Free Love Rekindled (Love Surfaced) by Michelle Lynn Page B

have run away from him, but you were running away from yourself too.”
    “Me?” My fingers jam to my chest. “What about you? You’re still hung up on my sister. Clue in, Sam. She’s fucking around just to score drugs. You’re the laughingstock of Roosevelt.”
    “Takes one to know one.” He twists the knife a little more. I can’t fault him for spouting the truth. The Delaney family has been the joke of Roosevelt for as long as I can remember.
    “Well, aren’t we the fucked-up ones then?” I glance to Em, finding her still enthralled with her fork and pancakes.
    “It’s just . . . whatever. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” His distant eyes look everywhere but at me.
    “Me too.”
    Silence fills the small space, and he looks at his watch.
    “I’m late. We’ll talk tonight.” He steps onto the porch and I hold the door open.
    “Sam.” He turns around, and I know I’m about to crush him. “Brad’s picking her up.”
    His lips straighten and I watch the emotions cross his face before he gives me a simple nod.
    “Gotcha.” He turns and steps off the porch.
    “Please, Sam, try to understand,” I say, but he waves his hand in the air.
    “Mama!” Em screams, and I turn from Sam’s retreating back to find her wiggling to stand up in her high chair.
    “Hold on, baby.” I close the door, run over to her, and catch her right before she falls to the floor. “No standing. You wait until Mommy can get you.” I semi-scold her. I’ve never been good at that whole strict parenting role.
    I place her down and she scurries over to the window. “Sm.” She hits the window and my heart breaks. The little girl has no idea she might lose Sam to gain her dad. It’s a hard lesson for a two-year-old to learn.
    Just then, my phone dings and I retrieve it from my back pocket. Brad’s name shows on my screen and my heart leaps.
    Brad: Good morning to my girls.
    Not such a good morning for me, but it’s getting better.
    Me: Good morning.
    Brad: I hope that lump is off your couch.
    Me: That would be none of your business.
    Brad: Hmm . . . I don’t agree with that line of thinking. When it comes to you and my daughter, it’s my business.
    Me: Here’s the address. Pick her up at five. I’ll be home around eight. I’ll lay out her pajamas and her sippy cup of milk will be in the fridge.
    Brad: Hey, what do you think of me? I got this. I’m a damn baby whisperer.
    Me: I’ll bet money she’s up when I return home.
    Brad: Bet taken. She’ll be fast asleep. What is her bedtime anyway?
    Me: Seven. Directions will be on the kitchen table.
    Brad: Pfft. I don’t need directions. I’m Brad Ashby.
    Me: Arrogant as always. See you tonight.
    Brad: You love my ego, don’t try to deny it. See you.
    I place my phone down and Em walks back through the family room, her head down with a stuffed animal in her hand. It’s the elephant Sam bought her this past summer at the zoo.
    “Sm,” she says, and my lips turn down, as I hold my arms out to her as an invitation to come. She shuffles her limp body into my arms.
    “He’ll be back.” I soothe her hair.
    After a second, she forgets and squirms to break free of my hold. I miss the days when she’d let me hold her for hours. That ended once she could walk.
    “Let’s play,” I say, cherishing the small amount of time I’m blessed with her due to my work schedule. These five day, eight hour shifts are a killer on my quality time with her. But that’s a small hospital for you.
    She smiles bright and runs behind the couch where all her toys are stashed.

Brad
    DYLAN SITS AT THE KITCHEN table putting together another model car. At least it’s a 1969 Chevy Camaro. He’s working remotely for two weeks before packing up and moving to Chicago. Talk about no notice. How nice of the shit company.
    I plop down in the chair across from him, watching his precise fingers fiddle with the small pieces. He’s been building these things since we were little, and I never