Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
BARRETT
I don’t sleep at all. Not a wink the entire night.
I lie in Drew’s very comfortable guest bed, staring at the fan whirling on the ceiling, hating myself for maybe the first time in my life.
My personality clearly leaves several things to be desired, but a lack of confidence and inner peace has rarely been a problem. I’ve always rested assured in the fact that I work hard, keep my promises, and do my best to be a dependable and accomplished son, brother, student, physician, husband, and boss. I make mistakes like everyone else, but it has never been from a lack of giving the things and people I care about my all.
Thus far, that’s been enough to keep the caustic inner voice mostly at bay.
But now it rips into me like a wild dog falling on its first meal in weeks.
I’ve hurt the one person I want to protect, the one woman I cherish more than any other. I’ve caused her pain and though the logical part of me insists that this pain is necessary in order to avoid much bigger, more lasting pain in the future, I can’t banish the gnawing, aching, wretched feeling from my gut.
Finally, at five-thirty, when the first morning light penetrates the gauzy guest room curtains, I give up hope and get out of bed. I shower, change out of the pajamas Drew loaned me last night and back into my tuxedo, then pad softly down to the kitchen to start breakfast.
After appearing on my brother’s porch last night without warning, demanding sanctuary, it feels like the least I can do.
Moving quietly around the kitchen, I find potatoes in the pantry and set about washing and shredding them for hash browns, trying to ignore the now weary voice in my head, reminding me that I am the stinky potato. But thankfully, none of Drew’s potatoes have gone rancid, and twenty minutes later, after adding onions and peppers, I have a large batch of hash browns browning in a cast iron skillet.
I’m hunting for sausage in the fridge, when a little voice asks, “Uncle Barrett did you have a sleepover?”
I look around the fridge door to see five-year-old Sarah Beth, her stuffed dog in the crook of her arm, rubbing her eyes by the table. I force a smile, “I slept in the guest room.”
“Why?” She cocks her head to one side, before suggesting, “Did you have bad dreams at your house and need company?”
“Something like that,” I say. “But it’s morning now so things are better.” Or they will be, someday. As soon as I know that Wren has moved on and is happy with someone else. Someone better. “I thought I’d surprise your dad with loaded hash browns. He loved those when we were kids.”
“Those are good for Saturday breakfast.” Sarah Beth hugs her stuffed animal closer to her chest, pursing her lips before she adds, “But pancakes? Well, some people say those are even better…”
A real smile curving my lips, I ask, “Would you be ‘some people’?”
She grins. “Yes.”
“Okay, I can do pancakes, too. What kind do you like best? Chocolate chip? Banana? Chocolate chip and banana?”
Her eyes lighting up, Sarah Beth says, “My friend at roller skating club said she had pancakes with Oreo cookies inside them last weekend. Is that real? Can you put Oreos in a pancake?”
I arch a brow. “I don’t know, but how about we find out? I saw some Oreos in the pantry. You grab the Oreos, and I’ll get the pancake mix from the cupboard.”
Sarah Beth pumps her fist in the air. “Yes! Oreo pancakes!” She bounces toward the pantry, pausing to hug my leg as she passes. “You’re the best Uncle B. Love you.”
Tears springing into my eyes, I murmur, “I love you, too, Sarah Beth,” then instantly turn back to the stove, willing myself to get the emotional outburst under control before anyone sees what a ridiculous mess I am this morning.
But it’s too late.
When I turn, Tatum is already standing in the archway leading into the kitchen. As our eyes meet, her forehead furrows in empathy. She mouths, “Talk later?” and I nod—figuring I don’t really have the option of saying “no,” considering I crashed her Saturday morning—and she adds aloud, “And I’ll make the coffee. Decaf for me and caffeinated for everyone else.”
“The baby can’t have coffee, Uncle Barrett,” Sarah Beth informs me as she places the bag of Oreos on the counter beside my elbow. “So, Mama has to make two pots of coffee every morning.”
Mama . She’s calling Tatum “Mama” now.
I glance Tatum’s way. She nods and beams with happiness, seeming to read my mind, “I do. But it’s not a big deal. It’s just until Christmas, which will be here before we know it.”
“What?” Sarah Beth laughs as she comes to lean against Tatum’s side, getting some morning hugs from her soon-to- be stepmom, who bends down to kiss her head. “That’s crazy. Christmas isn’t for forever and ever.”
“Well, time behaves a little differently when you’re a grown-up,” Tatum says.
“I don’t want to be a grown-up yet,” Sarah Beth says. “I want time to go slow because it’s almost summer and we haven’t even gotten to go swimming yet. And I want to go swimming and to the waterslide on the lake because I’m old enough to go down by myself now.”
