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back to his room and I follow to tuck him back in again.

I kiss him again, and he calls out when I get to the door. ā€œI know thatā€™s not Ms. Gibsonā€™s jacket. Or her purse. Or her hat. ā€˜Night, Dad.ā€

I became Dad just like that. Not Daddy. Just Dad. My six-year-old called me the fuck out and basically told me heā€™s disappointed in me with one word. Dad. Iā€™m not sure whether I should be offended or proud.

No more lies. ā€œLove you, buddy.ā€

I leave his room and make sure to lock my bedroom doors this time. Maeve falls out of the closet when she hears me call her. ā€œIā€™m so sorry Maeve.ā€ I shake my head. ā€œThis was an awful idea.ā€

ā€œI hate to admit that I agree with you.ā€ She slips her arms out of my jacket and walks naked to get her clothes off the bedside table. As she dresses, Iā€™m struck with the reality that this isnā€™t going to work. Itā€™s not the nannyā€™s responsibility to spend the night at my house so I can visit Maeve. Nor is it fair to Turner to make him take time away from me so I can get lucky.

ā€œThis probably goes without saying, but I donā€™t think this is going to work out.ā€

Pain flares in her gaze as she buttons her jeans. ā€œIā€™m not sure what this was even going to be, but I guess if itā€™s over, it doesnā€™t matter, right?ā€

ā€œDating with a child was going to be difficult. Itā€™s why I never even tried. Now I think we both realize why itā€™s a bad idea.ā€

ā€œOr it just takes creativity you arenā€™t willing to come up with. This wasnā€™t even dating, Linc. It was just sex. If you canā€™t figure that outā€¦ well, whatever, thatā€™s on you. Iā€™ll see you tomorrow.ā€

Sheā€™s one-hundred percent right, but itā€™s not worth the risk of my son seeing something that is less than morally sound. ā€œWait,ā€ I say. ā€œLet me make sure heā€™s asleep.ā€

Maeve thought I was going to stop her from leaving, not make sure the coast is clear. Her shoulders hunch over and she sighs out a long breath. ā€œI feel the same way, okay, I just have different priorities.ā€

ā€œGo make sure your priority doesnā€™t catch you lying,ā€ she whispers. Her eyes glisten and I feel like a total asshole. ā€œTurner should always be your number one. I know that. Itā€™s just that you donā€™t have an inch of open space forā€¦ me.ā€

Isaacā€™s words float back. Be there for her.

ā€œGive me a chance to figure this out. It gets cloudy when I think aboutā€¦ sex.ā€

She nods, but stays silent while I confirm Turner is indeed asleep. I hand her the stuff off the rack and she slips into the night. Maeve turns left when she gets to the sidewalk and thatā€™s when I close the door and start moping like a fucking jerk.

What could I have possibly done different? Sure, he has sleepovers at Isaacā€™s with his kids a couple times a month, but is that really something valid to offer? Hey letā€™s have a standing fuck date twice a month, baby. Itā€™s a start, I guess. My phone starts ringing from the kitchen counter. Maeve.

ā€œSorry to call, but Lincolnā€¦ā€ Her voice trails off. ā€œSomeone slashed all four of my tires.ā€

My breath lodges in my throat. ā€œCome back inside.ā€

ā€œLincoln, thereā€™s a kiss print on my driverā€™s side window, too.ā€

I donā€™t wait for her to come back in, I drop my phone on the counter and run outside and turn left. Maeve is running toward me and crashes into my arms. I send her into the house, not even worrying about Turner and go examine the car.

Slash isnā€™t the correct term. Someone cut them so deep and so aggressively, pieces of the tires are missing. All four of them. The lip print on the window is the same as the one from Maeveā€™s house except this isnā€™t blood, itā€™s lipstick. Thereā€™s no sign of anyone on my sleepy, suburb street. A light flickers on the opposite side, but thereā€™s nothing out of the ordinary. Whatever they used to cut the tires isnā€™t lying anywhere obvious. The cops need to come out here because this is the same person. Now the intention is clear. Maeve is in danger.

I jog back into the house and find her sitting in the middle of my bed, shaking. ā€œIā€™m so sorry. Iā€™ll call an Uber and get out of here before Turner wakes up again, Lincoln.ā€ She is clicking her fingernails against her front teethā€”worrying. ā€œItā€™s the same person. Who could it be? I donā€™t even know many people here. My bedside manner is stupendous, so I know I havenā€™t pissed off any patients. Or, I think. I mean, sometimes things hurt, but they need to be done. I want to help people!ā€

I go over to sit next to her and put my hands on her shoulders. ā€œMaeve. You didnā€™t do anything wrong. This still might be random.ā€ Fat chance. ā€œWe need to call the cops and report it, though. In case itā€™s not.ā€ The more likely answer.

ā€œIā€™ll grab an Uber home and have it towed tomorrow and make a call to the police station.ā€ This is the route to take to circumvent Turner being involved in any way, so I agree. The police should be coming now to check for prints and to see if any DNA can be found.

I let my selfish bastard out and put her in an Uber twenty minutes later. She promises to call me when she gets home. I call the tow company and leave a message for them that theyā€™ll get in the morning and also text Isaac to update him. He calls me back as soon as my text goes through.

ā€œPlease tell me you banged before the kiss hitter struck again. Please.ā€

ā€œFuck off, Isaac. After running your errands today, itā€™s probably your fault somehow. Sheā€™s going to file a report tomorrow. If they came out tonight, Turner would have

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