Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
SOPHIE
“ W ill?” The word wheezes out of me. “What are you doing here?” The ends of my fingers tingle with nervousness. He’s the last person I expected to see.
“I got worried when you didn’t respond.” He scans my face in a hurry. His black eyes cloud over with concern. “Sophie, you look terrible.”
“Thanks,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve got a way of making a woman feel great about herself.”
He shakes his head, stepping forward. “No, I mean—you look sick.”
“Wow, your powers of observation are astounding,” I snap back, but the effort sends a wave of nausea through me. Why am I trying so hard to clap back? I need to save my energy. I don’t always need to try to one-up him.
“Look, the girls are sick too, and I …” I trail off, my energy waning. The girls need me, but just standing here is draining what little strength I have left.
“Let me help,” Will insists, reaching out as if to steady me. His hand hovers, unsure, and I feel this strange twinge of vulnerability at the thought of accepting his assistance. I don’t want to be indebted to anyone—but especially not Will.
“Help?” I scoff. “I don’t remember that being part of the consultancy package.” But even as I say it, I’m aware of how petty it sounds. He’s offering assistance, not a business transaction.
“Come on, Sophie.” His tone softens. “Be reasonable. I can hear Julian crying. You must be going through hell right now.”
He’s not wrong. But if I let him help, what will it mean? Will Matt find a way to hold it against me somehow?
“I’m just fine,” I mutter under my breath, but the fight in me is fading fast.
“Look,” he continues, taking a step forward to force himself inside. I’m too weak to protest and simply back up so our chests don’t collide. The heat rising from him is dizzying. I blink as he adds, “There is no such thing as work-family separation when you’re a business owner. So, like it or not, this is part of my mandate.” The right corner of his lips lifts into a teasing smile.
I’m suddenly struck by the contrast between us; he’s wearing a black dress shirt and dress pants, his short stubble neatly trimmed and put together. Not a single chestnut hair is out of place on his head, despite being wet from the rain outside.
In short, he’s utterly gorgeous. In comparison to him, I must look like I’ve been chewed up and spit back out.
“Okay.” It’s barely audible, the word slipping out before I can snatch it back.
“Okay …” Surprise flashes through his eyes. I don’t think he expected me to give in so quickly. I move aside, and he fully steps into the havoc of my home. I ignore the spark that ignites when his arm accidentally rubs up against mine.
As much as I hate to admit it, I’m grateful. Grateful for the support, for the presence of someone else in this overwhelming moment. Already, I can feel the nausea coming back; I don’t know if I can give Julian’s full feeding before I need to pull myself away from him again.
I lean against the door frame, watching Will’s every move as he stands in my entrance. He’s got a determined look on his face as he removes his rain-soaked boots.
“Okay, first up, let’s take care of Julian.” Will gives me a reassuring smile. “How do you feel about bottles?”
My lips part, warmth snaking up my body at his thoughtfulness. He didn’t just ask if he could give Julian a bottle. He considered that I may not be open to the idea. Not many people would have thought of that; he keeps surprising me today. And I’m feeling too woozy to try not to enjoy it.
“Check the fridge,” I say, my voice raspy. “There should be two bottles of pumped milk I was going to send to daycare.” Yet another wave of nausea hits me, and I press a hand to my mouth, willing myself not to be sick again.
“Got it,” he replies, already heading toward the fridge. Then, he pauses, his eyes looking over me. “Go lie down. I’ll handle it.”
‘Handle’ feels like such a simple word for what he’s doing. It’s more than handling—it’s stepping into the chaos of my life without hesitation. It’s caring when he doesn’t have to, when no one else would.
As I hear the fridge open, followed by the gentle clink of glass bottles being retrieved, a strange feeling washes over me. Here in this overwhelming storm, Will is the unexpected lifeline thrown into the turbulent waters I’ve been struggling to stay afloat in.
I head into the living room and slide down onto the couch in between my two girls, closing my eyes for a moment and listening to the sounds of Will preparing the bottle for Julian. His footsteps grow louder, and soon enough he’s in the living room with us. Julian’s cries settle down.
I dare to open my eyes despite the pain in my head, just to catch a glimpse of William with Julian. He’s sitting in the overstuffed armchair on the other end of the couch, looking completely at ease with Julian in his arms. His sleeves are pulled back to reveal his strong forearms keeping my youngest firmly in place.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not alone. And that thought is both comforting and utterly terrifying.
Heather’s tiny frame shifts at my feet, and I turn to see her opening her eyes. She spots Will and sits up like she was just hit by lightning. “Will!” Heather’s voice is a raspy whisper, but her smile is bright. Gwen’s attention goes toward Will too, and her hand flutters in a weak wave, a silent echo of her sister’s greeting.