“Valid,” Tatum says, brushing Sarah Beth’s red curls from her face. “Will you go wake Daddy up for me? Tell him coffee’s almost ready and Barrett’s making a delicious smelling breakfast.”
“Roger that,” Sarah Beth says, dashing toward the stairs, shouting over her shoulder, “But no one gets to try the Oreo pancakes before me. I get to be first. Because it was my idea!”
“You’re first,” I assure her. “No one gets to dig into Oreos before you.”
Sarah Beth cheers and her little feet pound up the stairs, making a surprising amount of noise.
“She’s part rhinoceros,” Tatum says, reading my mind again. She lowers her voice as she adds, “So, what happened last night? Drew told me something went wrong at the wedding and Wren was moving out when he came back to bed, but he didn’t say what. I thought you and Wren were doing so well.”
“I can’t be what she needs,” I say bluntly, intending to get through this conversation as quickly as possible. “I want to be, but I can’t. It’s better to end it now than to let things drag on and ruin more of her life.”
Tatum frowns. “Ruin? What’s been ruined? Wren has a wonderful life, though it has seemed quite a bit happier since you agreed to be a more intimate part of it.”
I shake my head. “It’s a long story. I’m sure she’ll explain it better than I can.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Tatum says. “Wren doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“Well, there wasn’t any kissing going on last night, so…” I flip the first two Oreo pancakes and give the hash browns a quick stir, hoping that will be the end of it.
“All right,” Tatum says, surprising me as she moves to pull mugs down from the cabinet beside the stove. She isn’t usually the kind to let things go so easily, especially not when it comes to Wren, her best friend in town. “But in case you need a gentle reminder, perfect isn’t a thing. Not in love or relationships or anything else. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to love her and do your best to show her how much you love her, even when it’s scary or hard. Especially when it’s scary or hard.”
I fight to keep my silence, but the words slip out anyway. “That’s all well and good until you realize you can’t tell when it’s scary or hard.”
Tatum sets a mug with a ceramic squid in the bottom on the counter and turns to face me. “What do you mean?”
I clear my throat, hating that I’m dumping on her, but unable to help myself. Lack of sleep has eroded my usual control. “It’s come to my attention that I’m not always on the same page as everyone else. Things escape my notice. Things like social cues and emotions and the fact that everyone thought I was cheating on Lane with Wren before we divorced.”
Tatum’s jaw drops. “What? Who thought that?”
I shrug. “Several prominent members of society and my first cousin. To name a few. I overhead them talking last night.”
Understanding flickers in her eyes. “I see.”
“Do you?” I exhale a soft, humorless laugh as I pull the first two pancakes from the griddle and pour on two more, carefully placing the Oreos in the center, where the batter is thickest. “At least that’s one of us. I don’t feel like I understand anything, anymore.” Except that I miss Wren like a vital organ, and it’s been less than twelve hours since she crawled out the guest bedroom window . But I don’t say that part aloud.
“You got stuck in a sneaky fear spiral,” she says, as if I should know exactly what that means. “You heard those people talking, a part of you started to wonder if they were right, and all your other fears piled on to drag you down into the pit. And once you’re in the pit, the only decisions are bad decisions. Never make decisions when you’re in the pit. Not even what color lipstick to wear, let alone whether or not to dump the love of your life.”
“I didn’t dump her,” I say. “I dumped me.”
Tatum’s gaze softens. “I’m pretty sure it didn’t feel that way to her.”
I stand up straighter, nerves humming. “Have you spoken to her?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “But I’m planning to go over to your place and help her pack as soon as breakfast is over. Unless…”
I arch a brow and flip the pancakes, once again hitting the timing perfectly. If only I were as good at love and relationships as I am at cooking breakfast.
“Unless?” I finally echo as she stands there staring at me, clearly expecting me to read her mind as well as she reads everyone else’s. But that’s not who I am, a fact that brings the conversation full circle and should perfectly encapsulate why I had to do what I did last night. For Wren’s own good and future happiness.
Tatum slaps my bicep hard enough for it to hurt a little. “Unless you go over there and make it better first. Go over there, Barrett! Beg for her forgiveness, promise to do whatever it takes to mend your relationship before it’s too late.”
“It’s already too late,” I whisper.
“It’s not. She loves you. You love her. And just as importantly, you have so much in common. You’re two sides of the same coin, so alike, but different enough to make something beautiful together. Let her help you make up for what you lack and vice versa, that’s part of what it means to be a team. And don’t you dare let a bunch of mean-spirited gossips ruin this for you guys. That would truly be a tragedy.”
