Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
WHITNEY
Another sob racks my body as I heave into the toilet. I have a vague sense of Wyatt setting a glass of bubbly liquid beside me. I don’t know how much time has passed, but the reality of the events that led up to that knock on the door have me reeling my head back. “Brinley-”
He interrupts me by dropping into a crouch and rubbing gentle circles on my back. “She’s fine. Ate dinner. Had a bottle. Now she’s snuggled up in bed.”
“Thank you.” I sigh in relief, pulling my head fully from the toilet and closing the lid. I took one glance at the papers, at the handwriting on the note nestled between red petals, and ran to the bathroom. This has probably been going on for the past hour. I’ve never been more embarrassed.
I’ll be seeing you soon.
-A.M.
I have no idea how Andrew even found us.
The image of that note is imprinted in my brain, and I can’t shake it.
And not just the note, but the roses too.
A red so deep they could almost perfectly match what his mistress was wearing the night I walked in on them.
A numbing sensation spreads across my chest. It all feels so intentional, every single fucking detail feels intentional.
He always knows how and where to dig the deepest. Between all that, I also feel anger, and sadness, and a million different emotions I don’t even know how to process.
Wyatt’s crouch falls into a sitting position as he leans against the vanity.
I look at him, blue eyes swimming with an anger that mirrors mine, but worry is there too.
He rubs a hand over the scruff on his face. “You don’t have to tell me, but-”
It’s my turn to cut him off. “His name is Andrew Millers. We dated for two years. We… well, you know how we ended things. I found out I was pregnant right after, and when I told him, he tried to throw cash at me and told me to ‘get rid of it.’ After that, I didn’t speak to him.”
I never once considered it. I never would. I’m all for women having that choice, but it wasn’t one I wanted. I was terrified, throughout my entire pregnancy I was terrified, but I have never been more sure about my little girl.
Wyatt deserves to know everything. And if I didn’t talk about it, if I didn’t try to sort through these thoughts out loud, I’d lose myself to grief.
I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear before continuing, “During those nine months I wanted nothing to do with him. But then… then I had Brinley. And I realized I owed it to her to give him one more chance.”
“He didn’t want it.” Wyatt says. Not a question. A statement.
“No, he didn’t,” I confirm. But I hate how broken it sounds. I hate how it throws another lump in my throat and pushes the tears back up to the surface. “I tried, Wyatt.” I sob again, my body violently shaking from the force. “I tried so hard.”
He reaches forward, wrapping his arms around me in a way that allows him to pull me into his lap. He drops a kiss to my head before smoothing over my frazzled hair with large, rough hands. “I know, baby. I know.”
“Why is he doing this?” I ask, unsure if I’m asking myself, Wyatt, or the world. I don’t know. “What could he possibly want? He doesn’t even know her middle name, let alone how to take care of a child,” I say with a sniffle.
“I wish I knew, Winnie.” Wyatt whispers against my ear.
This is the kind of man Brinley deserves in her life.
One who cares, one who comforts when it’s needed.
The sadness I’m feeling quickly morphs into anger.
To determination. Because now? Now Andrew can’t have her.
I won’t let him. “I need a lawyer,” I say, voice clearer and sharper than it has been in the past hour.
A damn good one, too.
“We’ll find you one.” Wyatt’s reply is instantaneous. It makes my heart squeeze. We. That word. That word that once might’ve made me pick a fight with him, but now fills me with comfort. Because while Andrew has never been in my corner, never in Brinley’s corner, Wyatt is.
When my cries snuff out completely, Wyatt stands up with me still in his arms, nuzzled against his chest. We make it to my bedroom, and when he turns to leave, I reach out to catch his hand.
I don’t know what makes me say my next words—whether it’s the kindness from the bathroom or for my own selfish reasons, but I whisper, “Will you stay with me? Just for tonight?”
“Yeah, Winnie. I’ll stay with you.”
And for some reason, the way he says it, makes me think he’s not just talking about tonight.