Doc presses his lips to the top of my head. His entire body tenses, until he releases a heavy sigh. “Tessa called me the night she died. I was working a double shift, and I didn’t answer right away. I was tired, and when the phone rang, I’d just stretched out on one of the beds in the lounge to catch an hour of sleep.”
Sorrow and regret ooze from his every word.
“She’d seen her ex outside her apartment building. I was going to ask her to move in with me that weekend. I’d made her a key—even put it in this little velvet bag I was carrying around in my pocket. As soon as I got her message, I found another doctor to cover for me and I left. But…I was too late.”
I hold him tighter. Nothing I say will take his pain away. And I get the sense he’s not done.
“I moved to Seattle a month later. I’d started drinking—a lot. But what did it matter? I was alone, and I was going to stay that way. If I didn’t let myself get close to anyone, I couldn’t lose them. If I didn’t care, I couldn’t be hurt. If I didn’t try, I couldn’t fail. Life is full of ‘ifs,’ baby. And wasted time. We can’t go back and change the past. All we can do is hold on to what we have now.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting against another wave of tears. For days, I’ve been bouncing between the highest highs and the lowest lows. Between despair and joy. Sadness and peace. Anger and passion.
I’m alive again for the first time in forever. But for how long?
Doc shifts so his tired blue eyes meet mine. “I’m holding on, Natasha. Please promise me you’ll hold on too.”
If I could, I’d promise him forever. But I’m not that naive. Neither is he.
Before I can find the right words—or any words—the warehouse door opens with a loud whine. A tiny woman with fiery red hair stops after three steps, looks around, and grins. “Good gravy, I’ve missed this place.”
Ryker ambles in behind her, a diaper bag over his shoulder and a baby carrier in his hand. “You were here last month, little bird.”
“For all of five minutes. Installing a new hard drive in one of our servers doesn’t count as ‘work.’” She shakes her head andstares up at him like he hangs the moon. With his height, he probably could. “You can’t tell me you haven’t missed it.”
“No, I can’t.” Ryker stares down at the sleeping baby. “But I can’t leave the two of you either. Not now. Maybe not ever again.”
She reaches up to touch his cheek. “We’ll talk about that later. When we don’t have an audience.”
Ryker nods, and the two of them move almost as one toward the couches. He sets the baby carrier down in the center of the rug. “I’ll get the Pack ‘n Play.”
The redhead drops a cross-body bag next to one of the fancy, overstuffed recliners. “Hey, Doc. Natasha? I’m Wren.” Her firm handshake comes with a smile. “That’s Harlow.”
The baby stares up at her mother, cooing and balling her tiny fingers into fists.
Doc leans closer, a look of wonder on his face. “She has Ryker’s eyes. Heterochromia isn’t always passed down.”
I scoot to the edge of the cushion to get a better look at the little one. Her irises are mostly green. The left has a bright blue streak, while the right also has flecks of hazel.
“They just started to change color a few weeks ago,” Wren says. “Ry almost gave me a panic attack when he noticed it. He was just staring at her, frozen. Like she was some sort of alien.“ She laughs, then drops to her knees to unbuckle all the straps holding the baby in place.
“She is,” Ryker mutters, almost under his breath. “At least she was until those two teeth came in. Now, she’s an angel again.” Ryker unfolds the bright blue Pack ‘n Play next to the recliner and glances around the warehouse. “Where’s Graham? I thought he’d beat us here with the food.”
Inara calls from the kitchen, “It took him almost half an hour to get through the line at Northwest SmashBurgers. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“Doc? Want to hold Harlow?” Wren asks.
My heart squeezes at the look on his face when he cradles the little girl in his arms. She squirms, stretching out her tiny hand. Her fingers brush his trimmed beard, and she smiles up at him.
“She’s beautiful, Wren,” he says, smoothing one hand over her wispy curls.
Ryker drapes his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “She’s perfect.”
With a delicate snort, Wren tips her head up. “You might be a little biased, Ry.”
“I’ma lotbiased.” He drops a kiss to her lips. “You have a problem with that?”
“Never.”
Watching the two of them interact is almost mesmerizing. They’re so in sync. The moment Ryker came into view with the Pack ’n Play, Wren shifted slightly, a hint of a smile curving her lips. Now, he lets his hand drift up and down her arm, the motion so casual I’m not sure he realizes he’s doing it.
