And for Natasha.
It’s hit him hard that Molly’s mother is gone. She might have been a terrible one, but while she was alive there was a possibility that she could turn things around. That she could sort her life out and be a healthy and valuable part of Molly’s life.
As much as Sullivan won’t admit it, even to himself, I believe a small part of him hoped that one day Molly might have had a relationship of sorts with her mother.
Because he’s a good man. And an amazing father.
And right now while wounds are fresh I could be a distraction that keeps them open and bleeding.
He needs his family right now. And that’s not me.
“Can we…” He clears his throat. “Can Molly and I see you again soon?”
I look back at him from the doorway.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Can you? Are you ready for that after everything?”
His silence as he looks back at me still steals the air from my lungs even though I expected nothing else.
“It’s okay,” I reassure him. “I’m not sure I’m ready either.”
I open the door.
“Tate?” he calls.
I swallow, not turning around.
“I’m sorry.”
I swallow past the thick lump in my throat, my eyes burning.
“I know. Me too,” I whisper.
45
TATE
ONE MONTH LATER
The necklace isheavy in my hand as I place it back into its case and snap it shut to the echo of his words in my head.
“You’re mine. I’m keeping you, Baby.”
“You should wear it,” Ashley says, looking over from my wardrobe where she’s helping me choose an outfit to wear for the grand opening tomorrow of her new branch of Caffeine Couture that’s going to be inside the iconic Songbird Hotel that faces Central Park.
“It’s stupidly expensive. What if I lose it?”
She gives me a pointed look. “Jewelry is made to be worn and enjoyed. Besides, if you did lose it, you could wear another. You’ve got enough options.” She shrugs with a sympathetic smile.
“Isn’t that the truth,” I murmur.
I place the box back on top of the growing stack inside my lingerie drawer and slide the drawer shut, sealing off the sight of all those blue velvet boxes.
They started arriving within a couple of days of me leaving Sullivan and Molly’s place for that final time. The pieces aredifferent. Sometimes he sends me earrings, sometimes bracelets, once it was a keychain. But they all carry the same heavy feeling in my gut when I open them and see the same words on the accompanying card.
“I’m sorry. We miss you.”
It’s all he can say. He’s not ready to say anything else. Not ready to make suggestions of a future, or whether there’s even a chance of one where we all exist in it together anymore. And that’s okay. Like I told him so many times the night I held him while he cried.
