A boy who shares his blood.
“Dee…” He cups my cheek gently, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I need to take care of you too.”
I shake my head. “No. Caleb comes first now. He must come first. He needs you more than I do.” My voice doesn’t break. It’s steady and even, but my insides rip apart. “Talk to Macy. Figure out what you need to do. I’ll be okay.” I turn, retreating up the steps.
He catches my wrist and pulls me back, pressing a soft kiss to my trembling lips. “I love you.”
I nod, eyes locked on his, words don’t come, then I pull away and walk toward our bedroom. At the top, I glance back. He’s still standing in the middle of the staircase, watching me with a tear sliding down his cheek.
I shut the door and lock it.
Not because I’m shutting him out.
But because I need space.
I lean against the door, my body trembling from the inside out. I know this isn’t Macy’s fault. Not really. But I need someone to blame. And if I put that blame on Colt, I don’t know if I’ll come back from it. My breathing slows, but my heart doesn’t. It continues to pound so violently, I half expect it to punch through my ribs.
Caleb’s little face flashes in my mind.
He looks just like him.
And worse, I can see it—the future.
Colt tossing a football with him in the backyard. Teaching him guitar. Carrying him on his shoulders, proud as hell.The thought crashes into me like a tidal wave, and I snap.
I slam the back of my head against the door once.
Twice.
A third time.
Tears spill, hot and fast, but the pounding in my skull distracts me from the screaming in my chest. Then the images shift.Colt laughing with Caleb. Holding his hand. Hugging him goodnight.
I lurch for the ensuite, barely making it in time before I throw up everything in my stomach. Acid burns my throat as I grip the bowl, heaving and sobbing all at once. I curl against the tiles, my body shivering from the force. My tears smear across my skin, hot and relentless. I press my cheek to the cold floor, my arms wrapped around myself like they can hold in the broken pieces.
He has a family now.
A child.
A son.
And I’ll never give him one.
That chance was ripped away from us only yesterday. And today, the universe hands him everything he’s ever wanted on a silver platter lined with pain.
What kind of cosmic joke is that?
I don’t know how long I lay there, crying and staring at the grout in the tiles. Eventually, I pull myself up. Flush the toilet. Wash my hands. Splash water over my face until I can breathe again.
I shuffle into the bedroom, change into my pajamas, and climb into bed.
I pull his pillow to me, bury my face into it, and inhale him.
He’s still here. Downstairs. Withher.
I cry quietly this time, the kind of tears that sting less but weigh more. The yelling from below has stopped. A car starts. It drives away. I don’t check who it is.
Then footsteps sound on the stairs.
