Chapter 9 #2
I try again. And again. By the fourth attempt, I'm sweating and the doll is wearing a diaper that's technically attached but looks like a drunk person put it on.
"Good enough," Derek declares. "At least it won't fall off immediately."
"That's the standard?"
"That's the standard when you're running on two hours of sleep and covered in spit-up." He claps me on the shoulder. "You'll get faster."
"Or the baby will just go diaperless," I mutter.
"That's called elimination communication and it's a whole thing," Ben says. "Don't go down that rabbit hole."
"Noted."
I return to my barstool, defeated by a doll and a diaper. Gage hands me a fresh beer.
"You did better than I would've," he says.
The party continues. More beers, more stories, more questionable advice. At some point, Tyler and Ben start a heated debate about the best way to install a car seat, which somehow leads to them demonstrating with bar stools. It's chaos and ridiculous and exactly what I needed.
But underneath all of it, I keep thinking about Patrice.
About the way she looked this morning with my blanket around her. The way she smiled when the baby kicked. The way she said she was glad she was staying, even if just for the wedding.
I want more than just the wedding.
I want every morning. Every kick. Every smile.
I want her.
"You okay?" Gage asks quietly. The others are distracted by Tyler's car seat demonstration.
"Yeah. Just thinking."
"About?"
"Everything. The baby. Patrice. How I'm supposed to make this work."
"You love her," Gage says. It's not a question this time.
"Yeah," I admit. "I think I do."
"You think?"
"I do. I love her." Saying it out loud makes it real. Terrifying, but real. "I've loved her since that first night. And now she's here and I have a chance to actually do something about it, and if I tell her and she runs—" I shake my head. "I can't lose her again."
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do. Because you care too much to screw it up." He finishes his beer. "Look, you want my advice?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"No. Here it is—tell her. Before she leaves. Before she gets scared and runs. Tell her exactly how you feel and what you want and let her decide."
"And if she says no?"
"Then at least you tried." He stands, stretching. "But I don't think she will."
"Why not?"
"Because I've seen the way she looks at you when she thinks nobody's watching." He grins. "She's falling for you too. She's just too stubborn to admit it yet."
Hope flares in my chest. "You think?"
"I know. Tessa told me."
"Tessa said that?"
"Not in so many words. But yeah." He heads toward the bathroom. "Tell her, Trace. Before you lose your chance."
I sit there, turning the beer bottle in my hands.
Tell her. Simple advice. Terrifying execution.
But Gage is right. I can't keep waiting for the perfect moment. At this rate, Patrice will leave and I'll never know what could've happened.
The party winds down around ten. Derek gives me the doll to practice with at home, which I try to refuse but he insists.
"Trust me," he says. "You'll need it."
Tyler and Ben leave first, still arguing about car seats. Jake starts cleaning up. Old Jim waves from his usual corner, already settling in for his nightly whiskey routine.
"Ready to head out?" Gage asks.
"Yeah. Need to pick up Patrice."
"From my place, where you dropped her off." He grins. "You know, the place where I also live and need to get back to."
"Right. Want a ride?"
"Nah. You go ahead. I'll close up here with Jake and head back with him."
We say goodnight in the parking lot.
The drive through town is quiet. Snow falls light, catching in the headlights. The lodge disappears behind me, and I'm alone with my thoughts and the stupid baby doll in the passenger seat.
Tell her.
I practice the words in my head.
"Patrice, I need to tell you something. I love you."
No. Too formal.
"Patrice, I've been thinking. I love you."
Worse.
"Patrice, I love you. Stay."
Simple. Direct. Absolutely terrifying.
How hard can it be?
Later, after she's gone to bed, I'm still on the couch. The practice doll sits on the coffee table, its plastic eyes staring at nothing.
Derek made it look easy. Five seconds, perfect diaper. Meanwhile, I couldn't manage it in thirty minutes.
How am I supposed to be a dad if I can't even handle a doll?
But it's not the diaper changing that's keeping me awake.
It's the way she said ‘for the wedding’ tonight. Like she's already planning her exit. Like this is temporary for her.
I pick up the pregnancy book, flip to the page I'd bookmarked. Seven weeks until the due date. Seven weeks to convince her to stay.
To tell her I love her.
To figure out how to be the kind of man she'd want to build a life with.
The fire's dying. I should add more wood, but I don't move.
Tomorrow, I'll show her the town. Help her see what a life here could look like. Show her it's not just survival—it's home.
And then, somehow, I'll find the courage to tell her the truth.
Before she decides ‘for the wedding’ is all she can give me.