Jared’s car pulls into the parking lot a few spaces down from mine, leaving a trail of dust behind him. I wonder if he left a few empty spots between us randomly or if he knows I want to throw my Coke all over his windshield.

Probably the latter.

My heart sinks as my gaze meets Ethan’s through the passenger-side glass. He flashes me a brief, sad smile before unbuckling himself. His cowlick in the front, just above his right eye, makes his twelve-year-old self look younger . . . and more disappointed.

I open the door and swing it shut with a little more force than necessary. Hey, it’s the little things.

“Hey, Mom,” Ethan says as he climbs out of Jared’s car. “I thought Dad and I were going bowling. Then I saw you.”

He makes a face that I think is supposed to be a smile but resembles a frown just a bit more.

Once again, Jared lets me clean up his mess. He couldn’t even tell Ethan the truth.

Damn it.

I pull my son into my side and kiss his cheek. My eyes flutter closed as I breathe in the body spray that somehow fills our entire house in the mornings.

How can I make this better?

Suddenly, I remember the extra cash I have left from Cole’s bet yesterday.

Bingo.

“I told your dad to meet me here so we could go bowling.”

Ethan pulls away, his eyes lit up. “Really?”

I nod. “We have to run to my work for a minute first. Kirk just called. But then we can come back and bowl a game. Maybe grab a corn dog. How does that sound?”

“That sounds awesome.”

“Good.” I kiss his cheek again. “Go get in the car. I’m going to talk to your dad for a second.”

Ethan presses a baseball and glove into my chest. “Do you want this?”

“What do you want me to do with that?”

“Dad signed me up for baseball.” He stares at me like it’s the worst idea in the world. “I don’t know how to play baseball.”

I push the glove and ball back at him. This is going to be my problem. I know it.

“Put it in the car,” I say. “Let’s . . . We’ll deal with that later.”

“Fine.”

He turns toward my car. I turn to his dad’s.

Gravel crunches under my sneakers as I march to Jared’s window.

“Hey,” he says after the window is rolled down.

“Hey.”

He takes in my face for half a second. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t.” I stop inches away from his door. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

He looks at me with a practiced pout—one that used to work. Those days are long gone. I no longer find his puppy-dog eyes cute, and his droopy bottom lip makes me want to pull it off his face instead of kissing it better.

Easy, Palmer.

“I’ll tell you what I want from you,” I say, struggling to keep my voice low and even. “Consistency. Reliability. I want you to make Ethan a priority. I want you to make a lifelong commitment to Ethan—one like you couldn’t make to me.”