face lights up in a genuine grin. Not at all an atypical reaction from women when it comes to Noah. “Lily talks about him all the time. Noah this, Noah that. I think she may have a crush.”

  “Yeah.” Welcome
to the club.

  “Although…” She hesitates. “Lily’s been telling the class that he’s a robot. I’m not sure exactly where that came from…”

  Well, this is awkward. But while I didn’t tell Elise, I should tell Lily’s teacher. I don’t want my daughter to be accused of lying.

  “Noah, um…” My chair creaks. “He’s a double amputee and uses prosthetic legs. So that’s what she’s referring to.”

  She manages to keep her composure, but all the color drains out of Mrs. Babcock’s round face. “Oh! That’s… awful. I’m so sorry.”

  Noah hates the “I’m sorry” reaction, and I’ve grown to hate it too. “No need to be sorry. He’s got the robot legs, like Lily said.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  I can’t read the expression Mrs. Babcock’s face. I’ve noticed women react one of two ways when they find out Noah’s situation. Some of them back off. Others like him even better because they think he’s so brave for what he’s been through. And also, the prosthetic legs are cool. I think so, anyway.

  A ding sounds from Mrs. Babcock’s desk, which makes me jump about a foot in the air. Apparently, our ten minutes are up. This must be how she keeps on schedule so well.

  Lily’s teacher rises to her feet, and I do so too with considerable more difficulty, considering I’m coming from about a foot off the ground. She offers me her outstretched arm.

  “I know you’ll turn this around, Bailey,” she says.

  Damn straight I will.

  Chapter 8: Noah

  I got lucky. The doctor taking the shift after mine, Kat Hayes, comes in a little early and is willing to relieve me half an hour earlier than expected. I thank her profusely, while she points out all the shifts I’ve been willing to trade with her due to her son being sick or other child-related emergencies. It’s easy to be a good coworker when you don’t have a family at home that relies on you. That’s about to change for me, but I don’t intend to be one of those unreliable slackers. I hate people like that.

  I’m frustrated as hell by this pain. I’ve never been pain-free for one moment since my accident, and it’s something I’ve learned to live with. It’s a constant companion in my life—I can’t imagine being with it anymore. And it’s been this bad before, but that’s always been when I’ve been pushing myself. I haven’t been pushing myself lately. I’ve been doing what I always do, but the pain is worse.

  Maybe it has something to do with living with Bailey and Lily. Even though Bailey swears she doesn’t care, I still keep my legs on more now that they’re living with me. It used to be that I’d take them off immediately as soon as I got home from an ER shift, but now I find myself hesitating.

  I’ve got to get over that.

  It scares the shit out of me. I always knew there was an expiration date on my time on my feet. It takes a lot of energy and balance to walk with two above-knee prosthetics. I figured by the time I was sixty, it would be unlikely I’d still be able to walk. Now sixty is a pipe dream. I’ll be lucky if I’m still on my feet at forty.

  No. Can’t think that way. I just need a break.

  When I get off the elevator in my building, I’m holding onto the wall to make it down the hallway. I feel a surge of relief when I get to my apartment door and turn the key in the lock.

  Until I discover Bailey isn’t home.

  The babysitter, a perky girl in her early twenties named either Maggie or Maddie or maybe Molly jumps up from the sofa, where she’s been watching an episode of New Girl. I know it isn’t that late, but I’m jealous of how energetic she seems right now. Her blue eyes are bright, and she looks like she’s ready to hit up a bar right after this.

  “Hi, Noah!” she chirps.

  “Hi…” I take a stab at it: “Maggie.”

  “Renee,” she says.

  Wow, I was way off.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “How’s it going, Renee?”

  “Great!” She rounds the couch to where I’m standing. “Lily was great. Sound asleep. No trouble at all.”

  “Fantastic.” I clear my throat. “Um, what do we owe you for babysitting tonight?”

  “Forty dollars.”

  I grab my wallet from my back pocket, and pull out two twenties and a ten. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks!” She pockets the money. I want her to get out, but she hesitates. “Do you want me to stick around till Bailey gets back?”

  I stare at her. Why would I want that? She’s a babysitter, and the “baby” is fast asleep. So why would I want her here?

  Or maybe I shouldn’t ask stupid questions.

  “Nope. Thanks, Renee.”

  “Okay.” She lingers though, a coy smile playing on her lips, her white hands clasped together. “By the way… Lily was playing with that wheelchair you have by the door.”

  “Oh.” I’m not thrilled, but I did tell Lily she could wheel around in my chair in the apartment if I wasn’t using it (although only if I was present). She finds it fun. Yes, it’s fun if you don’t need it. “That’s okay.”

