“You should tell her.”
“Why?”
“It would make you feel better.”
“And her worse. She’ll feel like she needs to fix me. That’s just how she is.”
“You don’t need fixing, Winter.” I swallow the ache in my throat. That seems like too much for a child to process, let alone bear. “But what about you?”
She waves me off. “I’ll survive.”
“And what about the child you once were?”
Her tongue darts across her lips, covering for whatever anxiety she feels right now. “I was fine. They fed me, watered me, and clothed me in designer everything and I did any extra-curricular activity I wanted.” She shrugs. “I wanted for nothing.”
“But what about love?”
She twists to look over her shoulder at Vivi, her voice taking on a thicker quality when she says, “What about it?”
“Did you have it?”
I watch her throat work as her attention stays fixed on our sleeping daughter. “No. I don’t think I ever had it until her.”
Without thinking, I press the heel of my hand to my chest, willing the ache away. I wish my mom were here. She’d know what to do or say.
“It’s funny,” Winter continues, as though she’s in a trance. “I took an oath as a doctor. It’s my job to save people’s lives. And somehow, that doesn’t feel heavy or oppressive. It’s more of a challenge I can rise to. But with her? God. It’s consuming. Sometimes, I’m so consumed with loving her I can’t even sleep. I’d use an innocent stranger as a shield for her if there was gunfire. I’d shove others into the flames to get her out of a burning building. I’d swim through boiling water for her. I wouldn’t even blink, Theo.”
“So, you love her? That’s normal. I mean, your descriptions are a bit . . . dark. But I follow,” I say, as I pull into her driveway.
“Is it?” She turns her crystal blue eyes on me. They twinkle in the dark cab of the truck, reflecting every speck of light around us. “I’ve never loved anyone like this before. And no one has loved me like Vivi does. It feels so foreign.”
Jesus Christ. This woman.
I itch to touch her, to soothe her. So I reach out and cup her head, combing my fingers through her hair like I did in the elevator. I lean across the console and she holds my gaze. “Yeah, Winter.” Her irises drop to my lips. “That’s normal. And you shouldn’t settle for anything less.”
Her breath fans across my cheek when she sighs. I could so easily turn my fingers into a fist in her hair and kiss her. Give her a taste of not settling. But she pulls away before I can, one hand coming up to give my forearm a platonic squeeze.
I can’t tell if this is a one-sided attraction sometimes. Can’t tell if I spend every day in the shower jerking off while thinking about a woman who doesn’t think of me at all. Winter is almost impossible to get a steady read on.
And tonight is no different.
She gives me a flat smile before we part ways, without another word exchanged between us. I watch her carry Vivi’s bucket seat up into the dark house before I pull out and drive to the one right next door.
When I go inside, it feels like I’m entering the wrong house.
19
Theo
Winter: Thank you for tonight.
Theo: I didn’t do anything special.
Winter: You did.
Theo: Want me to come over and do something truly special that will have you thanking me profusely?
Winter: Are you always this horny?
Theo: I was going to say clean your house. Get your mind out of the gutter, Dr. Hamilton.
“Out you go, Peter.”
If looks could kill, I’d be dead now. Peter glares up at me—back rounded and one front paw lifted—while his tiny body shakes. Some people might think he’s cold, but I know better. That’s his small-man rage.
“I know. How dare I make you get off the couch and go pee?”
He trembles again.
“I am officially the worst person in the world.”
The dog’s ears flatten and his usually buggy eyes narrow.
I sigh, tired after one of the weirdest fucking nights of my life, and bend down to scoop him up. “Let’s go, asshole. I won’t have you waking me up in the middle of the night.”
We head out the back door, and Peter makes unimpressed grunting noises. I place him on the grass and take a seat on the back porch step. He turns and shoots me a disapproving scowl over his shoulder.
“Is that what I get for rescuing you? I don’t even like small dogs. You’re an exception.”
