Chapter 32 #4
I sit up in bed and shake off the eerie feeling threatening to settle.
I thought sleep would evade me last night.
I thought I'd be more upset with the news my mom gave me, but I find myself unable to mourn the death of a man who tried to kill my mother—tried to kill me.
I'm sad that a chapter has come to a close.
I'll never find the man I spent hours, months, and years dreaming to life in my head.
A father who would love me never existed at all.
But that pain is a dull ache compared to the soul-deep hurt I feel in my bones from not waking up next to London for the first time in months.
I look toward his house, toward his old room that faces mine, and there's a white paper bag on the windowsill.
A flurry of excitement fills my chest. I might be mad at him, and forgiveness isn't something I have to give…
yet, but that little bag feels like hope.
I pad over toward the window and quickly pull it inside.
My eyes flash up to his window to see if he's there.
He's not. Relief and disappointment hit me with equal measure.
I'm not ready to see him. I still need time to sit with everything, but at the same time, I don't want him to give up.
It's selfish to not have forgiveness in my heart and want his attention anyway, to make him suffer when he's been hurting for so long.
I don't like the way it makes me feel inside, but I'm trying to cope.
My mother said if I can forgive her, that same understanding should extend to him.
My mind is still wrapping itself around that.
I do understand, and I'm hoping that's the first step toward forgiveness .
I open the bag, and on top is a note.
992 minutes.
That's how long it's been since my heart stopped beating. I hate the silence. I miss its drum, but I'd rather be hollow than listen to the beat of a heart without its purpose, without you.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry I caused you any pain, sorry I let you down, sorry I fell short of being the man you needed when you needed him most, but I'm not going anywhere. You deserve a better man, and I'm going to prove to you that I can be him. He's been here all along.
I want to take care of my girls… Eat! I got your favorite blueberry muffin from Poppy's, along with a few others, just in case.
I love you.
London
A sad smile tugs at my lips. We haven't even had a chance to talk about our baby, but he's thinking about it, and in his heart, we're having a girl.
My fingers trace the paper's edge as I whisper, "You've always been exactly the man I wanted." The admission burns my throat. I fold the note with shaking hands, setting it beside me like a fragile piece of my heart. "Love sucks." I release a frustrated sigh.
Pain and heartbreak aren't unfortunate side effects of love.
They're woven into its fabric, inseparable from the joy and tenderness that make us feel most alive.
Real love demands everything: your peace, your certainty, your carefully constructed walls.
It asks you to hand over your whole heart, knowing it might be returned to you in pieces, and that's precisely what I did with London Hale.
I peek inside the bag and pull out the blueberry muffin.
I loved these things growing up. The best muffins are the top-heavy ones.
I can't get enough of the crunch in every bite from the coarse ground sugar.
I've just sunk my teeth into a hefty bite when the smell of pancakes floats across my room. I love my mom's pancakes.
"Eggs or pancakes…" my mom says as I enter the kitchen with a mouthful of blueberry muffin. "Or both. What does the baby want?"
"Both," I say around another scrumptious bite.
I couldn't have eaten if I wanted to yesterday. Everything was too fresh, but I don't need a repeat of what happened at the coffee shop happening again. London was right in his letter. I need to eat and take care of our baby.
"Mom, I have some questions," I say, softly pulling out a chair at the table.
Without missing a beat, she says, "I'd be more surprised if you didn't. I'll do my best to answer all of them."
"London knew the man I killed was my father…" I pick at my muffin. "Did he know the rest? Did he know how he hurt you?"
"No." She turns away from stirring the eggs.
"I didn't tell him that story. When your father showed up in town, walking the streets, I didn't tell anyone.
I did my best to ensure he never saw me.
I thought if he didn't see me, he wouldn't be able to find you.
I had my name legally changed before I gave birth to you.
There was no way he could have known our new names, so I was careful to stay out of sight.
It's why I was working so many hours. I was trying to stay away from you so he wouldn't realize who you were. "
I put down my muffin and rub my temples. I brought him here. I searched for him. I made the calls to family members, trying to reach him. I never did get in touch with him myself, but since he showed up in Willow Creek, I know one of the calls got back to him.
"When you decided to go to California instead of following me to college… "
"It was to get us as far away from him as quickly as possible," she confirms.
"Why did you come back?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
"To keep you safe and ensure you wouldn't be implicated." She flips the pancakes. "And Willow Creek grew on me. It became home."
The first part of that answer was expected after I lay awake, piecing together all that I had learned and knowing all that had happened, but the second part is a bit of news.
My mom may have had a darker reason for constantly moving to new cities, but I was always by her side.
She liked exploring new places and finding new favorite eateries and boutiques.
It wasn't all bad, and the memory that this town has of my father's blood spilled on the street has me hypothesizing that it's not just the town… but someone.
"Are you sure it was just the town and not someone?" I ask, curious intrigue evident.
My mother has never been in a relationship my entire life.
The closest thing to a date I witnessed was the dinner date she went on with London's father in high school.
Now, I understand her reluctance to date, but she said she was okay.
Perhaps the peace she found in knowing my father could never hurt her again allowed her to open herself up to finding love.
"There might be." She opens a cabinet to grab plates, but I hear the smile in her tone.
