Chapter 18 Presley
PRESLEY
Five months later . . .
My feet, covered in wool socks, were curled underneath me as I stared out the front window of Genevieve and Isaiah’s home.
Snow blanketed their yard, and Isaiah had spent an hour clearing the driveway and sidewalks this morning.
I’d watched from this perch as he’d worked, seemingly enjoying the February cold.
Then he’d come inside with red cheeks and kissed Genevieve and the baby before taking her grocery list to the store.
I’d been in this seat as he’d left and as he’d returned.
Their baby Amelia was warm and safe in my arms.
A couple walked down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, both wearing heavy coats, stocking caps and puffy gloves. They looked to be in their fifties. Between them, their hands were linked. Each carried a paper coffee cup covered with a white lid.
It was freezing outside, but they were talking, smiling as their breaths billowed in a trail behind them. Maybe they were newlyweds. Or maybe they’d been together for twenty-five years and were as in love now as they had been at the beginning.
They were the perfect picture for what I wanted.
I wanted someone who’d take a walk with me to the coffee hut ten blocks away no matter the weather because it was ten blocks we could talk and hold hands.
I added it to the mental list I’d been making.
Over the past five months, I’d spent a lot of time reflecting on relationships.
I saw how many of my own, romantic and platonic, had been unhealthy.
It had started with my family—my biological family.
I’d never trusted anyone in my youth besides my sister, but even our relationship had been strained, tainted by constant, simmering fear.
I couldn’t remember a time when we’d laughed and played like children, with reckless abandon. I couldn’t remember fighting with her with that same recklessness either. And sisters should fight, just a little.
My relationship with my mother had lacked all respect and adoration. I pitied her to this day. I had since the beginning. And my father? I loathed him with every fiber of my being.
Those few romantic relationships of mine had been epically messy. Jeremiah was Jeremiah. I wasn’t going to dwell on my mistakes there anymore. And then . . . Shaw.
The man I didn’t let myself think about often, because while Jeremiah had hurt me, Shaw had crushed me. I’d let him in. I’d let him see the real me. For the first time in my life, I’d let a man see me completely, and he’d cast me aside. He’d had no faith in me, in our bond.
We’d been tested.
He’d failed.
Thankfully, after those first few days, blocking him out had been easy. It helped to know I wouldn’t run into him around town. The television could be shut off when his face appeared. Magazines in the salon could be flipped to another page.
After a couple of months, after I’d set aside my anger and disappointment, I’d been able to examine that relationship too. In a way, I had Shaw to thank for this new outlook. Because he’d wounded me so deeply, I’d vowed to change. I’d vowed to raise my standards.
If a man didn’t chin the bar, he was gone. I had my expectations and I would not lower them an inch.
I was learning from the relationships around me, stealing pieces of happy pictures for my own collage.
Bryce and Dash had endless passion. They held each other accountable. They challenged one another. They made the other a better person, never doubting the other’s love.
Trust.
Partnership.
Draven had loved Chrissy with his entire being, even in death. He’d made some mistakes, but his heart had always been hers.
Dedication.
Genevieve and Isaiah had so much faith in one another. No trial would tear them apart.
Loyalty.
Friendship. Love. Peace.
Maybe I’d get lucky and put checkmarks beside them all. Maybe I’d have the chance to build a family of my own and have a baby, like the one in my arms.
Shaw’s betrayal had inspired this list. I was doing my best to look back on our time together and see it fondly. Some days I was more successful than others, but I was healing. He was a memory I hoped one day wouldn’t taste so bitter.
Genevieve and Isaiah’s week-old daughter let out a small sigh in my arms and I shifted us both, swaying Amelia gently.
“You are so precious.” I stroked my finger over her button nose.
“Isn’t she?” Genevieve said, coming down the hallway from their bedroom. Her wet hair was combed, and she was in a pair of baggy sweats. Her movements were stiff and slightly pained as she sat in the recliner opposite the couch.
“Feel better?”
She nodded. “Thank you. Showering has suddenly become difficult.”
“That’s expected.”
Genevieve and Isaiah had survived their first week as parents but both were exhausted. I’d brought over soup and bread for them today, then volunteered to be on Amelia duty while Genevieve took a long shower.
While her mother was gone, I’d studied the baby’s face, trying to decide who she looked like. I hadn’t reached a conclusion yet, but her hair was Genevieve’s.
“She has Draven’s hair. Your hair.”
