Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Walker
So much for thinking the workout would relieve enough tension to give me a good night’s sleep. I lie awake on the couch as I click through the channels, looking for something—anything—that might distract me from the hollowness I feel inside.
Then it happens. I hear a faint knock at my door. At first, I think I’m hearing things, and then it comes again. It’s soft, but I know I’m not hearing things.
I peek through the peephole, and my heart nearly sinks to my stomach. I fumble with the locks and pull the door open. She’s standing in front of me, hugging herself, her eyes telling me how lost and alone she feels.
“Jessie.” My greeting is a husky whisper.
She bites her bottom lip as tears spill over, her whole body trembling.
I don’t think; I just move. My arms wrap around her, pulling her in until there’s no space left between us.
She collapses against me, her fingers clutching my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
When her head drops to my chest, a raw, broken sob tears free—the kind that sounds like it’s been buried for years.
I rub soothing circles on her back. “It’s okay. I’m right here,” I whisper, though we both know that’s not true.
Nothing about this situation is okay. It’s messy; it’s filled with years of lies and deceit. But all I know to do is comfort her the best way I know how.
When it feels like her cries have slowed, I walk us into my place and close the door. “Come on. Let’s go sit down.”
With her hand in mine, I lead her over to the couch. We both take a seat, and I pull her into my arms. She rests her head against me once again.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask gently.
Her hand comes up to my chest. My first instinct is to place mine over it, to keep her there. I don’t know if it’s to comfort her or myself.
She doesn’t answer my question, and I don’t push. The silence stretches, but it’s not the kind that feels heavy; it’s the kind that feels like breathing after being underwater too long.
After a while, I brush a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering against her skin longer than they should.
“You should get some sleep,” I murmur.
Her eyes lift to mine, red-rimmed and tired. “Can I stay here?”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
I grab her a blanket and a pillow, but when she settles on the couch, I hesitate before turning away.
“Jessie,” I start, but I have no idea what comes next. What apology could fix what she’s been through? What promise could she even believe right now? So, I just say the truth. “I’m glad you came.”
She doesn’t look up, but I catch the faintest nod before her eyes flutter closed.
And I stand here, watching her breathe. I know I should walk away, but instead, I sit on the floor beside her, close enough that if she reaches out in her sleep, I’ll be there. Even if I don’t know what that means anymore.
“Morning,” a soft, familiar voice says in the distance.
I turn over and realize my back is killing me. Why am I so cold? Why the hell is this bed so damn hard?
I open my eyes, and it takes a couple of blinks for me to figure out that I’m on the floor. Then it dawns on me. Jessie. I slept next to her.
After tossing and turning for hours in pain, I must’ve fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning.
I look up and see Jessie with a cup of coffee in one hand and Eli in the other. All the pain in the world means nothing when I see the two people I love the most with each other.
“Morning,” I reply in my rough and sleepy voice.
She laughs lightly. “Why do I feel like it wasn’t such a great night of sleep for you?”
I groan, then wipe my face with my hands. “I’m getting old. This shouldn’t hurt so much.”
I turn to the side and slowly lift myself off the ground, then scoot to the couch as I try to work out the kinks in my back and shoulders.
“You didn’t have to sleep on the ground.”
Eli starts babbling in her arms, which makes both of us look at her.
“I missed her,” Jessie says as she peers down at my daughter.
When her eyes meet mine, I respond, “We both missed you.”
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m ready to talk. Whenever you are.”
“Whatever you need, Jessie, I’m here. Let me just go to the bathroom.”
I move quickly across the room, afraid that if I stop, she might change her mind. Still, part of me slows at the last second, wanting to memorize this—the sound of her voice, the softness in her eyes, the fragile thread of hope that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t the end of us.
When I’m back, she is sitting at the kitchen table with her coffee. Eli is in her bouncy seat on the floor next to her. A fresh cup of coffee sits in the empty chair beside her.
I take a seat, her presence enough to soothe the fear in me just a bit. After I take a sip, I place the mug down and shift in my seat so I’m facing her.
“You look better this morning,” I tell her.
She smiles. “Does that mean I looked like shit last night?”
“No,” I reply quickly. “I mean … you look rested.”
“I’m kidding,” she says with a trace of laughter. “I did sleep well. Thank you. I do feel better this morning.”
“Good,” I reply carefully.
I don’t want to rush her even though I’m dying to ask her what this means. Her showing up here, spending the night, snuggling in my arms.
“I went to see my parents yesterday. Or my mom and …” she starts, then trails off for a moment. “I don’t even know what to call him.”
A stab of guilt hits me. “Jessie, I’m so sorry.”
She holds up a hand. “I spent a lot of time thinking about all of this on my drive. I should have never gotten so angry at you. It wasn’t fair.”
“Of course you should have. You have every right to feel however you want about all of this.”
She shakes her head. “No. I get it. You were put in the middle of my parents’ mistake. I don’t know what I would have done if I had been faced with that kind of decision for all those years.”
“Probably the right thing. You’re a much better person than I am. How did it go with your parents?”
Her shoulders tense. “Awful. They confirmed it.” She looks away from me and blinks rapidly. “I’m sorry.” She laughs and fans her face. “I keep crying.”
“I don’t mind tears. I’ve done my fair share of crying in the last couple of days.”
Her face falls. “You’ve cried?”
I pull at my neck, slightly embarrassed. I know men are supposed to be the tough ones who don’t cry, and admitting that to her isn’t exactly very manly, but I can’t help it.
“I did. When you lose the woman you love, you realize strength doesn’t mean a damn thing anymore.”
Her eyes soften toward me, but I don’t want to push aside what matters.
“How are you doing with it all?”
“Oh God. I don’t know. They told me the story. But even if I could find a way to understand the situation, it doesn’t make it any easier.”
She tells me everything that was said. About her dad wanting to leave, her mother feeling broken and needing an escape. All of it.
“It’s not exactly what I expected,” she admits as she stares down at her coffee.
“I had my mother pegged as the reason it all happened. Now … I don’t know.
I mean, I get it. You have a newborn baby, and your husband is never there.
Then he wants to separate. That could break anybody.
For the first time, I looked at her differently.
Through all the pain and anger I felt for both of them, I felt a glimmer of understanding. ”
I’m shocked. That’s not how I saw any of it going down either.
“It just goes to show that everyone’s carrying something—a past, a reason they turn bitter toward the world.
It doesn’t excuse what they do, but it explains it.
We all have our scars, and maybe some of us learn how to grow through them faster than others.
But for some people … it just takes longer to find their way out. ”
She looks up at me, fear written all over her face. “But what if I can never find a way to forgive them? Do I just lose both of them?”
I grab her hand and hold it on the table right in between us. “You’ll find a way through the pain and anger. I know you will. You’re the strongest person I know. And I know your parents; they’ll be right there, waiting for you when you’re ready. You take all the time that you need.”
“You really think so?”
I give her hand a squeeze. “I know so.”
“Thank you for listening and for just … being here for me.”
My gaze finds hers, steady and certain. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” I think for a second before I continue, “What would help right now? Anything. Tell me.”
She sighs as she seems to ponder it before she responds, “People. I just need to be around people. Noise. Distraction.”
“Done,” I reply. I let go of her hand and grab my phone.
“What are you doing?” she asks warily.
“I’m creating noise and distraction for you,” I say with a wink.