  She crinkles her nose. “What do you have that wheelchair for anyway?”

  I could lift the leg of my scrub pants and show her. But that would precipitate a barrage of questions that would eliminate any possibility of getting this girl out the door in the next thirty seconds. So I shrug. “Thanks for your help tonight, Renee.”

  I have to nearly shove her out the door, but once she’s gone, I can finally relax. I pull off both my legs and collapse into my chair. The pain doesn’t go away, but it reduces from a scream to a whimper. I can live with this.

  I grab myself a beer from the fridge and settle down to watch some television. After fifteen minutes, I’ve polished off my beer, but I don’t go for another. I never, ever have more than one drink. And when I’m in pain, I resist taking anything stronger than a Tylenol or a muscle relaxant unless I really can’t stand it. I’ve got the same bottle of Vicodin I filled two years ago.

  My father was (and presumably still is, if he’s still alive) an alcoholic. On top of that, I look like he did when he was my age. And I might have his shitty cholesterol. I don’t want to know what else I inherited from that loser. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to be a better person than he was.

  I have done better than he has so far. I’ve got a steady, decent job. I’ve been a good boyfriend to Bailey. I’ve had more shit to deal with than he ever did, and I’ve come out okay.

  But I never drink that second beer. Never.

  Half an hour after I settle down on the sofa, I start looking down at my watch. Where the hell is Bailey? The parent-teacher conferences must have ended at least an hour ago. I get a sick feeling in my stomach—is she okay?

  I reach for my phone in the shirt pocket of my scrubs, preparing to text her. But before I can, the lock turns on our front door. Bailey stumbles in, red-eyed. I watch her as she grabs a beer of her own and plops down beside me on the sofa.

  I flick off the television. “You okay?”

  She drops her head against the sofa. “I’m an awful mother. I’ve neglected Lily.”

  I frown. “What are you talking about? Lily isn’t neglected.”

  “When you were a kid Lily’s age,” she says, “did your mom teach you how to read?”

  “Uh, I don’t remember.”

  That’s a lie. My mother was just as obsessed as I was about me becoming a better person than my father, so she made sure I was always over-prepared when it came to school. She sat down with me every night to do my homework, followed by reading and then extra math. It could have been stressful if she were a different kind of mother, but she always made it fun for me. And then at the end, she’d say, If you study hard, you can be whatever you want, Noah. You could be President!

  Well, I’m not the President. But at least I’m a doctor. That’s not too bad.

  So I was always at the top of my class academically, thanks to my mom. And by the time I was in high school, the study techniques were so ingrained, she didn’t have t
o do much anymore.

  “Lily is falling behind in school,” Bailey says. “The teacher says she’s putting her in a special reading class.” She turns to me with her red-rimmed eyes. “It’s all my fault.”

  “It’s not all your fault.” This time I’m not lying. I’ve seen Bailey trying to study and read with Lily, and it’s not pretty. After half an hour, both of them are on the brink of tears. Lily knows how to push all of Bailey’s buttons. “You’re always trying to help her. Lily is great, but she can be challenging to work with.”

  “I don’t know what to do, Noah.”

  I slide over to get closer to her on the sofa, careful to keep the empty ends of my scrub pants from getting twisted. I put my arm around her and she drops her head against my shoulder, sighing. It’s awful that Bailey is upset, but I like getting to be the one to comfort her.

  I’ve already decided not to tell her about Theo showing up in the ER. There’s no reason she needs to know that, and it won’t change a thing. But the fact that Theo is Lily’s dad explains why she felt so alone while raising her daughter. Who could trust that guy to do anything?

  “I thought I’d be a better mom with you around,” she murmurs. “Because you make us both so happy…”

  She makes me happy too. I might not be exactly where I wanted to be at this point in my life, but I’m with the person I want to be with.

  “Listen,” I say. “Do you want me to read with her?”

  She blinks a few times and lifts her head off my shoulder. “You?”

  I shrug. “Sure, why not? I bet Lily will behave if I read with her.”

  “Don’t get me wrong—Lily adores you. But you might be underestimating how much she hates to read.”

  An idea pops into my head and I can’t help but smile. This will work—I’m sure of it. “Don’t worry. I bet I can get her to read.”

  Chapter 9: Bailey

  Noah offered to drop Lily and me off at the bus stop this morning. I’ve heard in the suburbs, the school bus stops right outside your door, but not so in Manhattan. It’s a ten-minute walk to get to our assigned stop, which is right in front of a supermarket. The benefit of that is we can huddle inside the supermarket for warmth on frigid days. And the stop is around the corner from the subway I take to get to work.