Luke took her free hand in his, lacing their fingers together until their palms met. For several seconds, neither of them moved. Cassie savored the warmth of his touch, clinging tightly, afraid to let go. What if, from this moment on, everything changed? Or what if nothing changed at all? She wasn’t sure which outcome frightened her more.
Ever present, ever steady, Luke stood quietly by her side, cradling her hand in his, not rushing or pressuring, simply waiting until she was ready.
Gathering a tenuous breath, she loosened her grip, uncurling her fingers.
Her heart stopped.
Even the bullfrogs and crickets seemed to pause in silent solidarity.
There, in the gleam of the headlights, were two unmistakable pink lines.
“Does that mean what I think it does?” Luke asked in a hushed breath, as if speaking too loudly would somehow alter the results.
Tears welled in her eyes, springing from a place deep within herself she couldn’t explain, a mixture of joy, terror, and disbelief—a sensation so overwhelming, she could hardly find the strength to stand. “We’re pregnant,” she whispered, her words sounding disconnected and far away, as if they belonged to someone else.
“I can’t believe it! We’re going to have a baby!” Luke swept her off the ground, spinning her around before he gathered her into his arms for a kiss so passionate and all-consuming, she almost forgot her fears. When their lips finally parted, he pressed his forehead to hers. “You’re going to be the best mom,” he murmured, his tone raspy with emotion.
She stepped closer, burying her head against his chest as a silent tear slid down her cheek.
He seemed so confident, so certain. And for now, that would have to be good enough for the both of them.
CHAPTER3
DONNA
Donna Hayward stretched her arms out wide and lunged forward, sinking even deeper into Warrior Two, one of her favorite yoga poses. Most days felt like a battle—against her alcohol addiction, against her regrets, against all the negative voices that often made breathing difficult.
She closed her eyes, relishing the warmth of the sun against her skin. Her daily yoga practice had become one of the only times she was able to quiet her thoughts, the only time she could silence the whispers of remorse that fed her constant heartache. In these tranquil moments on the concrete roof of her apartment building in San Francisco, when she’d drown out the cacophony of sirens and harried commuters, she’d finally experience peace. Maybe even hope.
“My thighs are killing me,” Stephanie moaned. “Can we change positions yet?”
Donna suppressed a sigh, remembering she wasn’t alone. Stephanie Patel, a young twenty-three-year-old she’d met in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting two months ago, had glommed on to Donna the first night they met. Steph had still been hung over from a friend’s birthday party and had a look of desperation in her dark, bloodshot eyes that Donna recognized. It was a look that said,Drinking is ruining my life, but I don’t know how to stop.
At first, Donna had rebuffed the girl’s many invitations to grab coffee or a late-night snack from the taco truck down the street from their meeting, knowing she was looking for a sponsor. What right did Donna have to counsel anyone? If Stephanie had known her two years ago, before she became sober, she wouldn’t have considered Donna a decent human being, let alone a mentor.
But one night during a meeting, Stephanie had shared her deepest fear—that because of her drinking she’d continue to hurt the people she loved most. Shortly after, Donna agreed to grab coffee. She still didn’t feel qualified to give advice—her own life was a mess—but she could be a chilling example of whatnotto do, which, in some ways, was even more persuasive.
She stretched her arms overhead, pointing her fingers toward the pale blue sky dotted with wispy white clouds.
Stephanie mimicked her movements, as she did nearly every morning for their regular yoga sessions. Over the past two months, they’d become an inseparable pair. Normally, Donna kept to herself. She’d spent years latched on to others—mostly men—in a futile attempt to dull her feelings of rejection and worthlessness. But her efforts to appear fun-loving and charming only made the emptiness more pronounced. Now, she preferred solitude. Except, Stephanie was still in the early days of her sobriety—the days where one slip could send you tumbling backward into an abyss that seemed impossible to escape. Her best defense? Constant supervision.
“How are your amends going?” Donna asked, folding into Downward-Facing Dog.
Stephanie bent forward, her hands and feet firmly planted, creating a perfect triangle with her slim body. Her long black hair cascaded like an inky waterfall onto her mat. “I’m done with all but one of them. That’s good enough, isn’t it?”
“Who’s left?” Donna asked, skirting the question. She could easily say,No, it’s not enough. You have to address every offense from your past.But she found it more effective to pinpoint the root of Stephanie’s resistance.
“My parents.”
Donna didn’t respond right away, giving Stephanie a chance to fill the silence.
“I’ve been a total nightmare. They let me live at home since my part-time job at the laundromat doesn’t pay enough to rent an apartment. But I was constantly sneaking out, staying out late, coming home drunk, making a mess of things. I even broke my mom’s favorite vase. The one they bought on their honeymoon in Venice. And I never apologized. A real daughter of the year.”
Donna listened quietly while Stephanie came to terms with her actions, allowing the reality of her poor choices to fully sink in. Confession came first. An addict needed to acknowledge the reasons for the amends before they could properly make them.
“I made a scene in front of my dad’s coworkers, too,” Stephanie admitted, her voice soft with shame. “He’d invited them over to watch a Giants game, and I crashed the party, drunkenly yelling something about athletes and their overinflated egos before I helped myself to their cooler of Bud Light. He was so embarrassed.” She blew out a breath, her arms shaking as she held the pose.
“Through it all, they never gave up on me, though. And they never kicked me out. My mom would even leave the light on in my room so I didn’t have to stumble in the dark when I came home hammered.”
