“I told her you were home,” he says. But….”
I don’t let guilt swamp me. I’m working on my wrongs, and that’s all I can do.
Mikaela pulls back and gives me a sheepish grin. “We heard that you were going back to the hospital and….” She trails off.
“I’m always coming home,” I promise.
The hall is chilly, and both kids are half-awake, clingy. I guide them to the living room and grab the large throw blanket off the couch.
“Let’s couch it for the rest of the night,” I suggest. It’s what we used to do when they were little. In those days, the couch was smaller, but so were they. We now have a huge sectional couch.
We pile in.
Mikaela curls against my left side.
Finn stretches out along my right shoulder.
The huge blanket goes over all three of us.
The house is silent except for the occasional drip from the kitchen sink and the soft whirr of the air unit.
Finn falls asleep first, breathing slow and even. Mikaela follows a minute later, her hand clutching a fistful of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
I stay awake for a little while, watching them, memorizing this moment, enjoying their weight against me. I’ve spent years hearing heartbeats through machines and monitors. Tonight, I feel two perfect ones pressed against my sides.
It hurts that they’re worried that when I leave for work this peace we’ve had since I started my sabbatical will go away. I can tell them it won’t, but they have to see it, they have to feel it, andthenthey will believe.
CHAPTER 33
Jayne
The space beside me in bed is empty, cool.
For a disorienting heartbeat, old instincts flare.
The automatic assumption.
He’s still at the hospital.
He’s gone.
I shake my head. No, he came home. We talked. He kissed me.
I slip out of bed and pad down the hall.
Morning light spills through the blinds in slanted stripes, catching dust motes that sparkle like something magical.
I walk into the living room, and my hand goes onto my heart at the sight. My breath catches in my chest, sharp and unexpected, like someone pressed pause on me, because I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
Rhys is on the couch, head tipped back, mouth slightly open, completely dead to the world.
Mikaela is curled against his left side, lying half on him.
Finn is sprawled across the sectional, even as he’s leaning against his father.
A blanket is tangled around all three of them, mostly losing the battle.
I smile.