"Really? Who? Do I know him?" I question, surprised by her answer but thoroughly invested in her response.
"As a matter of fact?—"
Ding dong, the doorbell robs her words.
"No," I whine. "Tell me first. I must know," I say dramatically as she walks past the table to answer the door.
"If it's London, send him away," I call after her.
The muffin and letter were a start, but I'm not ready to see him .
"Does Laney Hart live here?" I hear Trigg's voice carry through the house.
I drop my head to the table. "Seriously."
"Laney, you have a visitor," my mother announces as she walks back into the kitchen. "It's not London, so I let him in."
"I should have clarified and said no visitors," I grumble into the table.
"Good to see you too, sis." He pats my back before pulling out the chair next to me. "Is that pancakes I smell?"
"It doesn't matter if it is." I lift my head from the table and add, "You're not staying."
"Ouch." He makes a face.
"Laney, where are your manners?" my mother scolds before asking him, "How many do you want?"
"I'll take as many as you give me. I worked up an appetite driving straight through the night to get here."
"Yes, remind me again. Why are you here?" I rest my hand on my elbow and look at him curiously.
"Making sure my brother doesn't royally mess things up beyond repair," he explains, and I catch my mother turn around, eyes wide.
"Mom, this is Trigger Hale, London's half-brother. Trigg, this is my mom, Anastasia."
"Well, that explains the striking resemblance. Bristol never mentioned that London had a brother around the same age," she says, opening the refrigerator, pulling out a pitcher of orange juice, and setting it on the table.
"That's because he doesn't know," Trigg answers, and my mother freezes.
Bristol knows Baylor has a son. The part he doesn't know is that Baylor's son is technically London's brother.
"If you could keep that to yourself, I'd really appreciate it.
" My mother's eyebrows slightly raise, and he must see his request isn't sitting right with her, so he adds, "I plan on telling him. "
She nods. "Where are you staying? "
"Umm, I haven't figured that out," he says, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. "Laney was my first stop."
"You're welcome to stay in the guest bedroom."
"Mom," I groan, perturbed that she offered him the room, not because I have anything against Trigg but because it basically invites London into our home.
"What?" She shrugs, sliding a plate of pancakes and eggs across the table to me. "He's family now. If he's London's brother, then he's also the uncle of your baby."
"Mom," I hiss. "Not everyone knows about the baby."
A satisfied, shit-eating grin takes over his face.
"Oh, I heard all about the baby. Who do you think broke up the fight between Fisher and London?
" My mother slides a plate to him. He picks up his silverware.
"I tried to tell you—you picked the wrong brother," he jests before cutting into his stack of pancakes as I do the same.
"If my brain was the one doing the choosing, maybe I would have listened, but the brain doesn't choose who it loves. The heart does," I say before shoving a delicious bite into my mouth.
"Yeah, I think I might know a little something about that," he admits. "So, what are we doing today?" he asks as if we're back home on the ranch, and his brother hasn't completely obliterated my heart.
"I am going to go back to my room, take a hot bath, sulk, sleep, read, and repeat. Maybe not in that order, but you get the gist. We..."—I gesture between us—"aren't doing anything."
"You can't take a hot bath," my mom says, joining us at the table with her own plate.
"Why the hell not?"
Hot baths are my favorite when I'm having a bad day or need to unwind.
She points her fork at my stomach. "Because you're pregnant."
"Looks like a vacancy just opened up in your schedule," Trigg says, making himself cozy in the chair beside me .
My mother gives me a pointed glare. She doesn't want me to be rude to our new house guest, and honestly, I don't have the energy to argue.
I give him my sweetest fake smile. "Perfect. Sulking starts in ten minutes, and a chick flick marathon in twenty. Hope you're ready for She's All That followed by 10 Things I Hate About You ."
"Can't say I've seen either." He leans back with an infuriating grin. "I'm more of an action guy. Fast cars and high-adrenaline activities. Oh, I like that football movie…" He snaps his fingers, trying to recall the title. " The Blind Side ."
"How very...predictable of you."
"Tough crowd." He raises an offended eyebrow. "And here I thought we were bonding."
My mom hides a smile behind her coffee cup, clearly enjoying this more than she should.
"Well, if testosterone-fueled entertainment is more your speed, you're welcome to crash with your brother next door. I'm sure he's got plenty of football documentaries."
"Nah, I think I'll stick around." He flashes my mom one of those charming grins that probably works on every woman he encounters. "Something tells me the pancakes are better over here. Plus, I've never seen someone sulk professionally before. Could be educational."
I narrow my eyes at him. "Trust me, you haven't seen anything yet."
"Looking forward to it," he says, and I can tell he's slowly winning my mother over with every word. And me too. The problem is I was never mad at Trigg. It's his brother I have a problem with.
All this is so painful. None of it makes sense: me falling for London, London falling for me.
What was it all for if this is how we end?
That may be my problem. I'm overthinking, trying to protect a heart that's already in pieces.
But maybe that's the point. Sometimes, the only way forward is to dance in the storm.
If you're not scared of getting wet, it can't hurt you.
And forgiving isn't forgetting. It's letting go and choosing not to let the things that hurt you hold the power.
The rain will stop eventually, but I'll still know how to dance.