Chapter 25
[Trinity]
To everyone’s surprise, Tate comes back into the house shortly after Dart, who’d entered saying, “Anyone else want to air their grievances?”
Cort gives a crooked smile. Clint lowers his head. He had things to say to Dart as well, but he read the room. Perhaps, one Haven brother altercation at a time.
I look at Mom, who smiles softly and shakes her head. She knows how much of a hothead Tate can be.
I glance at Vale next, who smiles as well. She knows all too well how complicated brothers are.
When Dart finally comes to my side, he runs his hand up my back and squeezes the nape of my neck. A shiver runs down my spine.
The day is going to be a constant battle.
Memories of last night on the stairs. Memories of his care in the shower. Memories of waking up next to him this morning.
Lying next to Dart, I was reminded of when we first started hooking up.
How we’d linger in bed when we could. How he’d tease me before we parted.
Sometimes a simple kiss led to a morning quicky.
A race against the alarm clock. Dart always made sure I was satisfied before I started my day and had something to remind me of him throughout it.
I never forgot.
We were so carefree back then. But then again, that’s how one feels in their twenties, I guess.
Still, was it wrong that I wanted a little quicky this morning? A refresher on what we’d done last night.
Despite my emotions pinging all over the place, I felt calmer this morning. Dart’s attempts to talk last night and his care in the shower made me feel seen by him. Made me feel special. Waking up next to him renewed that feeling.
He didn’t slip out of bed like we’d done something we should not have done. He stayed.
“You okay?” he asks me, interrupting my thoughts.
“Are you?” I ask, arching a brow. An altercation with Tate could be fruitless. Tate was always determined to win, even if he was wrong.
“Never better,” Dart lies, the heaviness of whatever happened between him and his old friend still weighs on him.
I slip my arm around his back and settle into his side. Then I glance across the room at Vale.
She grins like the Cheshire cat. Like she knows what I’ve done with the man beside me. She winks in solidarity.
I glance at Tate next, who purposely does not look in our direction, but takes a seat next to Cortland
“Who is ready to eat? I’m starving,” Mom says, momentarily breaking the tension so everyone’s focus shifts to breakfast.
The next hour includes the sound of plates being scraped clean and loud chatter about the baseball team Cort and Clint coach. The Haven Hitters, a twelve-and-under group of kids, are ripe with stories.
Mom speaks mainly to Vale and me about new romance novels at The Babbling Bean.
Dart appears like he’s soaking it all in, holding Mirabelle in the crook of his arm while I eat. He casually leans back in his seat, with his arm draped over the back of my chair. A satisfied expression fills his face.
Dart Rivers is home. With his extended family.
Tate is unusually quiet before he stands abruptly and clears his plate.
“I need to head out,” he states, looking only at Mom. “Summer camps start this week.”
“It’s Saturday,” Mom reminds him, but Tate’s excuse goes without further question.
As athletic director at the high school, he developed a summer sport camp program for younger kids. The six-week program builds community with the older kids and brings additional funds to the high school’s athletic program.
Tate kisses Mom on the cheek and slaps Cort on the shoulder before heading out.
“Well, that was fun,” I mutter as Tate’s exit takes a bit of the stale air with it.
“Trinity, be nice,” Mom warns, but she loosely smiles in agreement.
“Nice? I’m always nice,” I tease, shifting sideways in my seat.
Dart chuckles while Clint snorts.
“Oh, I see how this is,” I continue. “Two against one.” I arch a brow.
“Sounds like a ping-pong matchup,” Clint challenges.
I laugh until I realize he’s serious.
When we were kids, our mother would send us out to the garage to clean up the countless pieces of sports equipment or wash our bikes. Any excuse to get us out from underfoot. We spent enough time in the garage that Clint eventually brought home a ping-pong table someone was giving away for free.
The garage became a zone we wanted to visit.
“I call Dart,” Clint announces, pointing his fork with his final bite of waffles at my husband.
My husband.
I might need to get used to saying that again.
