And I tell them everything.
By the end of what felt like an hour-long conversation, Mom’s crying, Dad’s face is nothing short of shocked. He’s barely said anything, which is rare. He always knows what to say.
“Cody.” My mom sniffles. “I feel horrible for not knowing.”
“Don’t. That’s on me, not you. I didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Were you scared of what we’d say?” Dad asks, his voice hollow.
“I think I was more embarrassed.”
“You shouldn’t be. At all,” Mom argues. “And Karissa is not Bree, not evenclose.”
“Trust me, I know she’s different. But she still deserves better than a guy who’s busy half the year and broken the other half.”
“You are not broken,” Mom says firmly.
My throat tightens. I wish I believed her, or at least felt like she was right.
“You’ve been carrying unnecessary guilt for all these years,” Dad adds. “You need to let that go. Don’t punish yourself for somethingshedid.”
Those words coming from my dad cut me wide open. My vision clouds. Tears rush in, thick and burning, sitting right at the edge. I wipe them on my sleeve and take a deep breath,
“I just…I don’t want her to move,” I admit.
“Then tell her that,” Dad says quickly, like it’s that simple.
I glance between them. “And then what? She can’t stay at the lodge.”
“Give her your place again. You can stay here, or I’m sure Mason or Addison would offer up a spare,” Dad suggests.
He makes a good point. There are plenty of cabins on this property; surely, I can crash in someone’s spare bedroom fora little while. It will definitely not be Addie’s, though. I can promise you that.
“Just go talk to her, Cody,” Mom says. “Make sure you guys are on the same page before you make any big decisions.”
With that, I stand and head back toward my truck.
Chapter 30
Karissa
Emma’s finally asleep, and aside from the sound of me crying, it’s nearly silent. I haven’t made it to bed yet. I know I should, I’ve got an early morning, but I don’t want to. Because the second I close my eyes, it becomes tomorrow.
And tomorrow means leaving. I’m not ready for that.
Then I hear a truck. A diesel. It’s Cody, it has to be.
I cross into the kitchen and pull open the side door just as he reaches for it. Our eyes meet. His are red, like he’s been crying too. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and steps inside, shutting the door behind him. My body tenses, tingly and nervous, on the verge of falling apart, even though he hasn’t said a word.
He shifts his footing, then clears his throat.
And when he looks at me—reallylooks at me—I forget how to breathe.
“I’m not ready,” he whispers, voice barely steady. “I’m not ready to come back here tomorrow and not find you. To not hear Emma crying while we figure out what she needs. To not see you in those ridiculous oversized T-shirts with spit-up or milk stains on them.” A single tear falls down his cheek.
My vision blurs, and my heart feels like it’s going to split.
He shakes his head, voice cracking again. “I’m not ready.” He swallows and then another tear escapes. “Don’t you wanna stay?” he asks.
