The Goal

by Elle Kennedy

  Tucker: I’ll take care of J. U study.

  Me: I’ll take u up on that.

  Tucker: Good. U never let me do enough.

  Because I don’t want to drive you away.

  Of course, I don’t type that.

  Me: You’re the best dad J could ever ask for.

  Tucker: U have low standards, babe, but I like it.

  Me: :)

  Me: I’m going to take a nap now while all my life blood is sucked out of me. I look like I’m part of the Matrix, plugged into a machine.

  Tucker: Did u take the red pill or the blue one?

  Me: Which one makes Jamie go to sleep? That’s the one I’ll take.

  Tucker: I’ll go buy an rx of Ambien.

  Me: Too bad I’m not allowed to take that.

  Tucker: My mom said her mom used to rub brandy on her gums to get her to go to sleep.

  Me: Hopefully DHS isn’t spying on these messages. Did it work?

  Tucker: I dunno. I’ll leave a bottle of brandy next to the Ambien.

  Me: See. Best dad ever.

  Tucker: LOL. Go to sleep, darlin.

  *

  Hope and Carin bought me a book called “Go the Fuck to Sleep.” I’ve read it to Jamie a hundred times. It doesn’t work. That thing is trash. Over the weekend Jamie decides she’s allergic to sleep. The only time she even closes her eyes is when I’m moving.

  While I can read and walk at the same time, simultaneous sleeping and walking is beyond my abilities, which is why I start my third week of law school eight hundred pages behind. I drag myself into class, having not read even one word for my contracts class. I made it through criminal law, but that was it.

  Hopefully Professor Clive will call on anyone but me today.

  “Last week, we went over the first two elements forming a contract. Mr. Bagliano, please share with the class those two elements and the holding of the 1898 Carlill case.”

  Mr. Bagliano, who looks as Italian as his last name sounds, obediently recites the two principles we learned earlier. “Offer and acceptance. The 1898 Carlill case discussed whether an advertisement could be construed as an offer. The case was decided by the English Court of Appeals, who held that yes, it was a binding unilateral offer that could be accepted by anyone responding to the advert.”

  “Excellent, Mr. Bagliano.” Professor Clive consults his sheet of paper that I presume has all of our names.

  I close my eyes and pray that my name magically disappears.

  “Ms. James, tell us the third element of a contract and the holding of the Borden case.”

  As my heart plummets to my stomach, I desperately scan the room as if somehow I can read the answer in the eyes of one of my classmates. No light bulb appears over anyone’s head, least of all mine.

  Beside me, a guy whose name I haven’t made the effort to learn mutters something out of the side of his mouth. It sounds like confederation. That doesn’t seem right. He coughs “confederation” again into his hand. Nervous laughter spreads across the room while my cheeks light up like twin flames.

  Down in the front of the lecture bowl, Professor Clive’s lips thin. “Mr. Gavriel is saying consideration, Ms. James.” He shifts his gaze to the poor guy next to me. “Mr. Gavriel, since you know the answer, perhaps you can share the holding of the case?”

  Mr. Gavriel shoots me a sympathetic look before whipping out his perfectly constructed notes and proceeding to discuss mutuality and illusory promises and other shit that I don’t have the first clue about.

  I casually draw a notebook over my own chicken scratching where the ink is smeared and bleeding through the page from where I drooled on it when I fell asleep, along with a healthy dose of breast milk and baby spit.

  It’s hard to hear the last of the lecture with embarrassment roaring in my eardrums, but I take copious notes in the hopes that when I review this crap later, it will all make sense.

  After class is over, Professor Clive gestures for me to join him in the front of the room.

  He steeples his fingers below his chin. “Ms. James, Professor Fromm shared with me your home circumstance, and while I can appreciate how difficult that must be, the standards in class are not modified due to motherhood.”

  Stiffly, I reply, “I didn’t think that they would be. I apologize about today and promise that there won’t be any lapses in the future.”

  “I certainly hope not, but then again, we grade on a curve and someone has to be on the bottom.”

  I raise my hand to scratch my neck, not because I itch, but because of the overwhelming urge to flick him off.

