Guilt hit me like a hammer. I hated myself. I hated her. The problem was I really didn't hate her-I wanted her more than ever.
But this time around, I can't have her.
Not unless I can convince myself that just because I still have feelings for Hannah, that doesn't mean I loved my wife any less.
This time it's my status that stands in our way-and going up against myself just might be the hardest thing I've ever done.
AND NOW: A SNEAK PEEK INTO BIG SHOT
"DADDY, WHAT ARE you doing?"
I looked up and blinked, and then blinked again. The sun was just rising and my daughter was standing in the space between my bedroom and bathroom in her pink nightgown. I squeezed my palm shut, and jumped to my feet. "I was just thinking."
"About what?" she asked with that voice of concern that made her sound ten years older than she was.
Honesty was always the best policy, when possible. "That we should donate Mommy's things to that organization Aunt Fiona works with."
She brought her hands together. "Oh, Daddy, I think that's a wonderful idea. Aunt Fiona says there a lot of mommies who need new clothes to go back to work."
I grinned at her innate kindness. "And what are you doing up this early, princess?"
Her tiny shoulders shrugged. "I woke up, and was thinking maybe you could put my hair in braids today."
Taking long strides toward her, I had her up in my arms and on my shoulders before she even finished talking. "You just happened to wake up early and have that thought, did you now?"
My daughter giggled as I galloped toward my bed and tossed her on it. Once her fit of laughter subsided, she sat up. "Well, I might have set my alarm the way you showed me so that I'd wake up early."
The clock read six twenty-five. Normally I didn't wake her up until seven to get her ready, and we were both downstairs by seven thirty when Mrs. Sherman arrived. "Wow," I said, offering her my hand, "you're a quick learner."
Her little bare toes landed on the plush area rug, and she looked up at me with wide green eyes. "You are too, Daddy, and I'm certain after that you-tube video we watched over the summer that you'll be able to braid my hair just like Polly showed you."
Polly was the you-tuber who made a show of explaining to fathers how to do all kinds of things with their daughters' hair, including braiding.
This was going to be one interesting morning.
I led Scarlett to her bathroom. "First you have to brush your teeth, and then get dressed. Once you finish that, I will try to braid you hair, but I make no promises," I said with a wink.
In the doorway, where the print of tiaras covered the walls, she stopped and attempted to comb her fingers through her tangled locks. "You're the best."
I smiled at her and kissed the top of her head. I only hoped she still thought that after I was finished-with the hair brushing and the braiding.
Chances were good that I wasn't going to get the results the you-tuber demonstrated.
Isn't that always the way.
AND ALSO: A LOOK INTO NO PANTS REQUIRED
Makayla
JUST THE MERE SUGGESTION OF karaoke gets everyone's heart pounding. Whether it's out of excitement or pure, blind panic depends on the individual and that person's frame of mind at the time.
The truth is that most people sing karaoke for the same reasons they go bowling-it's a fun activity and they can drink while doing it.
With that being said, perhaps some of the people that are here can get up and confidently belt out their most favorite song in the world with no concern for the eardrums they are perforating or the notes they are destroying. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people.
To be honest, I can't believe I even agreed to do this.
Then again, Bar On is not where I thought I'd find myself tonight. This Chinatown lounge may be packed full of eager-to-sing regulars, but my friends and I are not those people. We are here on a whim after a few too many drinks at a restaurant down the street.
Shuffling through the crowd, I stop when someone taps me on the shoulder. Thinking it's one of my friends, I turn around to see a tall, leggy brunette with the most vibrant green eyes staring at me. Her face is stunning. She looks like Megan Fox. For a second, I wonder if she is.
She steps closer and right away I can see this woman is a bit younger, though-my age, I'd say. "Do you mind if I get by?" she asks with one of those affluent tones I know all too well from my days in private school.
Definitely not Megan Fox.
Without waiting for me to answer, she pushes past, and in her rush, steps on my open-toed pump.