Chapter 9 #3
“Not here,” she said and grabbed his hand.
Then she walked him to a small room in the back of the lodge.
A quiet room with a bench overlooking the lake. “What’s this?”
“A prayer room.” She let him go. Backed up, her arms folded. “How’d you find out?”
Oh. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
She blinked. “Because . . . frankly, it’s .
. . it’s still an open wound. Something I can’t .
. .” She shook her head. “I know I should be at peace with it by now. Four years is a long time, and really, she is fine—or was fine—I don’t know.
” She sighed, turned to look out the window. “I don’t know what to do.”
He’d frozen on the words open wound and had nothing by the time she got to she is fine.
He slowly walked over to her. Hesitated a moment, then settled his hands on her shoulders. “Keely. I think you and I might be talking about different things. I was referring to the fact that you are actually, I think, Bliss?”
She stiffened. Put her hand to her mouth. Finally let out a long breath.
When she turned, she wore a stricken expression. “I . . . should have said something. But I guess I thought maybe you knew and just didn’t want to . . .” She sighed. “River recognized me. And I know a couple of the teenagers did. I thought you were helping me keep it on the DL.”
“Do you want it on the DL?”
“I don’t want people knowing I came here to find Vic, so . . .” She lifted a shoulder. “I guess so.”
A beat. Then, “Um. You don’t have to tell me—”
“I have a four-year-old daughter.”
Given the clues she’d dropped, it didn’t blow him over. The way she cared for—rescued—Wren. Twice. Still, it took a second for him to nod. Swallow that information down. “I see. But . . .” He frowned. “Wait. She is fine—was fine. What’s that about?”
“I gave her up for adoption.”
Oh. His chest fisted, ached, and he managed not to pull her into an embrace. But he met her eyes. “That’s tough.”
“Yes. And now. I mean . . . sometimes I know in my bones it was the right thing to do. But . . .”
“It’s still an open wound.”
“I feel selfish.”
Ah. No wonder her father’s words about her selfishness cut to the soul.
“I think adoption just might be the most unselfish thing in the world—”
“I used to think that. Still do, most of the time, but . . . then I land a Grammy or go on a world tour and look out into a crowd of thousands and think . . . you’d better be happy, because you gave away your kid for this.”
Oh. Wow. “That’s a pretty brutal thought.”
“I’m saying it nicely. The words in my head don’t pull their punches.” Her mouth made a grim line. “And maybe they’re right. Truth is, until recently, I didn’t think about her every minute of every day like a mom should. Or does. I . . . walked away. And now I don’t know how I feel.”
“Okay. Let’s just get to the bottom of this.” He led her to the bench. “Let’s talk about the was part of the sentence. Is she not okay now?”
He sat opposite her.
She sighed. “Her name is Zoey. Her middle name is Anne, after my adopted mother. I told them and they kept it.”
“They sound like good people.”
“They are. From Oklahoma. My manager found them for me. He’s a doctor. Her mom was a nurse. They couldn’t have children of their own . . . they really loved her. They’d send me pictures sometimes. Updates.”
Past tense, and his chest tightened. “And then?”
“They were in a car accident over Thanksgiving. The mom was killed, the dad, Bryce, is currently paralyzed. It’s possible he could recover, but it’ll take years of therapy.”
He nodded, swallowed, a buzz starting deep in his brain.
Not now!
“Bryce reached out and asked me to take guardianship. Otherwise, she goes to foster care.”
“Bryce doesn’t have family? Grandparents?”
“His wife’s parents died years ago. He just has his mother, and she’s struggling with Alzheimer’s. So . . .”
Oh wow. He drew in a breath.
“See, I am selfish to even consider saying no. Or a coward because then what? I tell the world what happened?”
“You could keep it private.”
She cocked her head at him. “Have you seen my life?”
He made a wry face. “Sorry. I’m a country music guy.”
She laughed. “Why are you so easy to talk to?”
Something about it released the tightness, just a little. “That’s a first. Usually people clam up around me.”
“That’s because they don’t know your warm and fuzzy side.”
“Please do not say that to anyone outside this room.”
And right then, Caspian chose to walk in and settle beside him, leaning hard on his leg.
“Aw, please.” She glanced at the dog. “Someone just needs to see you with Caspian and—”
“Keely.” He took her hand. “I think giving up your daughter for adoption just might have been the most unselfish thing you’ve ever done. The most unselfish thing anyone could ever do. And it represents a victory, not a failure. It tells me you’re strong and smart and brave.”
She drew in her breath. “Really?”
He nodded. “The big question is, what do you want to do now?”
Her smile vanished, and she met his eyes. “That’s why I went to talk to Vic. I wanted to know if she had regrets. By the look of it, no.”
“You can’t know that by just looking at someone, Keely. But she also hasn’t walked in your shoes, in your life. What was right for her might not be right for you. Have you talked to . . . the father?”
“When I told him I was pregnant, his words were ‘You made this decision, not me. So you’ll have to deal with it.’”
Dawson must have made a face because she untangled her hand from his.
“Trust me, it’s better this way,” she said. “He’s an actor, and I was a fool. I had a short bit in a film he was in, sang a song, and . . . anyway, I made some choices I have to live with.”
Her words the night they arrived drummed up in him. “Maybe we’re both paying for our mistakes.”
And maybe he wasn’t the one to be pouring out truth, but it seemed Moose had words for this, sitting in Dawson’s brain.
“We can’t change what happens to us, but we can decide how we want to grow from the experience.
Sometimes when I’m working on a case, I have to step back and get a different angle on it. ”
Weirdly, the buzzing inside him died. “From where I sit, I see a woman who was alone and wounded, and a guy came along who didn’t love you right. But you turned that around, and you did the very best you could for your daughter—”
“I was—”
“Scared. And wanted your daughter to have the same family life you did. A mom and a dad, and I’m not saying that a single mom can’t do that—but I am saying that’s what you chose for your daughter. And that isn’t selfish.”
She just stared at him.
“You have to believe me. I’m a cop.”
She raised an eyebrow, then she shook her head. “Seriously. That’s what you’re going with?”
No, actually. Because he wanted more. Much more.
Except . . . Bliss. And now he got her words about it not working between them. About not wanting to hurt him.
So, he sighed and touched her hand again, testing. “And I’m your friend.”
Her smile dimmed, and she wound her fingers through his. “You’re more than that, Dawson. Trust me, you’re more than that.”
He had nothing, his gaze on her face. And oh, he wanted to lean in and kiss her but . . .
She got up. Walked to the door. “Sorry I didn’t tell you about my day job.”
“I’m going to need an autograph.”
“In your dreams. C’mon. Imma beat you in Battleship.”
He got up. And prayed that the storm might never end.