Page 17 of Just Ten Seconds

My lip quivers as I take a solid breath and hold it for a moment, furrowing my brow, before slowly releasing it.

“But it did. It ended, and everything that I’d thought was true—all the plans I had and all that was supposed to be—just vanished into thin air.”

Those tears. Those goddamn stupid tears that I’ve been trying to tame start to fall. The pang in my heart whooshes down to my belly, and I grip it, grabbing hold of the stabbing pain and trying to calm it with my hands and heavy words.

“Benjamin and I were going to have a baby. We started trying a few months before, and with each failed attempt, we kept on talking about how great it would be when it finally happened. How our baby was going to have his thick head of hair and my light eyes. If it were a girl, I wanted to name her Katie, and he liked the name Wyatt, which I figured I had at least nine months to talk him out of.”

There’s a soft laugh from someone in the room that mirrors my own.

I blow out a deep breath and let my shoulders relax as I stare off into space and remember the touches, the talks, the dreams of the future we shared. The memory so real in my mind that it’s almost a tangible thing.

“We were going to move to a family-friendly neighborhood where our kids could go to school and dance class and play soccer. And when the kids went to bed, we’d share a glass of wine and enjoy our adult time because, no matter what, we never wanted to lose the amazing relationship we had.”

I look to Lauren and think about what she said that caught my attention. “It’s like our dreams were shattered.”

“While the past brings me so much pain, the thing that brought me here is that I can’t help but mourn the future.”

A surprised breath rushes through my lips. My heart is beating wildly in my chest in an exhilarated manner. I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand and feel the moisture. As much as I try not to feel, it’s just too hard sometimes. Yet, this moment, right here feels like it was meant to be.

Breathing in through my nose, I sharply exhale out my mouth and try to regain my composure. Lauren’s hand goes to my back and rubs wide circles in comfort.

“Sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t be such a downer. You were having a lovely conversation when I walked in here.”

“Never apologize for sharing, Mara.” Tracey holds her palms together in a sign of prayer. “That feeling of mourning the plans you had is common after the death of a loved one. It is the subject of tonight’s discussion. Benjamin might have moved on, but you are still here. You can achieve all of your dreams.”

My dreams. The ones that play on repeat in my head, like a broken record stuck on the same rotation for eternity. The dreams that have spilled a terrible, horrible burden on these people. These very kind, heartwarming people.

“I’m sorry. I just … I can’t be here.”

I storm out of the room. My feet beat on the floor as I walk hurriedly down the hall, up the stairs, and out the side door of the church where I thrust myself against the brick wall and convulse.

The blood in my veins is running through my body like a rapid river, edging toward the fall.

I can’t talk about Benjamin. It unravels me to the point of shaky hands and sleepless nights. My breath hitches as I rub my palm across my head and take about seven deep breaths. Breaths that become pungent with the scent of vanilla and fresh cedar.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up straight as the sound of the door slamming against the brick on the ground straightens me to attention. I roll my head to the side, and my senses go into overload at the sight of Dean Delgado.

I blink a thousand times, wondering if I’ve finally freaked myself out to the point of hallucinations.

With his strong jaw, full lips, and thick head of dark hair, which is casually raked through like a cover model, I find myself staring into the intense, searing blue-eyed gaze of the man I met a short time ago as he cradled his tiny daughter in his arms and pleaded with me to help him.

“Mara,” he says with those wild eyes settling on me like he’s been searching for me for decades. “Are you okay?”

Remember that thing I said about Karma? Well, she can be a bitch, even when you do the right thing.

“Yes, I’m fine.” I look up at the stars as I run a hand down my face and then scratch my head. “What are you doing out here?” I ask him disbelievingly.

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, his collar perked up around the neck. His voice is deep and low. “You saved me the other day. Now, it’s my turn to save you.”

What are the odds?

What are the fucking odds that the man who I helped with his daughter is present for the first time I open up to anyone about my husband?

Pretty good, I can now attest.

Maybe I should play the lotto.

Dean saunters over to me with the steady gait of someone approaching a frightened dog in a cage. “Why did you run out?”