“Hey girls,” Will says, his voice warm like sunshine. “How about some chicken broth to warm you up after this little guy is full?”
Their nods are feeble but eager. I marvel at how quickly they’ve taken to him, especially Heather, who’s shy around newcomers. But then again, he isn’t really a newcomer. And without the baggage I hold in my heart against him, I can only imagine how easy it must be to feel drawn to that disarming grin and those profound dark eyes.
“Okay, soup coming right up.” Will gets up to go to the kitchen, only to be halted by Julian’s insistent wail. He pivots back, deftly scooping my baby boy into his arms. The crying subsides as if Julian senses he’s in capable hands.
I lean back against the soft cushions of my couch and sigh. The room spins slightly as I watch Will, this man I’ve spent so much time convincing myself to loathe, move through my home with an ease that speaks of something deeper than just obligation.
“Shhh, little man,” he coos, gently rocking Julian while navigating towards the kitchen. “I’ve got you.”
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. My stomach churns, hinting that I might need to rush back to the bathroom sooner rather than later. The sounds of Will warming the broth and humming softly to Julian from the kitchen are surprisingly soothing, a lullaby for my frayed nerves.
“Mommy?” Heather’s voice pulls me back, and I force my eyes open to see her concerned gaze. Her small form shifts to me and cuddles my thigh.
“I’m here, baby.” I weave a hand through her hair. But before I can muster another word, the nausea surges forward. I scramble to my feet, barely making it to the bathroom in time.
As I kneel there, the cool tile against my cheek, I hear Will’s distant murmurings comforting the children. It’s an odd tableau—me, retching and weak, and him, stepping into the role of caretaker with a grace I hadn’t known he possessed.
And despite how sick I feel, I can’t help but get that familiar tingling sensation in my lower belly.
There’s no way I can lie to myself. Will taking care of us is hot as fuck.
I rinse my mouth and return to the living room, where Will has somehow managed to serve the girls their broth and settle Julian against his chest. “You don’t have to stay,” I whisper hoarsely as I sink back into the couch. My body is heavy; my pride is heavier still. Even though he’s giving me what I want—no, what I need—the fact that it’s coming from him is disarming.
Worse—I hate that he has to see me like this. My hair is slicked against my forehead and neck with sweat, and my breath must be terrible. I feel weaker than I have in a long time. I’m at his utter mercy, and if he wanted to, he could take advantage. I’m not sure how, exactly, but I feel vulnerable and exposed nonetheless.
“Of course I’m staying,” he responds, lifting an eyebrow in disbelief. Gwen shifts until her head rests on his thigh, and my heart breaks for her. “What kind of heartless idiot would leave you to fend for yourself like this?”
I huff out a humourless laugh. “Your buddy Matt, for one,” I tell him, not without a bit of spite in my tone. “If he’d bothered to answer the phone, you wouldn’t even need to be here right now.” The words scrape against my raw throat.
Will’s face contorts, and I brace myself. There it is. His nasty side is about to break out of this ‘nice guy’ facade. I should have known. But then?—
“Matthew isn’t my buddy,” he says flatly, and I hear the distaste in his voice, sharp and clear. His eyes meet mine for a brief second, dark with something that looks a lot like betrayal.
I try not to scoff. Matt and Will have been friends for almost as long as they’ve been alive. As far as I know, their mothers were friends or something. They were literally in diapers together. That image almost makes me chuckle.
Almost.
Instead, I focus on the bomb Will just dropped. “Since when?” I ask. The words hang in the air, heavy with my disbelief.
His gaze burns through me. The fingertips pressing against Julian’s back tighten, slightly rustling the fabric of the onesie. “You know.” His tone is clipped.
I blink, trying to process what he means. “Uh, no, I don’t.” Could he mean …
Will takes a deep breath. He looks down at Gwen, whose eyes are half-open, then focuses back on me. “Since that night. Since I saw you rushing out of the party. Since I saw what you had to see.”
I’m swept by a mix of emotions: first, gratitude that he has the tact to withhold the truth from Gwen. As much as I despise Matt, I’m not going to poison his daughters against him. But I also feel the inkling of something else swell in my heart. Something dangerous.
Confusion sweeps the rest of it away. “Wait … you didn’t know?” All this time, I’d assumed Will knew of Matt’s betrayals. That he’d conspired with him to keep it hidden from me. It’s the whole reason I felt so disgusted when I saw him walk in that day at the café.
Remove that fact, and it changes everything.