“I call Cort,” I shout, raising my hand like a kid in a classroom, excited to have a little distraction and fun with my other brothers.
And that’s how the four of us end up playing ping-pong, while Vale held Mirabelle and played commentator.
The weekend ended up being kind of perfect. After spending most of the day with my family, Dart and I spent the rest of the evening with Mirabelle. The three of us together.
After I gave Mirabelle a bottle near ten at night, prompting her back to sleep, I stealthily sneak out into the hallway outside my room, hoping not to wake her.
Dart stands in the hallway as well.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi.” I lean against the wall.
“Just wanted to say good night.” We finally finished watching Bridgerton, then Mirabelle woke up for this feeding.
“Good night,” I whisper, but I don’t move. Neither does Dart.
“I’ll just . . .” He points down the hallway to the guest room.
“Oh. Okay.” My chest aches. I don’t know what I thought would happen tonight. We spent last night in bed together, but is it safe to do it again? Is it smart? Emotionally, I am still all over the place, so I don’t want to confuse the issue any more than it already is for either of us.
“Unless you want . . . ” He nods toward the bedroom door at my side.
“No, that’s okay. You should probably go back to your room.” Stating that the guest room was his room feels sour on my tongue. Disappointment settles in my chest.
He slips his hand against my cheek. “Why do I feel like I need to give you a good night kiss?”
“Why do I feel like I want you to?”
He smiles slowly, leaning forward. He runs his nose along mine before settling on my lips. Soft. Sweet. Tender.
He pulls away first, but I grab his shirt and pull him back to me. And he kisses me like a front-porch kiss. One that presses me against the wall and leaves me wanting more when we break apart.
“Good night, then,” he says breathlessly.
“Good night,” I whisper, just as swept away by him. Then I watch him saunter down the hall, glancing back at me with a satisfied smile before closing the door.
And I take comfort in his presence down the hall.
For a few minutes, it feels like all is right with the world.
In the quiet of the next early morning, I breathe in Mirabelle’s lavender baby wash as she lies in the bassinet at the foot of my bed. To my surprise, she’s still sleeping, and I take an extra minute to enjoy the silence before another day begins.
When I head to the kitchen, I notice Dart’s truck is missing from the driveway.
Surprisingly, I don’t feel the panic I’d expect to feel.
I feel lighter. Calmer. As if we’ve turned a bend in the road.
It isn’t always going to be perfect moving forward, but as long as we’re together, we can handle the speed bumps and potholes.
Reaching the kitchen, I fall into the routine of no routine. This time won’t last much longer. I have just over a week before I return to work, which means I need to go about the business of finding childcare. My six-week leave went so fast.
I still have a few months before the adoption will be final, and the one thing I am apprehensive about is leaving Mirabelle in day care or with a nanny. I’m not ready to leave her period, but I need to return to work.
The swirl of the front lock, followed by the quiet click of the front door opening, alerts me to Dart’s return. I smile before taking a sip of my coffee to cover the grin.
When Dart enters the kitchen, surprise shows on his face. “You’re up? I wanted to give you a little more time to sleep.”
I took a later feeding last night. Dart took three a.m. We both wear the signs of tired parents.
Is that what he is? A parent to Mirabelle? Could he, would he, be her dad? It’s a topic we haven’t touched yet. Our relationship needs straightening out first.
Dart smiles slowly. I smile back.
Then my eyes drift to what’s in his hands.
Flowers. A bouquet of daisies with a yellow ribbon around them.
“Happy anniversary, Forever.” He holds up the familiar bundle.
Instead of taking it from him, I stare at the white petals and golden center of my favorite flower. The same ones that were my wedding bouquet. The ones that are significant to us.
After that tease of a proposal in my bed, Dart took me to an actual meadow and got down on one knee with a ring in his hand.
“Want to do this right,” he’d said.
And every year since, including the years we were separated, a bouquet of daisies would arrive for me.
“Why’d you do it?” I ask, still staring at the offering. “Why’d you send them each year without a card or any other form of communication?”
