Chapter 13 #2
I’d been happy for a while. Happy for them.
I was a hard worker and dedicated, especially because they were family.
But eventually, I felt expendable. I didn’t feel seen as a devoted part of the family, but just a member of their crew.
It hurt. I didn’t need special favors. I just longed to be noticed.
I was blending in, instead of standing out, and I hated the insignificance.
Russell Haven once told me I had so much potential and to use that potential wisely. I didn’t think I had been. I’d been failing at giving his daughter a baby, and I wasn’t good enough for two of his sons to bring into their fold.
I needed to rewrite the script about me. Racing became my medium.
The Chevy Camaro I’d been working on in the detached garage had been a steal. A toy for someday. I’d put racing on hold for a while, not having as much time during my new marriage and home renovation era. Plus, Trin and I wanted a family.
I didn’t think hanging at the canyon was a wise idea anymore.
But after years of tinkering with that Camaro, I got her to purr, and I wanted to test her out.
I took her to the old coal mine property, which housed a dirt track, and gave her a spin. Then another one, then another one. The drives were freeing. The disappointments disappeared for a little while.
I was my own person. Not a husband. Not a construction worker. Not a man on a sex schedule.
I was just me, and everything changed after those first few spins around the track.
Sitting in my truck staring at the empty garage, I let the memories roll through my head.
Meeting Max Larsen. Running a time trial for people he knew. Getting signed with Velocity.
At the time, it had been worth it, but it also had been empty without Trinity at my side.
I thought the escape would bring healing. Instead, it did more harm to both of us.
Shoving open the driver’s door of my pickup, I hop out and slowly saunter up to the dark house. The impromptu party is evidently over.
Fuck. Vale Sylver’s face was stricken when she saw me. Like she didn’t know whether to toss a wine glass at me or tackle Trinity, intending to protect her from a bomb threat.
Me. I was the threat.
The other women looked equally shell-shocked to see me standing at the edge of the living room.
Like they’d never heard about me, before or presently. Like they didn’t know she’d ever had a husband. Like they were shocked to see a man, period, in Trinity’s home.
Has Trinity been as lonely as I’ve been? Has she missed the touch of my hands like I’ve missed hers? Has she held herself back from getting involved with anyone? Does she still honor our vows?
Then again, she thought we were divorced and misunderstood when I paid the mortgage and signed over the deed to the house.
She could have done as she pleased with someone else. But did she?
After I quietly unlock the front door, noting that Trinity has not changed the code like she threatened, I double-check the locks on the windows and back door before heading upstairs.
Where I hear a tiny squawk.
The door to Trinity’s bedroom is open, and a little bundle shifts in the bassinet at the end of the bed. I pause a second, waiting on Trinity to stir, but she doesn’t, even as Mirabelle begins to cry louder.
Taking a step into the room, I stare down at the swaddled baby. Even crying, her face all scrunched up, that angel kiss near her brow accentuated, she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever seen.
My hands look clumsy and large as I wrap one underneath her head and the other beneath her bottom and lift her.
“What’s the matter, baby girl?” I whisper as I bring her to my chest, head tucked near my shoulder, like Trinity holds her.
I’ve held babies before. Trinity always said I looked like a natural when I didn’t know the first thing about kids.
Holding Mirabelle feels different. Like some instinct I didn’t know I had clicked into place. She felt nice in my arms, good against my chest, right where she should be. My heart ballooned, feeling too large to be contained behind my ribcage.
I press a kiss to her downy hair and inhale the sweet scent of baby wash . . . and something not so sweet.
“Woo-wee, baby girl.” I chuckle quietly.
While Mirabelle is staying in Trinity’s room, a half-assembled room down the hall will be Mirabelle’s future bedroom. I’m a little surprised the paint hasn’t been updated or a crib put together. Only a changing table stands in the room, along with a dresser that belonged to Trinity as a child.
“Here we go, Mirabelle.” I set her on the changing table, which instantly stops her cries, and change the first diaper I’ve ever changed.
Peeling back the full diaper, I gag at the odor.
How could something so little produce such a stench?
I make quick work of getting her clean and into a fresh diaper, thankfully labeled FRONT and BACK with images for where to set the tape.
Tucked back into a sleep sack, I lift her again, bringing her to my chest, and tighten my hold on her when I turn toward the door.
“Jesus,” I hiss, flinching when I find Trinity standing in the doorway. “You scared the frick out of me.”
“Frick?” Trinity weakly smiles at my fright before letting her gaze fall to the baby. “I didn’t hear her cry.” Her forehead furrows.
“You need your sleep,” I state. I’m typically a sound sleeper but knowing both these girls are close has made my sleep lighter, and I’ve heard the baby crying over the past few nights.
“I still should have woken up.” Trinity enters the room, giving me a better glimpse of what she’s wearing. A silky-looking nightdress with thick straps over her shoulders and a deep V between her breasts that accentuates them. Her nipples are hard.
I swallow thickly and chew at my lower lip before dragging my gaze away from the outline of her body in something I’ve never seen her wear to bed before.
“I don’t mind helping.” I want to help. I want to take the burden off her shoulders for a while. Not that Mirabelle is a burden, but having a baby brings lots of change. I’ve seen it among the guys who have kids. The exhaustion can be soul deep at times.
“Why don’t you go back to bed?” I offer. “Mirabelle and I can hang out for a bit.”
“The middle of the night shouldn’t be awake time.” She scowls.
“We’ll just dance for a while,” I say, swaying a little with Mirabelle nestled against me. I hum near her head, feeling her settle into me.
Trinity leans against the changing table and crosses her arms, watching me. The room is dark except for a nightlight plugged into an outlet.
The low light further outlines Trin’s body and that silky nightdress hugging her breasts and hips.
“Go back to bed. I got her.” I nod toward the hallway, trying to dispel thoughts of what I’d like to do to her in that flimsy gown.
We need to talk, but now still isn’t the time. She’s tired, and I . . . I just want to soak in this moment representing all that could have been.
Wishing that I was Mirabelle’s dad.
Wishing that Trinity still loved me.
Wishing that I’d made all our dreams come true.