“But I’m injured now.”
She nods. “There’s enough milk saved up, and Cora’s in town. I’m sure we can work out a schedule with her and Joss. Between Donovan and your ankle, as long as the guys aren’t pissed about having a tiny extra roommate—”
“I will punch anyone who has a problem with it.”
“Take that down a notch, but yes. I think it will just be easier than the apartment this week.”
“There’s room for all three of us at the Jugs house,” I point out as casually as possible, like maybe the only reason she’s staying at Joss’s place is because of space, knowing I’m grasping at straws.
“I’m staying with Joss and Gabe. They’re giving me a ride to the airport in the morning.”
It kills me, but again, I ask,“Areyou kicking me out of the apartment?”
“I don’t know.”
Chapter 30
Tilly
The morning is so chaotic between getting myself packed, getting everything Blaise will need for Donovan from the apartment, and getting to the airport in time to handle the two-hour delay at TSA ahead of the 9 a.m. flight. I couldn’t sleep last night, just as much because Donovan was fussing about the unfamiliar environment as because of my own turmoil, and I pass out the moment I sit down at the terminal. I’m saved from missing my flight by another woman who takes pity on me and gives me a little shake when most passengers would have passed me by.
All of that means I don’t get a chance to watch the video Blaise sent me last night until I’m already in California, in the car that’s been sent to pick me up from the airport.
No, I’ve had dozens of chances. But my phone didn’t give me a preview, and I just assumed the video was going to be something Blaise filmed last night after he left me at Joss’s.
It’s not. My heart leaps into my throat when it finally loads and I see Blaise with Donovan and my dad at the nursing home. I cover my mouth to keep any sounds from leaking as I watch Dad bounce Donovan on his knee while Blaise rests his forearms on his thighs. From Dad’s perspective, I’m sure it seemed casual, but I see it for what it is.
Blaise is ready to catch Donovan. He’s letting Dad play with his grandson, but he’s making sure Donovan has a safety net, just in case.
“Your daughter made a beautiful baby, didn’t she?” Blaise coaxes in that boisterous way of his. I may forever feel like I’m not meeting the expectations he should have, but I will never ever question how obsessed he is with Donovan and how much he appreciates that I brought Donovan into his world.
As uncomfortable as I feel about the idea of having another baby because Donovan mightneeda sibling one day, I know Blaise will love him just as hard. There’s so much love in Blaise.
“Well, you certainly helped,” Dad says with a wink. Huntington’s has robbed him of his life, not just cutting it short and taking his mind even earlier but aging him physically, as well. He looks more like a great-grandfather.
But he’s so happy in the video, and I see the man he used to be in that wink.
I catch a tear on my eyelashes before it has the chance to streak my mascara.
“A little,” Blaise says modestly, and I’m sure he’s either hiding his absence during the pregnancy or downplaying therole of every father during every pregnancy, but I remember him being there when it mattered the most. I remember him rushing me to the hospital, staying with me, and being there with Donovan to make sure our baby’s first minutes were filled with love.
“I’d like to help more,” Blaise says. “I want to help you, too. I’m going to. And I’m hoping you can help me too.”
“Well now, son,” Dad groans as he sits back in the tan leather recliner he’s practically lived in since being admitted into that home. He’s social when he’s having a good day. He’ll talk with the caregivers and the other residents. He’ll even play games with them, as long as he can play from that chair. I’ve heard that, as much as yeah, they usually take him to his room at night, sometimes they just let him sleep there. It makes him happy. He’s comfortable there. That’s all I can ask.
His hands stay on Donovan as he leans back, but I see Blaise tense up. He’s still grinning like a buffoon, and he’s still letting Dad bounce Donovan, but he’s ready if Donovan so much as tips.
But Dad’s solid. God, I wish I could have been there that day. I wish I could see him more. I wish I were strong enough to weather the bad days in the chance that I might get a good day.
“Son, I’m afraid I ain’t much help to anyone these days,” Dad says sadly.
But look at Donovan grinning and laughing. That’s something right there. If he’s making his grandson happy, that’s all the help I need sometimes.
Blaise shrugs him off with, “Nah, you got this.” He leans forward conspiratorially, casually setting one hand on Donovan’s pudgy knee, a subtle anchor. “See, I’m in love with your daughter. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Butmy buddy Denny there”—he gestures to the camera—”I don’t think I would have ever met Tilly without the help of Denny, and she doesn’t know that or even know that I know Denny.”
The camera flips to selfie, and standing there waving with a stupid grin is Denny Hamm, a makeup artist I’ve worked with dozens of times in the past, since he’s local to Wilmington, too. I can’t believe he’s friends with Blaise, and I can’t even imagine how he might have been responsible for what happened at Ani-Con.
I laugh, but the sound is raw and congested.