  “It won’t be me,” I assure him.

  He peers at me for a long, uncomfortable moment before dismissing me with a slight nod. “We’ll see.”

  35

  Tucker

  Sabrina shows up at my apartment on Friday afternoon carting enough stuff to fill an entire baby store. Ever since Jamie was born, I’ve learned I can no longer leave the house with only my wallet, phone and keys.

  Nope. Just taking Jamie for a short walk requires a diaper bag overflowing with everything from baby wipes to pacifiers to the tiny stuffed duck that she screams bloody murder if you try to take away from her. Plus the stroller, her hat, extra clothes in case she spits up on herself.

  And with all that gear on hand, half the time I don’t end up using more than a diaper and bottle, rendering the rest of the stuff useless.

  I don’t mind, though. I love being a dad. I wish I got to see Sabrina and the baby every day, all day, but right now I only get a few full days a week and my nightly visits to Sabrina’s house. Each time I’m there, I offer to spend the night and she gently shakes her head. I think she feels uncomfortable having me around her shady stepfather, and the more I get to know Ray, the more I hate him. The bastard is rude, crude and lewd. He’s not a good dude. Yep, Dr. Seuss could write a series of adult rhyming books about that creep.

  “Hey.” Sabrina pushes the stroller through the narrow front door, and I don’t miss the dark circles under her eyes.

  When we spoke earlier this morning, she said she hadn’t caught a wink of sleep because Jamie woke her up every other hour. Our daughter has a voracious appetite, and I know for a fact that she loves Sabrina’s tits as much as I do, because whenever you try to bottle feed her with breast milk, it takes twice as long as when she’s on the breast.

  “Hey. How’s my girl today?” I ask with a smile.

  “Surprisingly chipper considering she kept me up all night.”

  “I meant you, darlin’.” Rolling my eyes, I lean in to kiss her.

  She’s wearing some fruity-tasting lip-gloss—strawberry, I think. And it’s so delicious that I dip my mouth for another taste. I swipe my tongue over her bottom lip and groan softly.

  Fuck, I want to stand here and kiss her forever. Or even better—rip her clothes off and lose myself in her body for a week straight. But our six weeks aren’t up, and even if they were, I’m not sure Sabrina even wants sex. She’s so tired all the time, well on her way to becoming a zombie.

  I don’t know how she’s managing to attend classes, get her reading done, write papers, and still be there for our daughter. It’s a testament to her strength and determination, I guess, though I wish she’d let me do more to ease her stress. Hell, even asking her to come over today, where she can study in silence while I take care of the baby, required a thirty-minute debate before she eventually caved. She’s having a tough time studying at home, with her grandmother constantly chatting her ear off about what the Kardashians are up to while Ray stumbles in and out of the kitchen to get a fresh beer.

  Here, I have a roommate who works during the day, so it’s nice and quiet. Plus, I haven’t been getting much construction work lately due to a recent spate of non-stop rain, so this last week I’ve been at home, bumming around and researching various business ventures.

  When a disgruntled squawk comes from the stroller, I chuckle softly.

  “The little princess doesn’t
like being ignored, huh?” I squat in front of the stroller and carefully undo the various snaps and buckles that are keeping Jamie secure. Then I lift her into my arms, one hand cupping her tiny butt, the other supporting her neck as I hold her up in front of me.

  As always, the sight of her takes my breath away. She’s the most beautiful baby in the world. Even my mom says so. I send her pics every day and she’s constantly marveling about the perfection that is James Tucker. Mom is dying to meet Jamie in person, but she can’t get away until the holidays, which are still a couple of months out. For now, the daily pictures seem to be pacifying her.

  “How’s Daddy’s little angel this morning?”

  Jamie gurgles and flashes me a toothless smile. And yes, it’s totally a smile. Sabrina keeps insisting it’s gas, but I think I know when my own daughter is grinning at me, thank you very much.

  I kiss her impossibly soft cheek and she nuzzles her sweet face against my pec. A sharp sting immediately jolts through my nipple. I yelp as her eager mouth tries to latch on.

