Chapter 36
Idon’t love August Burton.
I’ve repeated this sentence to myself over and over, too many times to count, in the mirror and not, over the course of the last month.
I can’t love him.
But I do.
I’ve loved him ever since that first day I laid eyes on him.
I was his, and he was mine. That was that.
And I fought like hell for so long to undo it.
But the weaver in the sky did her very best work the day we found each other. She made sure the end of my string found his and tied them together in a knot so tight she knew we’d never be able to fully untangle it.
I place my hand on the lower part of my stomach. While I logically know I won’t be able to feel anything happening in there for another several weeks, it brings me peace to know there’s a bundle of cells the size of a small lime in there that’s made up of me and August.
I hope Gus finds that same sense of peace, if he hasn’t already.
Some might say running away was a bitch move, and honestly, I get it. But I needed time to sort through everything, on my terms. I needed to decide if I was going to forgive August, if I believed he was capable of learning and growing with me.
I needed to know for certain that I belonged in Merrymount.
I wasted so much time picturing the grass being greener on the other side.
And maybe it is. I could see myself here in New York.
Or maybe some other big city like Orlando or Los Angeles.
I could be happy elsewhere. I can see a life for myself and this baby in so many places.
But is that what I want?
No.
It feels good to know that for sure now.
And August, who let me walk away, knowing I might not come back. He somehow understood with almost zero explanation that I needed this. He took my brothers in without a second thought. He’s been the lifeline I’ve always needed.
He doesn’t know I’ve already forgiven him. And now that there’s time and space between the memory of when he found out about the baby and now, I can’t say I would have handled things any better if the roles were reversed and I was standing there in his shoes.
Old habits die screaming, and we have to relearn handling and tackling the messy stuff together, side by side. We did it before, and I know we can do it again. We’ve survived worse.
Because long story short, I love August Burton.
And I know he loves me too.
But shit, now I have to find him.
I blow through the small hotel room I’ve made a home in over the past few weeks, throwing every random article of clothing I can find into my suitcases.
I collect makeup and hair products, shoving them into their travel bags.
I discard all of the trash I’ve accumulated, and double-check all of the outlets and drawers for chargers and anything else I might have missed.
When I snatch my phone up, my fingers fly across the touch screen, typing out a frantic text to Red.
Me
Hi. I know I’m the worst. I’m sorry. I love you. Forgive me so we can skip to the part where I ask if you’ve talked to and/or seen August.
Little Red Riding Hoe
well well well look what the cat dragged in - how’re ya feeling my knocked up sister in christ? happy to hear you’ll be gracing us with an appearance
Me
I’M FUCKING SERIOUS
Little Red Riding Hoe
idc bitch, you’re the one who ran off and acted like you didn’t have a whole village to support you and then thought we’d be content with halfass postcard-esque updates
I’m about to hit call when another text chimes in.
Miller Caswell
Gwen’s holding a grudge. Side effect of pregnancy. She’ll get over it by the time you get home, but Gus is on his way to Manhattan. If you’re *not* there, it might be best to break no contact and give him a heads up.
“What?” I scream.
August. He’s on his way here.
But how? I haven’t told a single person where I’ve been, and I turned off my location in fear someone would show up, trying to drag me back before I was ready. There’s no way.
Do I call him? And say what? This isn’t a conversation to be had over the phone, and once I hear August’s voice, there’s no telling what will fall out of my mouth.
My stomach grumbles, my little sidekick’s not so gentle reminder that if I don’t eat something at least every two hours, my body revolts.
“Okay, okay, let’s get some food. Then we have to find your dad…Huh. That sounds funny. You have a dad. His name’s August, and he’s on his way here. To us. Can you believe that?” I muse to my temporary uterus inhabitant.
I swipe my jacket off the hook by the door and sling my tote bag over my shoulder before darting out into the hotel hallway, beginning my hunt for something to eat.
By the time the elevator brings me to the ground floor, I’ve argued with myself seven different times about how to get ahold of August without actually…
getting ahold of August. Nothing makes sense. I’m a basket case.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Stiles!” Sally, my favorite front desk attendant, greets me when I enter the lobby.
“Hi, Sal!” I call back.
