Chapter Fifty Three
Four Digits and a Chance
Beatrice Archer: Meet me at Snug as a Mug today at three. Please, sweetheart. I know you’re scared, just… try.
E very inch of me is shaking. My palms are clammy around the cup I’m not drinking from, and my heart is thundering so loud I’m surprised no one else in this coffee shop can hear it.
But I’m here, waiting not so patiently for the lecture I’m sure I’m about to get. One I deserve.
Right on time, Bea walks through the door already scanning the busy coffee shop. As soon as her eyes find mine, her whole expression crumples. She doesn’t hesitate—just crosses the room and pulls me into a hug so tight I can barely breathe.
“Georgia,” she whispers. “I’ve missed you so much, sweetheart.”
My broken heart finds a way to break a little more at that.
“I’ve missed you too,” I choke out, meaning it with everything in me.
When she pulls back, my breath catches in shock.
She’s crying.
And not the silent kind of misty-eyed tears people dab away with a tissue. These are real tears, heartbreak and grief and worry etched across her face, and I realize… Bea really cares for me.
Like a mom would.
The kind of mom who squeezes your hand too tight. The one who shows up, even when you’re the one who left. The one who loves loud and doesn’t let go.
I hold my breath, waiting for her to order a drink and return to the table. Then I hold it until she’s finally settled and staring at me with a soft, patient expression that hits me right in all my messy feelings.
“How are they?” I blurt.
She gives a soft smile, but it wobbles, and she shakes her head. “Not good, sweetheart.”
My chest caves in, eyes squeezing shut as pain assaults me. “Oh.”
“Kade’s been... lost. He was doing so well, coming back to life, spending time with the family again. But now? He hasn’t run, but he’s not himself. He’s just… a shell of who he was becoming.”
“And Aurora?” I whisper, my throat closing.
Bea reaches across the table, squeezes my shaking hand. “She misses her mama, Georgia. She misses you.”
“I’m not—” The words catch in my throat. “I’m not her mother.”
“You are,” Bea cuts in, firm and sharp. “You are that girl’s mother.
The one who feeds her, holds her, bathes her, and sings her to sleep.
The only one who knows her lullabies. The one she looks for first thing in the morning.
You’re the one who calms her nightmares and dries her tears. That makes you her mama.”
“But Marlee…”
“Marlee,” Bea says gently, “is gone. And you? You’re still here. You have a choice, Georgia. You can let the ghost of a woman scare you away, or you can cowboy up and be there for your child the way you wish someone had been there for you.”
My lungs seize.
“Wh—what?” I gasp.
Bea smiles sadly. “I knew your family, sweetheart. Your mama, Lorna Walker? She and I were in the same grade.”
My heart stops.
“You’ve known who I am this whole time?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to deceive you. But yes, I knew. The day I met you, I recognized her in you.” She clicks her tongue, smiling softly as her eyes trail over me. “You’re her spitting image.”
“Then…” I wipe away tears. “Why didn’t—”
“Because you weren’t ready,” she interrupts, nodding gently. “I didn’t want to weigh you down with a past before you had a chance to build your own future. And I knew you’d ask when you were ready.”
My breath catches and I look away, sorting through her words.
“Did I make a mistake, sweetheart?” Her brows furrow, and she looks truly worried. “I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my call to make.”
“No,” I whisper, clearing my throat. “Thank you. I’m glad I got this time. To explore. To fall in love with Heart Springs.”
Her brows arch. “And did you? Fall in love, that is.”
I nod, a shaky breath leaving me. “So much.”
Another sob slips from her, but she stifles it and grabs my hand. “So did he.”
“I haven’t heard from him. Not since…”
“Sweetheart, you ran. You needed space. He knew that. He gave it to you.”
Guilt clogs my throat, making it hard to breathe.
“Did he talk to you?” I choke out. “Did he… is he talking to you about what happened?”
As much as I hate the idea of her knowing how epically I fucked up, all the ways I failed her son, he deserves to talk it out with his mother.
To lay his burdens at her feet. For so long, he kept everything bottled up.
I don’t want that for Kade. I don’t want him to lose his family, or go back on all the progress he’s made.
She reaches into her bag and pulls out an old phone, the screen scratched, the case worn down with time. She lays it on the table and taps a yellow Post-it stuck to the back. A four-digit code is written in neat, slanted handwriting.
“This was William’s phone,” she whispers, swallowing repeatedly like the words hurt.
“Not sure why I kept it in service. At first, it was because all the business contacts would reach out to his number. Took over a year to get them all sorted. And for a while, I used to call just to hear his voicemail.” Bea bats at relentless tears that match my own. “But then, one day, it rang .”
My chest constricts, and it only gets worse with the meaningful look she gives me, wordlessly begging me to understand.
Oh.
Oh, God .