  Shit, I forgot I wasn’t wearing a shirt. Brody doesn’t like to turn on the air conditioning if we don’t have to, so most of the time we leave the windows open. I’ve taken to walking around in basketball shorts and nothing else.

  “Easy, darlin’,” I chide, easing her face away.

  Her mouth opens and closes rapidly as she tries to suck on air, which melts my heart.

  I look up to share a smile with Sabrina, only to find that her dark eyes are glazed and her mouth is hanging open.

  I wrinkle my forehead. “What?”

  It takes her a second to answer. When she does, her voice is a tad husky. “You’ve just provided me with about hundreds of hours’ worth of spank bank material.”

  I choke out a laugh. “Jesus, Sabrina. You’re getting off on our daughter trying to nurse on me?”

  “No, I get off on that.” She gestures to us.

  I still don’t get it.

  “A gorgeous, bare-chested man holding a tiny infant?” she prompts. “It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  Damned if my dick doesn’t stiffen beneath my shorts. “Yeah?” I say slowly.

  “Oh yeah.” She sighs. “Damn you, Tuck. Now I’ll never be able to concentrate on Contracts today.”

  “I’ll put on a shirt,” I offer graciously.

  “You do that.” Sabrina sets down the diaper bag, but holds on to the messenger bag hanging off her other shoulder. She stalks toward the living room table, drops the bag, and starts taking out her books.

  I whistle under my breath. Man, she’s been lugging around that heavy diaper bag in one hand and all those textbooks in the other? She’s the freaking Hulk.

  “How was class this morning?”

  “Long-winded.” She glances over her shoulder. “Should I study out here or in your room?”

  “You might as well stay out here.” I shift Jamie to my other arm, loving the small weight of her and the little cheek pressed against my bare shoulder. “I was thinking of taking the princess for a walk around the block.”

  Sabrina nods. “Okay, but make sure you keep her out of the sun.”

  I nod back. We’ve both read the same books, so I know direct sunlight is harmful for babies. Whenever I take Jamie out, I make sure she’s wearing her hat and is hidden safely beneath the stroller’s shade screen. I pretty much treat her like she’s a vampire.

  “Mind holding on to this precious cargo while I throw on a shirt?”

  Sabrina opens her arms, and I deposit Jamie into them. My chest turns to hot goo as I watch Sabrina bend down to smack tiny kisses on Jamie’s cheeks and forehead. In response, Jamie wiggles around like a worm and pumps her fists in the air. She hasn’t learned to laugh yet, at least not with her vocal cords, but I’ve discovered that her squirming body is a sign that she’s having fun.

  I duck into my room and throw on a wife beater, then roll on a pair of athletic socks and shove my wallet and phone in my back pocket. In the front hall, I lace up my sneakers before collecting Jamie and her mountain of stuff. Once she’s buckled up in the stroller, I wheel it toward the door, while Sabrina gives us a little wave.

  “Study hard, Mommy,” I tease.

  “Have fun,” she answers absently. She’s already scribbling something on a yellow legal pad, her gaze focused on one of her law books.

  It takes a bit of strategic maneuvering to push the stroller into the cramped elevator. A few minutes later, Jamie and I stroll along the sidewalk. The sun has decided to duck behind a thick gray cloud, leaving the sky overcast, so I raise Jamie’s shade screen a couple inches so she can enjoy the scenery.

  And she’s not the only one enjoying it. Another thing I’ve learned since I had a kid? Women go nuts when they see me with the baby.

  Every time I’m pushing the stroller down the street, I find myself with dozens of groupies. Chicks will stop me out of nowhere to gush and coo over Jamie. They almost always scope out my hand to check for a wedding ring and then nod in satisfaction when they don’t see one. The bolder ones have zero problems flat-out asking if the little angel’s mom is still in the picture.

  They’re always thoroughly disappointed when I inform them that the mother is very much in the picture. Then I’ll flash a polite smile, bid them good day, and keep on walking. The one time Logan joined me for one of these strolls, he’d shaken his head in amazement, remarking that it was a shame none of us were single, because Jamie’s a chick magnet.