Absolutely everything.
“No.” He repositions Julian against him to shift his position on the couch. “I found out five seconds after you did. And every ounce of love and respect I had for the guy went out the window the moment I saw.” He stands, gently coaxing Gwen’s head aside, and heads into the kitchen.
I’m left staring at his retreating back with a thousand questions running through my mind.
But he’s back soon, holding a glass of water. Julian’s no longer in his arms; I’m assuming he laid him down in his crib. He hands the glass to me. “Here, drink.” Will’s hand, warm and firm, wraps around mine, coaxing me to take the glass.
For half a moment, I revel in the comfort of his skin on mine. But I force the thought away.
I sip the water, the coolness soothing my parched throat. He watches me intently. The Will I thought I knew—the one who I assumed would side with Matthew without question—is nowhere to be found in those black eyes. In his place is someone I’ll have to get to know again from scratch.
“Thank you,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if it’s for the water or for something else. Like for kicking Matt out of his life when he finally let his true colours shine.
Even after I’ve thanked him, his gaze lingers. “Do you really think I could keep him in my life after he showed such blatant disrespect for you?”
I ignore the rush of warmth that floods through me. “I did.” And now I feel extremely ashamed for thinking it, too. Why did I assume he knew? I replay that moment from a year ago in my mind and try to remember the look Will and I shared as I ran from what I saw. Back then, I’d thought the worry on face was for his friend who’d just been caught.
But what if that worry was for me? For how frazzled I’d seemed?
Before Will can respond, I breathe out, “And I’m sorry.” His eyes soften. “I’ve been …” I look down at Heather, who’s still lying on my lap, then at Gwen, who doesn’t seem to be listening. I lower my voice anyway. “… a bitch.”
Will’s mouth lifts into a teasing smile. “I wouldn’t say that. You were just acting on what you believed.”
“But what I believed was wrong.”
“Yup.” He smirks, then adds, his voice teasing, “Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to make you pay for it.”
My cheeks flood with heat. An image of Will bending me over and ‘punishing me’ rushes through my mind. Not now, Sophie. I push the image away.
“Want water,” Heather squeaks from my lap. The sickly glaze in her eyes is enough to cool me down completely. I’m about to give her a sip of my water, but Will gestures for me to stop and gets up.
“Where do you keep her goblets?” he asks from the kitchen.
“Cupboard above the toaster,” I reply, running a hand through Heather’s soft hair. The sounds of Will rummaging through my cupboards feels strange. But I could get used to this.
Soon Will is back with a pink goblet of water and hands it to Heather, who gives him a small smile despite how terrible she must feel. She props herself up against me and starts sipping contently.
“Why don’t we put on a movie, girls?” Will asks, right before looking at me. “If it’s okay with your mom, of course.”
“I wanna watch Moana ,” Gwen purrs from her end of the sectional couch.
“That’s a good plan,” I agree. I grab the remote from the coffee table and put on Gwen’s movie of choice.
In just a few minutes, Moana is playing on my TV, and my daughters and I are huddled on the couch with a blanket each. Will sits at the edge of the couch, closest to Heather, who leans against him trustingly. In return, he strokes her back in an attempt to soothe her.
I can’t help but smile, even through the nausea. The care he shows for my girls is so natural. I watch him from the couch, the fabric of my blanket hiding half my face.
“Look at you,” I find myself saying as How Far I’ll Go plays in the background. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for someone who likes kids.”
Will glances over, his cheeks colouring slightly. “I’ve always wanted kids.” He sighs. “You’re lucky, Sophie. They’re … they’re amazing.” He looks down at Heather with fondness.
Something in his voice and gaze tugs at my chest. It feels like he’s letting down his walls, now that I’ve put down my pitchfork.
“They really are,” I respond as I hug Gwen closer to me. “They’re the absolute best part of my life. Even now, despite all this. And they’re why I want to grow my business the way I’m trying to. They deserve the world.”
“They do, but you deserve the fruits of your labour, too,” Will whispers softly.
A memory flickers to the forefront of my mind. It was years ago, before Gwen was even born. Will had come over, and we were having a typical lazy Sunday afternoon in our Mile End apartment. I remember Matthew’s harsh words, thinly veiled as jokes, directed at me—cutting slices into my self-worth. Later, I’d heard their voices raised in the other room. An argument? I hadn’t been sure; their words muffled by distance and my own desire to ignore the conflict.
Now I’m beginning to wonder if it had been about me.
But before I can ask him, I feel my body fill itself with lead, eyelids included. And before I have a chance to fight the instinct, I drift into sleep.