The first anniversary he missed, he’d only been gone a few months.
The second one, I hadn’t planned to honor, hoping the date would quietly slip by on the calendar. I’d believed Dart and I were newly divorced. Papers signed and filed.
Last year, I stared at the bouquet, much like I am now, wondering how they looked so fresh, and so perfectly matched the flowers I once held walking down an aisle to meet him at the altar.
“I didn’t want you to forget me, Trin. It was our anniversary. One of the best days of my life. And even if other days were difficult, that one day still meant everything to me. I’d hoped by sending you these flowers, you’d think of me. At least once a year, for one day, with a smile, not regret.”
My mouth falls open, then I clamp my lips, taking a second to process what he said and how I reacted each year.
“It hurt to receive them,” I admit. “They were a reminder that you left me.”
His eyes widen, realizing his intention did not match the reception of his gift.
“But I never regretted you, Dart. Not once.” I might have resented his decision to race and his absence from our marriage.
I might have wished for more between us, like a full house and a continued life, but I did not regret him.
He’d been the love of my life. A love I believed would last forever, and even if it hadn’t, I’d known love like I didn’t believe I’d ever know it again.
Because of him.
“I’m sorry they hurt you,” he says, lowering his eyes, the flowers still dangling in his hand at his side.
“How’d you get them to me?” My heart begins to hammer, wondering what else I’m missing in that special bundle. “That exact bouquet, every year.”
Slowly, he lifts his head. His eyes full of guilt and a secret.
You haven’t placed your flower order yet.
The awkward conversation with Savannah Grant during RiverFest comes back to me.
“Savannah,” I whisper. Her lavender farm outside of town has turned into a proper garden center with more than just lavender for sale.
Dart licks his lips and glances to the side before facing me again.
“No more secrets,” he whispers, like this one is extra hard for him. “NASCAR always gets a break in June. That first year, months after I left, I came home. And I saw you.”
“What?” The question wheezes out, like I’ve had the air knocked out of me. I clutch at my stomach.
“You looked better. Happier.” He weakly smiles at me.
“Better?” I choke. I was dying inside. My husband was gone. The idea of future pregnancies gone. I had stopped considering adoption. I didn’t want to go it alone.
I wanted my husband home.
“That first time, I picked them myself. Thought I’d make a grand gesture in coming back.” He pauses, looking down at his boots. “But I don’t know . . . I just couldn’t do it. Start that cycle of pain all over again. I didn’t think you’d be happy to see me, so I just left them. Like a coward.”
I continue to stare at him, holding the island for support as my knees suddenly wobble.
Dart was here. He’d come back for me.
“Why?” I whisper.
“Just wanted to brighten your day,” he admits again, but his expression is full of sorrow, his brows lowered, knowing that it’d hurt instead.
“Why didn’t you come see me again?” I stress, clutching a fist to my chest while rounding the island, standing toe-to-toe with him.
Three fucking years. Three lonely years without him.
“Dart.” My voice cracks, my heart breaking in a new way. “I fucking missed you. I was so lonely without you. I wanted you to come back to me.”
Tears cloud my eyes.
Dart drops the flowers and tugs me to him, cupping the back of my head. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
I know he means it. The anguish in his voice. The way he’s holding onto me. He’s sorry he left, but is he back? Is he really home for good?
“Dart, we need to—”
Mirabelle cries out through the monitor app on my phone.
I don’t want to end like this. We have more to discuss. I need to know his plan.
“Dammit,” I whisper.
“I’ll get her,” Dart says, flowers still on the floor at his feet.
He runs his fingers along the side of my face, staring at me with so much sorrow in his eyes. Like he can’t get anything right. And I don’t want him to feel that way.
He stoops to pick up the flowers and silently hands them to me, then turns for the hallway, taking the stairs two at a time.
The pattern is heavy and familiar. A reminder that he’s in the house. The noise is a comfort more than an annoyance.
I bring the flowers to my nose and close my eyes.
He’d been so wrong. I wasn’t happier without him.
I was happier with him here.