  My friends adore her. I know they wish they got to see her more often, but we’ve all got our own busy lives to lead. Since the hockey season started, Garrett’s been practicing hard and is constantly on the road for away games. Logan’s training equally hard with the development team, and he and Grace are still settling in to their new apartment. Despite that, they all drive out to see Jamie any time they have a free moment. Hannah, especially, who’s only working part-time at the moment and writing songs on the side.

  “Hey, look at that, little darlin’,” I tell my daughter as we stop at the crosswalk. “It’s a doggie.”

  Said doggie tries to sniff the stroller as he and his owner sidle up to us. And damn, I should’ve kept my mouth shut, because now I’ve attracted the owner’s attention.

  “Oh my! Look at this precious little angel!”

  She crouches down and starts pawing at Jamie, which makes me bristle. Is this normal? Strangers constantly trying to touch your baby? Because it happens way too often for my liking.

  The woman presses a kiss to Jamie’s tiny fingers, and I make a mental note to wipe them down the second we’re out of sight. Hell, I’d hose her down if I didn’t think it’d hurt her. I don’t want all these germs all over my kid.

  “What’s her name?” the woman asks.

  “Jamie.” I stare steadily at the crosswalk signal, willing the little green man to pop up before the chick starts flirting.

  “And what’s her daddy’s name?”

  Too late. “Tucker, but my wife calls me Tuck.”

  That shuts her up fast. Normally I’m not this rude during these random street pick-ups, but I really don’t like the way she touched my child without permission. Fuck that.

  Once the light turns green, I swiftly push the stroller forward, murmuring goodbye at the woman and her dog.

  “Well, at least the doggie was cute, right, darlin’?”

  She doesn’t answer, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve taken to carrying on entire conversations with this kid. I find it kind of soothing.

  “See that over there? That’s a swing set,” I inform her as we walk by a small park. “When you’re a bit older, Daddy’s gonna take you there and push you on the swing.”

  I walk two more blocks, speeding up when we near an adult toy store. “And that’s a place you’ll never go into,” I say cheerfully. “Because you’re never, ever going to have sex, right, princess?”

  There’s a loud snort.

  I glance over my shoulder to see an elder
ly couple walking behind me. They remind me a bit of Hiram and Doris. Man, I wonder what those two are up to. I kind of wish we’d gotten their contact info after that kickass naked painting date.

  “Good luck with that,” the man calls to me with a crooked grin.

  “Four daughters,” the woman confirms. “Poor Freddie over here couldn’t convince a single one of ’em to stay virgins.”

  I grin back. “Obviously he didn’t try hard enough. Did you consider purchasing a shotgun?”

  The couple roars with laughter.

  Jamie and I keep strolling for a few more minutes, until I suddenly come to a dead stop at a familiar corner. I haven’t been to Paddy’s Dive since the night Sabrina went into labor, but somehow I’ve found my way back to it now.

  And there’s a FOR SALE sign in the window.

  36

  Sabrina

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” I apologize as I slide into a chair at Della’s.

  Carin and Hope already have their drinks, and by the pool of condensation on the table, I’m later than I realized. Or they were early. Ever since Jamie was born, I have a hard time getting anywhere on time.

  “Where’s the baby?” Carin asks, dismissing my tardiness with an airy wave of her hand.

  “She’s with Nana.” I grab the menu, quickly searching it for the juiciest, meatiest thing I can find.

  Both girls pout. “We wanted to see the baby!” Hope cries.

  “Yeah. The whole point is for you to bring Jamie so we can coo over her. I’m almost done with the booties.” Carin pulls out a mess of yarn that looks nothing like a shoe or even a sock.

  “What is that thing?” I lay down the menu to get a better view of the object she’s holding up. It’s kind of like the wool equivalent of Logan’s horrifying teddy bear.

  “It’s a sock. Is it too big or too small?” She stretches it out and I vaguely see something shiplike in the mess.

  “It’s…are you sure that’s a sock?”

  Hope giggles behind her menu.

  Carin scowls at me. “Have you ever tried knitting? It’s hard as fuck, thank you very much.” With a sniff, she stuffs the mottled mess in her bag.