I managed to keep a smile on my face around Rhett while he and Summer finished helping me move in. But even they noticed it was forced.
When Rhett asked me if I was sore, I said, “Yeah.” But it wasn’t my broken collarbone or bruised body. It was the tight knot constricting my stomach.
I haven’t moved off this spot on my couch since they left. First thing I did was pull up the calendar on my phone. Peter is curled up smack dab in the middle of my lap, where he likes to be, snoring like he weighs a lot more than ten pounds.
Don’t go too hard on her. She’s so tired. She’s just doing her best. She needs all the support she can get, whether or not she wants it.
Summer’s assessment of her sister’s situation didn’t make me feel any better. In fact, it made me a bit sick.
Because I have a feeling. A gut instinct.
And I don’t want to be right. Because if I am?
God. If I am, I’ve really fucked up.
A crash of thunder outside startles me, but Peter carries on snoring, just deaf enough not to notice. Blissfully unaware.
Fuck.
Is that what I’ve been?
I lift the small dog off my lap and squish him into the corner of the couch, covering him in a fuzzy blanket so that only his little head and the dirty glare he’s giving me peek back out. The tip of his tongue is pushed out between the huge gap in his teeth where I had to have the rotten ones removed, and gray hairs dot his muzzle.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t give me that look.”
He makes a small grunting noise and shuts his eyes as his dismissal. And then I’m hefting lead feet across the floor, equal parts dreading going next door and feeling pulled in a way that I can’t fight or resist.
I need to go there. I need to know.
After shoving my feet into a pair of slip-ons, I open the door and step out into the downpour. Thunder rolls in the distance, and a few seconds later, the sky illuminates. In the summer, it stays light until late on the prairies, but the storm clouds have cast a dark eerie glow over the tree-lined street. My T-shirt and jeans are soaked within seconds as I make my way down the short, narrow sidewalk, out the front gate. I turn and do the reverse up to the white house next to my blue one. The row of four houses all have the same build, but Sloane’s attention to detail when she renovated them makes each home unique.
I trudge up the front steps, eyes on my feet, the sense of dread in my chest expanding until it feels like hard labor to even breathe. My hand raises, and a finger extends to press the doorbell, but I hesitate when I think of how exhausted Winter looked today. She seemed irate over the noise earlier, so I consider if ringing the doorbell is my best option.
The truth is, I don’t know what to do.
So, I sit on her top step, drop my head into my hands, and wait.
12
Winter
Winter: Why is Theo Silva moving in next door? Who okayed this? You or Jasper?
Sloane: Is it a problem? I didn’t even think you’d care. You guys got in that spat, what? A year and a half ago?
Winter: Never mind.
Sloane: Oh, shit.
My phone vibrates when motion at the front door trips the alarm system. I slide the screen open and pull up the video feed.
And there is Theo, sitting on my front porch with his head in his hands. Not wearing the sling that he still should be.
I’m torn. The bitter she-devil on one shoulder wants to leave him out there getting soaked, but the curious caretaker angel on the opposite shoulder wants to make sure he’s okay.
Because I’ve never seen him look beaten down. Even in the hospital, he was cracking jokes and flying to my defense like I needed that from him.
I pad down the hallway toward Vivi’s room and peek in on her. She’s flat on her back, arms splayed, with her tiny fingers curled into loose fists.
I want to sleep like that again. Instead, I feel like I’m in this constant state of alertness where, even when I’m exhausted, I find it difficult to relax enough to truly sleep deeply.
After the soft click of her door shutting, I wait with bated breath to see if I’ve woken the teething monster.
One. Two. Three.
I press my ear to her door and when I hear no signs of movement, a deep sigh lurches from my chest. Relief.
Until I remember who is sitting on my front porch. But I approach the front door with a cool level of detachment taught to me in med school. One I’ve spit-polished into a perfect shine working in the emergency room.
One I mastered as a child, if I’m being honest.
