Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Amber
I wake slowly, the events of last night trickling in, fuzzy at the edges, like maybe the whole thing was a dream, but it wasn’t. Was it?
My eyes flutter open to find the bed next to me empty. My hand comes out, sweeps across cool sheets, and dread coils low in my gut.
He’s gone.
He left me.
Even though he said he wouldn’t.
Tears sting the back of my throat as a bitter kind of grief takes hold.
I should’ve known this would happen. In the cold light of morning, he probably woke up and saw the baby monitor, me with my messy morning hair, the plain white bra and panties on the floor, and reality hit. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
Stop.
Stop doing that.
I take a steadying breath and sit up, wincing slightly from the delicious ache between my legs. A quick peek at the baby monitor shows Braxton is still asleep. I shrug on my robe and pad on quiet feet out into the living room, where I stop dead in my tracks.
It’s there, standing before me.
The bike.
Not in two parts anymore. No. It’s whole. Perfect and shining and brand new with a big red bow tied to the handlebars.
For a beat, I can’t breathe.
He found the bolt.
He stayed awake and finished it.
For Braxton.
For me.
My hand flies to my mouth.
Slowly, I step closer, fingertips brushing the handlebar. The bow is new; where did he even get a bow? Then I see it: the corner of a folded note tucked under my empty wine glass.
I slide it out with trembling fingers.
His handwriting is like him, neat, steady.
Amber,
I didn’t want to wake you. You looked peaceful, and after everything you’ve been through, you deserve a thousand quiet mornings.
The bike’s finished. Turns out the bolt wasn’t missing, just hiding. (Guess I understand that more than I should.)
If you want, I can pretend last night was casual. That it was two adults…helping each other forget how lonely they are for just a moment.
But that would be a lie.
You trusted me. With your body, yes…but also with the parts of you no one gets to see. The parts that are soft and scared and strong all at once.
I want you to know something before anything else happens.
You’re in control here.
You get to decide if last night was a one-time thing or not.
If you want more. If you want me.
Or not.
I won’t assume, and I won’t push. I want you to have the choice, because you deserve that more than anyone I’ve ever met.
If you want to see me again, call me.
If you don’t, I’ll respect that too.
For what it’s worth…
I haven’t stopped thinking about you, and I don’t think I will anytime soon.
—Nick
P.S. Your son is lucky. Not because of the bike, but because he gets you.
Last night, I realized I might be a little lucky too.
I stare at the note for a long time, reading it over and over. Focusing on one sentence, then another. Once I’m done, my eyes drift to the other item he left next to the note. It’s the walkie-talkie. Sitting there with its light glowing red.
I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. Look at the Christmas tree, the bike, and down the hall to where my son sleeps.
I think about a man named Saint Nick, who is both naughty and nice all at once.
A deep breath.
I hold the walkie-talkie up and press the button.
The light changes from red to green.