Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
The guitar felt like an old friend in my hands, familiar and comforting in a way that my violin couldn’t be tonight. Sometimes when I got stuck on a piece—really stuck, like I had been on the Bach for the past few days—switching instruments helped unlock whatever was jamming up my brain.
The house was blissfully quiet for once.
Rachel was at the library, Ayanna had gone home for the weekend to see her parents, and Talia was out with some guy she’d met in her voice pedagogy class.
The only noise was the sound of the students walking by heading to the Den—the notorious football house on the other side of the hockey house.
I sat cross-legged on my bed, strumming my guitar to no particular tune because my mind kept wandering to places I didn’t want it to go. Or maybe I should say places I shouldn’t want it to go.
Places like the coffee shop, sitting across from Drew.
I absolutely should not, under any circumstances, be thinking about how he looked awestruck whenever he talked about Rory.
Or how vulnerable he looked when he apologized to me.
I couldn’t remember a single moment when he’d sincerely been sorry for his actions toward me, not even during those brief few weeks in sixth grade.
They said parenthood changed you, and apparently they weren’t kidding because Drew had become someone I might actually consider being friends with.
And because that idea had me feeling all sorts of confused, I had turned to music to find my equilibrium again.
Music had always been the core of who I was.
It wasn’t just my major or my career path, but something deeper than that.
It was the language I spoke when words weren’t enough, the way I made sense of the world when everything else felt chaotic.
Although, it was taking longer than usual to find that happy place among all the images of Drew over the years that flashed through my mind.
More students kept walking by heading toward the party, and I could faintly make out the bass.
But there was another distinct sound that I heard even clearer.
A baby’s cry.
Gently setting down my guitar, I got up and moved to the window, parting the curtains I mostly kept shut because this window faced directly into Drew’s bedroom.
I’d spent the entire school year actively avoiding looking out this window, especially at night, because I didn’t want to see Drew bringing home whatever girl had caught his attention that week.
I didn’t need to witness his revolving door of hookups when I was already fighting the stupid, irrational part of me that had always been attracted to him.
And clearly he’d felt the same because every time I had gotten curious, his curtains were closed—almost like he didn’t want to see me either.
It was ironic that two people who hated each other as much as Drew and I had somehow always ended up near each other—at the same college, then living next door.
But unlike those few other times I’d peeked, Drew’s curtains were wide open and he was pacing back and forth, Rory in his arms, red-faced and clearly upset.
Drew didn’t look like he was faring much better.
He looked rough, like sleep had eluded him for far too long, and even from this distance his shoulders seemed stiff with tension.
He was bouncing her, swaying, clearly trying everything he could think of to get her to stop crying.
By the cries I could hear through the closed window, his attempts were failing.
I waited to see if one of the guys would come in and help. That was one thing I’d noticed since Rory’s appearance at their house, that everyone was pitching in to help Drew figure out his new role.
But nobody came.
Drew kept pacing, speaking words I couldn’t hear—no doubt begging her to stop crying—and the longer I watched, the more defeated and sad he appeared.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I was grabbing my shoes and heading for the door.
The early April air was cold, especially this time of night, and it cut through my oversized sweater as I crossed the small yard between our houses. I nibbled my lip as I raised my fist to knock on the door.
When he finally answered, he looked worse up close than he had through the window.
There were bags under his eyes. His hair was a disaster, and there was what looked like spit-up on the front of his maroon Clark Fork University T-shirt.
Rory was still screaming in his arms, her little face red and scrunched up with misery.
“Harper?” He looked around behind me as if he expected someone else to have knocked on the door. “Is everything okay?”
“She sounds upset,” I said, gesturing toward Rory, who was reaching a new octave in her crying. Drew hadn’t stopped bouncing her up and down as if he hoped the ineffective movement would suddenly start working.
His face blanched. “I’m sorry if she’s being too loud.
I don’t know what’s wrong. I’ve checked her temperature.
I even called the pediatrician I found for her, but they told me this was normal baby behavior.
There’s no way this is normal. I’ve literally done everything I can think of—changing her diaper, feeding her.
Nothing’s working.” His voice broke as he looked down at his daughter like he wished she could speak and he’d make everything better if she’d just tell him what she needed.
“She hasn’t stopped crying for hours. Not since we got home from our game.”
Hours? Jesus. No wonder he looked so exhausted.
“Want some help?” I asked, holding out my arms.
Drew hesitated, and I could see him fighting with something. “She’s my daughter. I should be able to take care of her.”