My hand wraps around the knob, and with an aggressive tug, I yank the front door open and stare down into the second most beautiful set of brown eyes I’ve ever seen.
It’s impossible not to gawk for at least a moment. Theo’s wet hair hugs his forehead and drops of water cling to the two peaks of his top lip. Rain has plastered his white T-shirt to his body in the most obscene way.
“Why aren’t you wearing your sling?”
That is what my brain decides to open with, even as I gaze down into his tortured eyes. He unfolds himself, and when he steps closer, I’m forced to tip my chin up in order to hold his stare.
“Winter, I need you to tell me the truth.”
I can feel my heart beating in my throat, and I lift a hand to quell the ache there. “Okay.”
“Is the baby mine?”
My face goes slack. Is the baby mine? Is he fucking kidding me? The crash of thunder hits me like a slap. “That’s not funny, Theo.”
“I’m not trying to be funny, Winter.”
“We’ve already talked about this, so I don’t know what you’re playing at.”
“Talked about this?” His face scrunches and his arms gesture open on either side of him.
I’ll give it to him. He appears to be genuinely confused. “Yeah. I believe the last text message I received from you was”—my hands gesture beside my head in air quotes—“Thanks for letting me know.”
For as long as I live, I don’t think I’ll forget the look on Theo’s face right now. I just watched a heart break right in front of me. And I remember how it feels. I’m familiar with the sensation of everything you thought you knew toppling down around you.
The expression on his face is haunted and my hand moves up from my throat to cover my mouth. “Oh god,” I whisper. “You really didn’t know.”
I feel outside of myself. Above us, observing. Like I’m watching two people interact in a movie or TV show.
This can’t be real.
A disbelieving laugh escapes him. “Nah. You can’t be serious.”
I stare back, not sure what to say.
He paces and lets out another laugh. This time, it sounds a little unhinged. “You gotta be joking.” Faster than the lightning streaks across the sky, he turns his back to me and jogs down the steps. “How did . . .” He swipes a hand through his hair and glances around the soggy front yard. “How come . . .” Those usually happy eyes swim with devastation when he turns his gaze back on me. “When did you . . .”
“Two weeks or so after. I tried contacting you so many times. I don’t know . . .”
His forearm flexes as he wipes his hand over his mouth. “No.” He laughs, but it borders on a sob. “You’re telling me I have a daughter and I missed it all? The pregnancy? The birth? Everything?”
It strikes me I’m watching a man unravel right before my eyes. A beautiful, shocked man. I’ve spent the past eighteen months assuming the worst about Theo, and here he is, crumbling to pieces, like the rain is disintegrating the clay that holds him together.
My mouth opens, but I don’t know what to say to him. I mean, yeah, he missed all those things. And I don’t know why, but based on the way he’s gone back to pacing and tugging at his hair, I have to assume he didn’t do it on purpose.
“Winter. Don’t fuck with me. Are you serious?”
He looks downright forlorn. Soaked and bedraggled, he makes his way back up the steps. I can hear his breathing now, not just pants, but a sort of keening sound on each exhale. A fist thumps against his chest.
“Winter.” Now my name is him pleading with me.
He’s panicking. Truly panicking.
“Theo.” My hands shoot out and I hold his cheeks, forcing him to come to a standstill. I grip his skull, his stubble rough on my palms, his damp neck smooth under my fingertips. “Stop. Tell me three things you can hear.”
His body heaves as he stares back at me. Moments pass.
“Rain.”
I nod.
“Thunder.”
I lick my lips.
“Your finger rubbing the back of my head.”
I swallow and press my opposite hand to his chest. His heart thunders beneath my palm. “Okay. Now three things you can see.”
His eyes rake over me, and I don’t let go of his head. “Your white house. The stroller folded by the front door.” His voice cracks.
I massage the back of his neck, trying to bring him back down.
“You.”
My lips press together, my gaze bouncing between his eyes. He seems calmer now. “Yeah. Good.” My grip softens, my hands sliding down to his shoulders with the soothing sound of rain falling in the background.