He gingerly walks across the grass like its mere existence is a personal affront to his sensitive little legs. I decide I’ll mow the grass shorter tomorrow. I’ll do Winter’s lawn too.
That’s when I hear it.
Vivi’s angry cries filter into the night from next door. These older homes have a lot of character, but terrible soundproofing.
I’m torn about what to do. I hate that Winter does everything by herself.
I can’t believe I said something about not wanting my dog to wake me up at night when Winter has been doing that for months.
Alone.
Peter sniffs and spins like he’s going to pee. For whatever reason, he decides the patch of grass in the corner is trash and unworthy of his gift. So, he goes back to sniffing to find the perfect spot.
Vivi wails, and the more I hear her cries, the more agitated I feel. I stand and watch Peter glance around like he’s looking for the ideal location to build his dream home, not take a piss.
“Come on, Pete. You used to live in the street. You’re not this fancy. Pick a spot.” I snap my fingers before twirling them in an agitated “let’s go” motion. Because I can’t just sit here, or crawl into bed for a full night’s sleep, knowing they’re struggling a few feet away.
So, when Peter finally relieves himself, I march across the lawn and scoop him up to the chorus of more agitated grumbles. I take the narrow sidewalk between the houses, step over the low picket fence, and walk straight across the neighboring lawn to the front door. Based on the crying coming from inside, I will not be waking anyone up, so I knock three times. Hard.
It takes a bit, but the door opens. Winter’s still in her dress, and she’s washed her face, but only one side.
“I’m sorry. I’ll try to keep it down.”
I stare at her. She has no idea how to ask for help.
And then it hits me. She’s had no one to ask.
“I thought I could just transfer her from the car seat to her crib.” A sigh that could also pass as a sob escapes her as tears spring up in her eyes. “But that stupid fucking creaky hinge that I keep meaning to fix woke her up and now she is pissed. I tried bouncing her and she doesn’t want to nurse. And I can’t handle listening to her cry, but I also don’t want to sleep with my makeup on or without brushing my teeth. So I just need a minute and then I’ll keep it—”
I put a hand on her shoulder and ease her back into the house, kicking the door shut behind me. Then I hold Peter out to her. “Here. Take my dog and go to bed.”
She takes him, even though she looks down at his spindly body like he might be diseased. I nearly smile as the realization hits me. Peter and Winter have a lot in common. Prickly on the outside, a little broken on the inside, and in desperate need of someone to hold them.
“I don’t need your help, Theo.”
This is the part where she lashes out, but I expected that from her. She’s fiercely independent.
I give her a soft smile while she and my dog glare at me. “I know you don’t, Winter. But I want to help anyway. Let me help tonight, okay?”
Her eyes go round as saucers. She’s so used to people walking away when she gets snappy that I confuse her when I don’t back off.
So, I press a hand to the small of her back and lead her down the hallway.
“Am I supposed to let your dog sleep in my bed?”
“Yes.”
“But he—”
“Will be good for you. He likes to snuggle, and he sleeps like the dead. Go finish taking off your makeup and brush your teeth.”
With a gentle push, I send Winter into the bathroom and then turn around and enter Vivi’s nursery, her angry wails filling the air.
“Baby girl, what is the commotion?” I coo as her tiny arms reach up for me. “You can’t be partying this late. Your poor mama needs some rest.”
I lift her into my arms, and her wet cheek nuzzles into my neck. Tiny fists grip at my shirt, and . . . she just cries harder.
“Okay, you’re really mad. I get it. It seems like everyone is tonight, so you aren’t being original at all.”
Bouncing her, I walk out to the kitchen and pull out all the bits and pieces I need to warm some milk from the freezer for her. “You know when I get crabby? When I’m hungry. So you get that from me. Let’s try this again.”
She gasps for air, body heaving under the weight of trying to catch her breath. “My mom calls it hangry. Hungry and angry together. My sister gets that way too. Probably why she’s always making fun of me. She’s just hangry. I’m pretty sure it’s a Silva trait.”