But the way he said it made me wonder if he was doubting himself as a father in a way that went deeper than just one bad night.
I stepped closer, brushing my hand over her arm in a soothing gesture. “You know,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, “it’s entirely possible that your stench is making her cry. When’s the last time you showered?”
“Don’t pull your punches, Tinsley. Way to hit a man when he’s down.
” He shook his head, but the corners of his lips lifted into a small smile.
“I meant to shower after the game, but I skipped it because I was so worried about her. She was crying before we left, and Sam said she cried most of the time I was gone. I should’ve stayed home with her.
” His voice lowered at the end as if he didn’t mean for me to hear that last part.
I never thought I’d see the day when Drew Dumontier would prioritize anything over hockey.
“Go shower,” I said, stepping even closer and gently taking Rory from his arms. He didn’t smell that bad, but it would still give him a little break. “I’ve got her.”
He looked like he wanted to argue, but I shook my head. “Go.”
“I’ll just be ten minutes,” he said, running a hand through his hair.
“Take as long as you need.”
He ran up the stairs taking two at a time, and I smiled down at his daughter. “Your daddy doesn’t like being away from you, does he? You’ve pulled off a miracle, you know that? For the first time in his life, a girl has him wrapped around her little finger.”
I kept talking to her as I settled onto the couch, adjusting my hold until she was comfortable against my chest. Her screaming turned to whimpers and then small hiccups when I started humming the lullaby I’d sung to her a few days ago.
“It’s okay, baby girl,” I murmured. “Daddy’s just tired, but he’s doing his best. You need to go easier on him, okay?”
Anyone with eyes could see he really was trying his hardest, even when he had no idea what he was doing. Even when he was clearly overwhelmed and exhausted and probably wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
The longer I hummed, the calmer she became until her eyelids started to close with her own exhaustion. Her tiny fist was curled around a piece of my hair, holding on like she was afraid I might disappear.
A few minutes later, Drew came rushing back down the stairs, running a towel over his head and wearing a clean LA Wolves T-shirt and gray sweatpants.
He froze as he caught sight of us on the couch. “You’re a fucking miracle worker, Tinsley.”
“She likes when I hum that lullaby.”
“I’m gonna need you to teach me that tune, pronto, if I’m going to survive the baby years.”
Drew collapsed into the chair across from me, his head in his hands. “I keep wondering if I’m enough for her,” he said quietly, like he was confessing a sin. “If she’d be better off with two parents. Or with someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”
“I don’t think anyone knows what they’re doing when they have their first kid. I think most people just make it up as they go along. Drew…” I waited until he met my gaze. “I know it’s hard right now, but you’re doing your best with her.”
“But what if my best isn’t good enough? I can’t even get her to stop crying.”
“My cousin’s kid cried constantly until she was four—no joke. My cousin used to say that her daughter was broken and then one day she just stopped.”
Drew’s eyes grew wide with horror. “She could cry for years?”
“Okay, not the point I hoped you’d take from that.
What I’m trying to say is that sometimes babies cry.
If you’re meeting all her basic needs, then all you can do is just keep trying to soothe her.
This is all probably pretty jarring for her too.
She’s in a new environment with new people.
I still can’t believe her mom just ditched her like that. ”
It filled me with rage the more I thought about it. How could she just leave this sweet little girl alone in Drew’s room?
“She’s lucky to have you,” I said, and I meant it. “You dropped everything for her. You’re learning as you go, but you’re showing up every day. That’s what matters.”
Drew’s expression shifted, a deeper emotion, more than gratitude, shining in the hazel depths. My stomach fluttered from the intensity. I wasn’t sure I’d ever had anyone look at me the way he was right now.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice deeper and rougher than normal.
“Anytime.” I broke our stare and looked down at the sleeping baby in my arms. She was my favorite Dumontier by a long shot.
“I mean it, Harper.”
When I glanced up, he still had that same intensity in his gaze. “Thank you for not making me feel like a complete failure as a father.”
“You’ve never failed at anything as long as I’ve known you,” I admitted honestly. And I had no doubt he wouldn’t fail Rory.
“I can think of one thing.”
A beat passed, the air feeling thick between us. “I failed at being your friend in sixth grade.”
I swallowed thickly. “Well, then I stand corrected, and I guess it’s a good thing Rory isn’t a Tinsley then, huh?”
The corner of his lips lifted up again in that same small smile I was getting dangerously addicted to.
“I don’t know. Not all Tinsleys are bad.”