Summiting the peak, I set the stroller’s brakes and commence my search. Nothing on the steps or the sidewalk. I inspect the ground closer to the house.

One of the windows above my head is cracked open, just an inch or two. Classic New England style, gotta have fresh air, even in autumn weather. I hear voices inside, but very faintly. That’s good—if they’re in the back of the house, they won’t see me skulking around here. No card case in sight. I’m about to move to the other side of the steps when the voices rapidly get louder.

I freeze.

Nick’s voice is cold. “They’re adults. I won’t be your go-between any longer.”

Then a woman’s voice that can only belong to Simone. “You’re really going to ruin this?”

I’ve got to get away from here.

They must be standing right by the window. If I move, I’ll draw their attention.

If I move, I won’t hear what they’re saying.

“This… what?”

“This chance. I came here to re-ignite the spark between us.”

My stomach turns over.

“I thought you came to support Amelie at her concert.”

She laughs. “You are so singular. I can accomplish both with one task.”

“Task?”

“Don’t do this, Nick. Don’t analyze my words and give them more meaning than they have.”

“I’m a task? Your daughter is a task?”

“I won’t let you do this, Nick.”

“Do what?”

“Make me feel less.”

“Maybe we have more in common than I thought.”

“Yes?”

“Because I won’t let you make me feel like less of person either, Simone.”

I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t. But my heart surges in Nick’s favor, as if it’s cheering for him. His voice is tight, full of anger and regret, emotions he’s never shown me, and a tiny piece of me is jealous.

Jealous that his ex can elicit that kind of reaction from him.

Why do I want men I can’t have?

Suddenly the wind rustles a small pile of dead leaves in the corner, and I see a silvery sheen underneath the brown. My card case! I bend down, and just as my fingers close on it, the front door opens fast and slams shut. I look up to see Nick come shooting out the door and down the steps, but he isn’t expecting a baby stroller to be parked directly in his path, and he runs right into it.

Nick trips, and regains his balance. But the force of his stumbling into the stroller jolted Holly awake. She bellows as he rights the carriage, reflexes kicking in with military precision, the baby never in danger.

He looks around and sees me. He is completely vulnerable, a thousand emotions flashing through his strong face, a rawness to his movements and expressions I’ve never seen before.

I hold my breath from the intensity.

I was wrong.

I guess I can elicit that kind of reaction in him.

“Come on,” he says, and takes off down the hill, pushing my daughter with him, holding on to the carriage like it’s a lifeline.

What else can I do?

I follow.

Nick

Holly stares up at me from her stroller with eyes that trust the world.

Chloe looks at me with eyes devoid of trust.

Half-blind with rage, shaking like I’m primed for battle, I navigate the sidewalks, moving the carriage around trash bins and recycling containers, until we’re on our way to a park down the street. I need air. Space. Land.

“Nick!” Chloe gasps from behind. “Slow down!”

I’m half a block ahead of her, the baby beneath me in the stroller, her little fists settling on top of her blanket, eyes closed.

I stop and close my eyes. I see my pulse, like a visual bass drum, the colors behind my eyelids a symphony in blood.

“Here.” She peels my fingers off the handle, taking my place, one hand on the stroller, the other slipping Holly’s exposed hands under the thick blankets. Chloe rights the baby’s pacifier and moves forward, eyes straight ahead, not looking at me.

“Can we talk?” I ask, realizing I haven’t extended that basic respect to her. The image of Simone’s self-satisfied smirk won’t leave me.

“What’s there to talk about?” she asks, facing me dead on, eyes accusing.

Everything.

“Plenty.”

She nods, slowly, blinking hard as if fighting tears. Her cheeks go pink in the cold, or maybe that’s from anger. It’s hard to tell.

“Yes. But let’s be civilized and do it with caffeine and carbs in front of us.”

Chloe steers the carriage toward a little coffee shop with a doorway just wide enough to fit the stroller. One step up and we’re in. I order two lattes and can’t get Chloe’s attention, as she soothes a fussing baby. Biscotti and coffee will have to do.

The savagery inside me diminishes as these civilized transactions take place. Pleasantries, directions, the exchange of money and food, and the walk to the table carrying a tray all require parts of my brain that aren’t warrior mind to function.

As I sit, my leg taps with nervous energy. Haven’t done that since I was a teen. The coffee scalds my throat but the pain feels good. Focused.

And I’m the Focus Man, right?

Chloe’s slipping away from me. I feel it, a physical tug, like someone’s cutting a rope that ties us to each other. Not Simone, not Joe – some other force, intangible and unnamed. If you can name a demon, you can vanquish it.

Let it remain without definition and it thrives on chaos.

I struggle to say the right words. The right line. The magic phrase that clears up the mist of confusion that clouds Chloe’s face.

Instead, I torture my throat with more scalding coffee and tap my leg like an idiot.

Holly cries.

Chloe fumbles.

And we drift further.

I reach for the baby, to offer some help, but Chloe shakes her head, blinking hard, this time to hold back tears that won’t stop.

My tapping stops.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

She looks up sharply. “Are you so sure?”

I jolt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your ex still wants you.”

“I had no idea. None.”

“Please.” Her look cuts me to the bone. “You’re a smart guy. You had to know.”