“She’s right,” Drew says, appearing in the kitchen archway, sans Sarah Beth, who, judging from the footfalls upstairs, is up to something in her room. “Tatum makes up for what I lack all the time. I’ve become such a better parent since we’ve been a team.”
“And I can finally balance my bank account, set a budget, and understand health insurance is something I need, even though it’s ridiculously expensive,” Tatum says, adding with a smile, “I’m also becoming quite the ice fisherwoman. I was sad to see the lake melt this year.”
Drew wraps his arms around her from behind, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “A sexy ice fisherwoman.”
She laughs as she leans into him. “Only you would think watching a woman learn to gut a fish is sexy.”
“Not any woman. Just you. You’re sexy all the time,” Drew says, shifting his gaze from his fiancée to my face, his smile vanishing. “And you’re being too hard on yourself. Maybe you should quit therapy. Maybe getting in touch with your emotions isn’t for you. Not if it ruins this thing with Wren.”
“No,” Tatum says. “You just need to keep moving forward. You’re growing and changing, and that’s never easy, but you’re going to be a better man on the other side. The kind of man Wren needs. One who knows he doesn’t have to hold the world together and who can let the people who love him know he’s struggling and ask for help.” She motions upstairs. “Look, you’re doing it already. Old Barrett would have slept in his truck before asking for help last night. Or ever.”
Drew grunts. “She’s right. Full disclosure, she’s almost always right, so whatever she told you to do before I got down here, you should do it.”
I hesitate, the poisonous voice in my head fainter now, but still insisting it’s too late, that I’ve dropped the ball one too many times and shouldn’t be allowed back on the field.
“Would you give up on a baby halfway through because the birth was difficult?” Tatum asks, answering the question herself, “Of course, you wouldn’t. So, think of this like a difficult labor. You and Wren will have to work to get through it, and it might get messy and hard. But in the end, you’ll have brought something miraculous into the world that will make both it, and both of you, so much better.” She grins. “And in five years when you’re still blissfully in love and run into whatever cousin decided to run her mouth at the wedding, you can flip her off and say ‘neiner niener niener, Wren still loves my wiener,’ and vengeance will be yours.”
“Weiner?” A little voice pipes up from behind them, making Tatum’s face go pale and Drew snort with laughter. “Are Barrett and Wren getting a Weiner dog, too? Oh, they’re so cute! I like Keanu Reeves, but he has scary teeth and could use a snuggly little friend.”
“Thank you, Sarah Beth,” I say, shifting the last batch of pancakes to the serving plate. “I thought so. And Weiner dogs look great in a sweater.” I flip off the hash brown burner and move the cast iron skillet to the other side of the stove. “We’ll have to keep watching the dog adoption site until we find one.”
“Thank you,” Tatum mouths.
I nod and pull in a bracing breath. “You’ll have to text me later, let me know how the Oreo pancakes are.”
“You aren’t going to eat one?” Sarah Beth asks, looking disappointed as she crawls into her booster seat at the table. “You can have one. I know how to share.” She lifts a tiny finger. “But just one because I would like to have leftovers on Tuesday, which is a day that sometimes I also get pancakes if Daddy leaves for work early and Mama is in a ‘sugar is okay but keep it between us’ mood.”
Tatum laughs and points a finger back at her. “Don’t you tell on me, girlfriend, or we’re both going to get in trouble.”
“That’s right.” Drew smacks Tatum’s bottom playfully. “Bad mama.”
“Good thing that’s the kind of mama you like,” Tatum mutters beneath her breath, exchanging a heated look with her soon-to-be husband.
And just like that, the shift is completed inside of me.
I’m pretty sure Tatum’s right about making up for what each other lack, but Drew’s just confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’m not alone in my obsession with my woman’s ass.
I’m an ass-loving McGuire man, dammit. It’s in our blood. Maybe that’s embarrassing to women like Celeste, Allana, and Mabel, but it doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me.
And the things that are wrong…
Well, Wren said last night that she was willing to talk through things, work through things with me, if I’d just come to her instead of making decisions for both of us.
Hopefully, she still feels that way this morning.
“I’ll try an Oreo pancake next time, Sarah Beth,” I say, starting toward the garage door. “I have something important I need to do first.”
Tatum beams and shoots me two thumbs-up and Drew says, “Good luck, brother. And feel free to drop in anytime. We love you.”
My lips twitch into a smile as I nod, not trusting my voice not to shake. I know what love is. In so many ways, it’s been all around me my entire life.
Now I just need to learn how to hold onto it.