Sally is fucking fantastic. I was obsessed with her as soon as I dragged my broken, pregnant self, along with most of my belongings into this small hole-in-the-wall hotel three weeks ago, and she insisted on helping me bring everything up to my room.
She’s tall and lean, surely from her years of dance training, with the longest jet black hair, so dark that it’s tinted blue.
It’s pin straight, and there’s never a hair out of place.
She’s in her early thirties, working two jobs while trying to land her breakout role on Broadway.
I could listen to her talk for hours with her slight accent I can’t quite place, and she thinks it’s the funniest thing to refuse to tell me how it came to be.
“I’m a hodge-podge of a person, Daisy. That’s all there is to it,” is what Sally said to me when I tried to ask her life story over Shirley Temples in the lobby bar after one of her shifts.
I don’t know what got me to open up to her.
Maybe it was the fact that she knew nothing about me or my family or what happened.
But once I was semi-unpacked, I asked if she wanted to get something to eat, and she immediately agreed, telling me she knew the perfect place to go.
I think she’s been my version of Merrymount since I arrived in New York.
We clicked instantly, and I know that saying goodbye to her won’t be forever, but it’ll be hard.
“You look frazzled, my dear,” Sally assesses, putting her book down on the desk and pushing her reading glasses up to perch on her head.
“Bad news, good news. Which am I dishing first?” I ask.
Sally takes a second to ponder her response. She never uses umm’s or ah’s. She’s extremely aware of every word that comes out of her mouth, and she has the patience to ensure it’s exactly what she wants to say every time.
What a goddamn talent, I’ll tell ya.
“Bad,” she finally lands on. “Then heal me with the good.”
“I’m going home.”
The smile that breaks out across Sally’s face almost knocks me down with its brightness.
“Daisy!” Sally rounds the corner of the front desk and holds out her arms, waiting for me to fall into them. I do almost instantly. Because just like August, Sally immediately knew—without words—my need to be held at arm’s length (no pun intended) with physical affection.
“I’m so sad for me, but I’m so happy for you,” Sally mumbles into the top of my head. “What changed?” she asks when we pull apart.
“August is on his way here. Well, not here here, seeing as he has no idea this is where I’ve been staying. And it’s like some weird twist of fate, I swear, because I was planning on going to him anyway!”
“It’s not weird or a twist, silly girl. I know I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting August—yet,” Sal adds with a pointed look. “But this was always just a place for you to rest your head. He is your home.”
“I don’t suppose you’re getting off work soon and could come grab a bite to eat with me?”
Sally’s complete and total happiness for me dims only slightly.
“Sorry, I’m pulling a double today because I took two days off for auditions later this week. I need to make up the hours for rent. When are you leaving?”
“Great question. I have no clue. I need to find food, and then I need to find August. In that order, because I’m starving.” My hand finds its way to my stomach when a perfectly timed grumble moves through.
“I think a hot dog and a park bench are calling your name.”
My mouth waters at the mention of something so simple.
“Yep, you nailed it before I even had time to decide on what I wanted. I won’t leave without saying goodbye, I promise.
But, Sally, you’ve—” Shit. I’m already getting choked up.
Pregnancy makes me a crier. I hate it. “You’ve made my time figuring everything out significantly better, and I don’t think there will ever be a day I’m not thankful I found a friend in you. ”
“A friend in me always you will have, Daisy. One day I’ll have more than mere hours off in between jobs, and I’ll find my way out to that perfect little Merrymount you love so much. I expect the five star treatment when I arrive, too!” She laughs.
I pull her in for another hug and then slip out the revolving door into the harsh January cold. I’m thankful I can still button my coat as I make my way down the street to my favorite cart vendor a couple blocks ahead.
I take in the sights and sounds, knowing it’s probably one of the last times I’ll have this kind of moment to myself. I’m lost in my head, romanticizing this chaotic period of my life when out of the corner of my eye—
A hulking, brute of a man, standing taller than any of the heads around him on the busy Manhattan sidewalk.
An insufferably sexy mustache. A beanie covering dark hair that I love to run my fingers through.
Scuffed and worn work boots, one with the laces undone, like he was in a hurry to get here.
Jeans that pull tight across thighs that could crush anything.
A thin long sleeve shirt hides beautiful, swirling tattoos.
He looks a little lost, and a lot confused.
But when his eyes find mine, everything clears.