“Exactly.” He gives me a moment to digest all that. “So,” he says softly. “What are you going to do about it?”
Gripping the back of a vintage Eames chair, I process what he’s just said.
I know you know Luke Lovelin is a good man.
Noah’s not wrong. The bastard.
“This organization you work for,” I begin, and I watch his expression turn wary. “Don’t worry—I’m not asking for details.”
“Good, because I can’t tell you more than I already have.”
“Answer me this, Noah.” I’m parroting his word choice from earlier, and the quirk of his mouth says he hears it. “Your employer believes in second chances.”
“That’s correct.”
“And, in your humble opinion, I should give one to Luke.”
“That’s your choice to make.”
I check in with my gut. It’s a tangled fishnet wrapped up with my heart, so it takes me a moment to untwist it all. Weighty emotions swish through me like waves full of longing and loss and love.
So damn much love.
In that moment, my gut tells me everything I already know.
Luke is a good man. A kind soul. A wonderful father and partner.
I didn’t lose faith in Luke when he lied. I lost faith in my own instincts.
All my cousin just did was remind me to trust them.
“Hazel?” My cousin quirks an eyebrow. “Was there a question?”
“Yes.” I draw a deep breath. “I have something to do now. Will you please get the hell out of my house?”
Chuckling, my cousin heads for the door. “I’ll see you around.”
There’s no way to do everything that needs to be done without calling in reinforcements. I screwed up big-time when I sent Luke away, so this calls for a big-time apology.
But being thirty-one weeks pregnant with twins means I’m not at my multi-tasking best. Maybe my father was being a jerk when he criticized my tendency to do everything alone, but Dad wasn’t wrong. I do have a habit of thinking I should shoulder all the world’s burdens by myself.
That’s not an option now. Even if I could be in eight different places at once, I’m sluggish and slow and can’t get around like I could nine months ago.
This occasion calls for my girls. My family, by blood and by friendship.
It’s time to summon the Vulvarines.
“How are we doing on assignments?” Cassidy consults her clipboard. “Brooke, how’s the script looking?”
Our therapist pal shoots her an uneasy look. “Okay, I just need to go on record as saying I don’t think we should call it a script. Maybe ‘discussion ideas’ or ‘compassionate communication framework’ or something like that.”
“She wrote sixteen pages, front and back.” Cassidy flips her attention to me. “Were you actually planning to read him the whole thing?”
“Maybe not.” I peer over Brooke’s shoulder at the notepad covered in my own tidy script. “I trust your edits. And you’re right, I probably need to pare it down a little.”
“Just speak from the heart, hon.” Brooke puts a hand on my arm. “You’ll say the right thing, I promise.”
Between my heart and my gut, I’ve got plenty of parts I’m re-learning to trust. My bladder’s not one of them. “I need to pee again.” Wait, no. “Never mind. That was just a baby jabbing me.”