“Kade called his dad?” I choke out through a pained sob.
She nods. “He does. Often.”
My hand presses to my chest, but the ache just grows and grows, the room spinning with every throbbing, twisting breath.
I stare at the phone for a long time like if I look hard enough or from the right angle, I’ll be able to see Kade staring back at me, telling me what to do.
“Did you…” I wet my dry lips, hands shaking. “Did you listen to them?”
“Just the first few,” she murmurs, face contorted.
“Just to make sure he was okay. I was scared. So scared, Georgia.” Her head shakes.
“Kade was so adamant about never talking to his dad. Never finding a way to connect. It’s all I wanted for him.
To find a way to just forgive himself. And when the phone rang and his name popped up, he was in such a dark place, so distant. ”
Tears stream freely now from both of us and she stifles a sob with her hand.
“I… I thought he was saying goodbye .”
“Oh my God,” I croak, entire body revolting even the mere idea of Kade not existing. “Bea.”
She wipes her tears with a napkin and pats my hand. “He’s okay, and that’s not why he called.”
“Then… why?”
“For you, sweetheart.” Bea slides the phone across to me. “Call when you’re ready. Listen. They’re his love letters to you.”
Silence fills the space between us, both of our attention and thoughts riveted to the phone, to the men it represents. The loves of our lives, both gone, but in different ways.
She can’t have her love anymore, and I…
I hope like hell it’s not too late for me to get mine.
To get my one chance at a family. The only chance I want.
The thought batters against something inside me, knocking loose all the ideals I’d hung my hopes and dreams on. Abby was right. I came to Heart Springs looking for answers, for roots and a family, and I found it. Just not in the way I’d planned.
And as the weeks turned to months, and my six-month contract and leases were ending, I stopped wondering about where I came from and started dreaming about where I’d end up.
I’m still curious. I think I always will be, but… for now, maybe I just need enough to lay it to rest.
“Bea,” I whisper. “My family. Was it… was it bad?”
Her lips purse. “Your mama was beautiful. Kind. Just a girl had a hard life who ran as far as her feet could take her. It was a tragedy. A quiet one.”
“It always is,” I murmur.
She cocks her head. “Would you like to hear the rest?”
“Maybe someday. But for now, I’m okay.”
Bea stands and kisses the top of my head. Her hand smooths my hair, the gesture achingly maternal.
“You are,” she says. “And you will be. I promise.”
“Bea,” I blurt, pointing to the phone. “Does he hate me?”
She sighs softly. “I didn’t listen to more than a few, Georgia, and he hasn’t said much. But I know my son. The only person he’s ever hated is himself.”
“I don’t want that for him,” I cry. “He’s so amazing. A wonderful man. The best father. Aurora loves him so much.” My voice breaks. “I love him so much.”
“Then go to him. Go to your family.”
My family.
I’m still processing the weight of that, the way it finally feels like something I can actually have, when she gasps, eyes on her watch. “Oh, shoot. Book club.”
I blink. “You joined a book club? When the hell do you have time for that?”
“You know my knitting club?” she asks, grinning devilishly.
I nod slowly and she leans in, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s really a smutty book club. You should join. We even have a dick chart.”
My jaw drops.
“Biggest book boyfriend wins the Hole-A-Fame every month,” she says, eyes twinkling. “Think about it.”
And with that, Beatrice Archer walks out, leaving me raw, reeling, and… desperately wanting to join book club.
The house still smells like tequila, incense, and Abby.
But it doesn’t smell like honey or wildflowers. No cedar, sweat, or leather. No lavender and baby powder.
It doesn’t smell like home.
I sit curled up on the couch, knees hugged to my chest, and the blanket Abby bought and left me draped over my shoulders, but I’m still freezing.
William’s phone is clutched in my trembling hands, the weight of it heavier than anything so small has a right to be. The passcode loops through my brain like a dare I’m not sure I have the courage to take.
My heart is racing, my mouth dry.
My anxiety creeps in with sharp claws, whispering every doubt I’ve been trying to suppress. What if he hates me? What if I hear something I can’t un-hear? What if these voicemails make it worse?
What if I was wrong to leave, and worse—what if it’s too late to come back?
I close my eyes and suck in a shaky breath. I know one thing: whatever’s on this phone is going to break me, heal me, and ruin me, all at once.
But I need that.
And I need to hear his voice.
My fingers hover, then finally move with determination. I wake the screen, type in the four digits from the sticky note, and the phone unlocks with a soft click.
I go to the voicemail app.
A long list appears instantly. Dozens of entries. All from the same name.
All from him.
The first call came in just a few days after the mediation hearing.
It’s been five months.
And the last… the last was only a few days ago.
My breath snags in my throat. My vision blurs.
With a trembling finger, I press play and bring the phone to my ear.