FIFTY-NINE
WARREN
A partof me knew she’d find me. I’d hoped she’d find me.
If she were in my shoes, I’d travel to the ends of the Earth, never stopping until I found her.
I detested the idea of her seeing me like this, crouching in the middle of a cemetery, covered in dirt, shame, and regret.
I’ve spent so much time and energy wanting to protect not only myself but her from the truth until I felt ready. It was never about trust. It’s the trust binding us together that drove me to seeking help again.
“You never failed them,” she says softly. “Not once and not now.”
My eyes flutter closed, her hands in my hair soothing the ancient ache in my chest.
From the twist of pain in her voice, she knows. Blurry memories of her and Marcus standing in the hospital room doorway returned on the cab ride over here. My protests were lost to sleep when they talked of going to my house, and it was only when the dizziness and confusion faded that I recalled exactly what she’d find.
I’d turned that home—his room—into a tomb.
One I haven’t possessed the courage to enter since this day, eight years ago.
“What do you need?” she whispers.
Forgiveness.
I want to beg the heavens for it, to ask she forgive me for keeping my past hidden from her. Instead, I say, “I want to tell you everything.”
“Warren, you don’t need—” She pauses when I turn to face her.
“I do, Harriet. It’s time.”
I should protest when she settles onto the grass beside me. She’s almost eight months pregnant, but she doesn’t flinch at my ice-cold skin when she links her arm through mine and rests her head on my shoulder.
She kisses my cheek. “Take your time.”
She’s the pillar of strength holding me up when my gaze returns to the gravestone.
“I met Alison at my old firehouse. She lived in the area and would jog past most evenings.” I cast my eyes on the shaded sky, waiting for the first raindrop to fall. I should get Harriet home, but I’m rooted in place, the story I should’ve told her months ago flowing freely. “I was washing an engine out front when she ran past, tripped over the curb, and busted her ankle. I fixed her up, and the following week, she returned to thank me, which ended with us trading numbers and arranging a date. It was a whirlwind romance, and within eighteen months, we were married. We were great together. She was fun, outgoing, and liked a lot of the same things I did.
“Neither of us could pinpoint the exact reason, but after five years, it changed. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was her. But the spark fizzled out, and we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. We were too proud to acknowledge anything wasdifferent. To cope, I threw myself at my job, taking extra shifts and staying late, while she wanted to pretend everything was normal. Eventually, it became too much, and one afternoon I came home from a shift to find her crying on the sofa and holding a pregnancy test.” I suck in a breath, and Harriet presses into my side. “We were naïve to think having a baby would change things. It would, of course, but we were still the same people in denial of our failing marriage. We argued more and became strangers in our own home.”
I turn to find Harriet’s blue eyes filling with tears.
“I should’ve shown up more. Made time to fix us. Instead, I continued drowning in work and losing track of important dates. The day she left me, she was almost twenty weeks pregnant, and I’d forgotten about a doctor’s appointment. I loved her and the baby, and I fucked up. When she moved out, I didn’t fight her. I stopped fighting for her.”
A broken sob threatens to break free.
“We don’t have to do this now, Warren,” she whispers.
I shake my head. “No. You need to hear this before deciding if being with me is truly what you want. I’ve kept too much from you.” I stare at Alison and Carson’s name. “This is the first time I’ve visited him. What kind of man does that make me?”
“A man who lost everything, one who is grieving.” Harriet cups my face, forcing my gaze back to hers. “The crash was not your fault. Alison being out in the storm was not your fault. What happened is tragic, and I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling, especially today. But none of it was your fault, Warren.”
Harriet shuffles closer. Her lip wobbles as she brushes away the silent tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry you ended up there…where the crash happened.”
I lean into her palm. “We were going to call him Carson. HeiscalledCarson.”
It’s the first time I’ve spoken his name aloud in years.
