“Okay,” I say, feeling a little better that she’s being open. “How are you feeling?”
“Sick,” she replies automatically. “Like my stomach is twisting.”
I move towards the toiletries bag I keep in the bathroom and pull out a pouch filled with pads. Today is not the day I’m going to teach her to use tampons. We can discuss that later.
“Okay. Can you tell me if there’s a lot of blood? Or only a little?”
She doesn’t look at me, and I give her some privacy as I rifle through my stash. As a pad girl myself, I have a few depending on flow. And hey, no husband means no need for the implant that makes me sick constantly. It’s not like I have any chance of getting pregnant up here.
“A little,” Cleo finally says with a sigh. “Why’s it happening now?”
“Because sometimes we get it early. Other times, we get it later. Everyone is different,” I reply, pulling out a pad. “Do you remember what I showed you? How to put it on?”
Cleo gives me a single nod as I set the pad down. “Okay. What I want you to do is to have a shower. Nice and hot. It’ll make you feel better. When you come out, I’ll have a fresh pair of PJs laid out, with new underwear. Make sure you use your towel from home to dry off, and not one of Mr. Caleb's, okay? Then I’ll make you some tea, and you can take a painkiller if you still feel cramped.”
“Okay. Thanks, Mom,” she says quietly, ducking her head. “Please don’t tell him.”
“Who?” I cross my arms. “Your brother? It’s okay?—”
“No,” she hisses. “Mr. Caleb.”
I swallow hard and give her a nod. “Okay. I won’t tell him. Don’t worry. Just make sure any pads you use, you wrap in the previous ones packet and for good measure, a little toilet paper before you put it in the trash. Okay?”
With that, I give her privacy again and leave the bathroom. Arlo perks up when I exit, and on his lap is a new pair of clothes for his sister.
“Is she okay?” he asks, scooting off the bed.
From the bathroom, the shower turns on. Taking the clothes, I go for a fresh pair of underwear, so glad I did the loads of laundry we needed. “Yeah, she’ll be okay,” I tell him, moving back to the bathroom door. “Do me a favour: go to the kitchen and fill the kettle for me?”
Arlo doesn’t need to be told twice. God, he’s going to be a good man. If there’s one thing I’m forever grateful for, it’s that he never followed in my ex-husband’s footsteps. Arlo could have easily become a cocky little shit. My ex definitely is. It’s one of the things I hadn’t noticed early on and grew to hate. Probably the reason he became a liar, a gambler.
It’s terrifying, wondering if I could ever allow anyone close again. What if they influenced either of them? I don’t know if Caleb could have that power, but he’s somehow allowed me to drop all my walls enough to kiss him.
When I left Albuquerque, I promised myself and them I wouldn’t rely on another man. My reliance on my ex put us in this situation. I’d trusted him blindly, and I never considered how badly that would screw us over.
Even before the twins were born, I’d trusted their father. I believed him when he said we’d do this together, that I wouldn’t be alone—that they wouldn’t be, either.
And here we are, in a stranger’s cabin, and I’ve already kissed him.
I’m breaking every promise I’ve made since we left, and I might be putting our future at risk.
For what? My heart betraying me? Wanting to test the waters with this grump of a man? My heart should know better. We’ve been broken one too many times.
And I can’t allow Caleb to be the third man to break me—and destroy my kids.
SEVEN
CALEB
“Something happened earlier,” I say, washing tonight’s dishes while Cassidy nurses a bottle of beer. She appears to be more a red wine kind of woman, though she hadn’t passed on the offer for the only alcohol I have left.
With a sigh, Cassidy brings the bottle to her lips. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that mouth since the kiss, but it seems like it’s the last thing she wants to talk about.
“She made me promise not to tell you,” Cassidy says, lowering the bottle without looking at me. “Can’t break a promise for my girl.”
“I can respect that,” I reply, finishing the dishes with a groan. It’s not like we had anything special. Just three-bean chilli. An easy staple in my home—both here and when I lived with my parents. “But she’s okay, right?”
“Oh, yeah, she’s going to be fine.” Cassidy rolls the beer bottle between her hands. “I just…I want them to have stability so bad, and I can’t…” She looks up at me then, eyes sad. “I can’t put that at risk.”