“She does.” Genevieve smiled at her daughter. “Can I ask you for a favor?”
“Of course.”
The joy in her eyes dimmed. “I’ve been thinking about him. Dad. You knew him a lot better than I did.” I’d had years with Draven whereas Genevieve had only known him for months. “Will you help me?”
“With what?”
“I want Amelia to know who he was. The good parts. Maybe you can help me teach her about him.”
Oh, my heart. “I’d be honored.”
I looked down at the baby, lowering my voice. “Your grandfather was the best man I’ve ever known. He saved my life.”
“He did?” Genevieve asked. “I didn’t know that. How?”
“He gave me a family. He gave me something to fight for. I was a broken girl when I came to live in Clifton Forge, and he didn’t pick me up. He expected me to do it myself. So I did.”
Draven hadn’t believed in victims. After I’d gotten to know him, he’d asked me about my childhood, and I’d summarized the general feel of my childhood home. He’d listened intently. He’d empathized. Then he’d told me something that had set the course for my future.
You’re stronger and better than your past. Choose the life you want and work your ass off to make it happen.
There’d been bumps along that road, but I was still working my ass off.
“Draven took me out for my twenty-first birthday,” I told Amelia and Genevieve.
“He wouldn’t let the guys come along. We went to The Betsy and he ordered me a lemon drop.
I got to drink two sips and then he took it away.
He hauled me down the street to Stockyard’s and bought me a burger and a Coke.
He was always the protector, your grandpa. ”
Genevieve laughed. “That sounds like him.”
“I never told him that after I went home, Dash, Emmett and Leo showed up at my house and we went back to The Betsy, where they proceeded to get me rip-roaring drunk. I’ve never puked so hard in my life.”
Not even the wedding drunkenness could compare to that birthday.
Isaiah came around the corner from the kitchen. “Huh?”
Genevieve and I both giggled, waving him off. “Nothing.”
He walked into the living room and went to Genevieve’s chair first, bending to kiss her. Then he came over and knelt beside the couch, gazing at his daughter like the miracle she was. “How we doin’, Aunt Presley?”
“Great,” I whispered. “Really great.”
If “Aunt Presley” was as close to a family as I could get, I’d call myself blessed for eternity. Like Draven had watched over me, I would watch over this baby girl along with Bryce and Dash’s boys too.
A pair of boots stomped outside the front door and Isaiah hurried over before the doorbell could ring and wake up Amelia. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Luke stepped inside, quickly shutting the door behind him to keep the cold air out. He had a bouquet of yellow roses in his hand, identical to the bundle he’d taken to the hospital last week when we’d gone to see Amelia after she’d been born. “I hope these didn’t freeze on the walk over.”
Genevieve pushed herself up and crossed the room, taking the flowers and pressing them to her nose. “You’re so sweet. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He bent to kiss her cheek, then shrugged off his coat before rubbing his hands together, warming them up.
I smiled as he came over and sat beside me on the couch. “Did you wash your hands first?”
Luke grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m only sharing her for ten minutes. Then she’s mine again.” I transferred the baby into his arms, my ovaries exploding at the sight of him cooing at Amelia.
Luke Rosen, Clifton Forge chief of police, might just hit every single item on my list.
“How are you?” He leaned over to brush a kiss to my cheek.
“Good.” I inched closer, letting the warmth of his arm seep into mine. “How was your night?”
“Quiet, thankfully. It’s too cold for people to cause trouble.” Luke had filled in last night for a patrol officer who was sick. He’d been out patrolling the streets instead of out to dinner with me.
Turns out, I had a thing for cops.
And Friday nights were reserved for Luke.
Luke and I had met in the grocery store one Friday night, about a month ago. The place had been nearly deserted except for the two of us in the frozen foods section. We’d both been hovering around the frozen lasagnas.
Then he’d formally introduced himself.
I’m Luke Rosen.
I shook his hand and we lamented about how sad it was to cook a large lasagna for one person. One thing led to another, and neither of us left the store with groceries. I went out to dinner with him instead.
We’d had dinner together every Friday since. And some Wednesdays. And a random Monday. And nearly every Saturday. We were taking things slowly, getting to know one another.
Luke had helped me move past Shaw’s hurt. He was a genuinely good man and his introduction had come at a time I’d needed to believe in good men again. And day by day, dinner by dinner, he’d become important.
“What’s your plan for the day?” he asked.