Chapter 43
Forty-Three
Harper
I wait for him to come back for hours, the smell of fries in the air, the milkshake melting and creating a ring of condensation on the coffee table.
Eventually, though, my stomach can’t take the scent any longer.
I toss the fries, get a towel to clean up the shake, not wanting to ruin his furniture.
And all the while, I’m trying to figure out what the hell is going on in my head.
The bills, the financial stuff…that stings.
No, I don’t make as much money as him, but I hadn’t really thought it was that much of a concern. I’ve always found a way to support myself. I always would.
The question that’s really eating at me is—
Does Leo not believe that I’m capable of that? Capable of managing my finances and taking care of our baby?
Or is it some weird control thing and it’s only going to get worse as time goes on?
Is it money today, friends tomorrow, a job a few months down the line?
Do I really know him at all?
Or have I made a huge mistake?
And watching him walk away again just like every other man I’ve ever let into my heart, just like he had that day in my kitchen…
I’ll come back. I promise.
But he still left. And he hasn’t come back.
My eyes fill with tears, a sob hiccupping through my chest.
“Dammit,” I whisper, scrubbing my hands over my face. The baby rolls over in my belly and I press a gentle palm to my stomach. “It’s okay, little potato. I’ll figure it out.”
But I’m not going to figure it out right now.
It’s late, and Leo obviously needs some time to cool down.
And I’m exhausted from work, from the fight, from growing a whole other human.
“Bed,” I say on an exhale, grabbing the laundry basket of baby clothes and carrying them into the room Leo and I decided to turn into the nursery. Only—
“What?” I breathe, dropping the basket by the door and hurrying across the room.
The empty crib taunts me, but—
It’s the rocking chair is what breaks me.
Because draped over its back is a perfectly crocheted blanket.
I don’t know when it appeared. If it’s been there a while or was just snuck in there today before I got home.
I just know…
It was Leo.
Sob catching in my throat, I gently reach my hand out, brush my fingers over the blanket.
And I know, know, in my heart that as fucked up as that conversation was, Leo isn’t the kind of man who’d try to control me.
He’s trying to protect me, to care for me.
Yes, he’s going about it in the completely wrong way (a way that makes me want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he sees sense).
But we’ve been figuring this relationship out, and while I’m going to need him to make sure he doesn’t do this same nonsense again, going to need us both to make a commitment to talking to each other, even about the uncomfortable things, he’s showed me the man he is plenty of times over.
He’s not my dad.
He’s not my ex.
He’s Leo—and he’s not perfect.
But neither am I.
Dashing my tears away, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone.
And my lungs hitch again when I see what’s on the screen—a text from him. One he sent just minutes after he left.
LEO: I promise I’m not leaving you. I just need a little time to get my thoughts together and I’ll be back.
I exhale and type out a message.
HARPER: I’m sorry for how that conversation went. But I’m here when you’re ready to talk.
I wait, running my fingers over the perfectly looped stitches that form the blanket. It’s a mix of pastels and it’s perfect for the nursery.
No matter what gender our little potato ends up being.
Leo doesn’t reply, and I try to shove down the hurt, the fear—that he’s lying, that he’s left again, for good this time—and think.
I call Smitty.
“He’s here,” he answers on the first ring.
“Is he okay?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah, Harp-tastic. He drank his bodyweight in tequila—”
“And I don’t even like tequila,” I hear Leo slur.
“And he doesn’t even like tequila,” Smitty parrots, a hint of amusement in his words. “Are you okay? He’s…well, I haven’t ever seen him like this. He just keeps saying I’m what’s wrong with her.”
Fuck, I’d said that.
“Should I come over and get him?” I ask, guilt churning through my insides.
“Nah,” Smitty says. “He’s—”
“I’m not leaving!” Leo shouts. “Tell her I’m not leaving!”
Smitty’s voice drops. “He’s piss drunk. I guarantee he’ll be passed out in the next five minutes then won’t be moving from my couch for at least twelve hours—”
“I’m not leaving—”
“She knows, man,” Smitty says. “You told her. She knows.”
Leo’s tone is belligerent. “I shouldn’t have walked out. I promised.”
“It’s fine. You’re fine,” Smitty tells him. “Just lay down.”
My heart squeezes when Leo’s voice fades. “Smitty?”
“I’ve got him,” the big man says gently. “He’s half-asleep and on the couch already.”
“Thank you.”
“He’s family.” A breath. “Why don’t you just get some rest and come over in the morning to work things out before the baby shower?”
Fuck.
Kailey’s baby shower.
That I agreed to cater.
It’s tomorrow evening and I have a lot to do to prepare for it, and—
“This is all messed up,” I say miserably.
“Breathe, Harp-tastic.”
I suck in a breath, release it slowly.
“Leo loves you,” he says. “I don’t know if he can say it aloud yet, but my boy is head over heels for you. And he’s worried he hurt you, worried he won’t be able to make it right with you. But you calling tells me he’s wrong—that you guys will be okay.”
I sniff.
“So, I know it sucks that you can’t drink an entire bottle of wine and pass out in an alcohol-addled sleep because you’re cooking a baby in there, but take a bath, slap some of those stickers in that planner of yours, and then lay down. I have the feeling sleep will come sooner than you think.”
“You’ll call me if things get worse?”
“Worse than him making me watch that crappy reality TV show of yours for hours on end while he talks about how great you are?”
“I think that sounds like an awesome night,” I attempt to joke. “Because I am pretty great.”
“You’re awesome.” Smitty’s voice is still gentle. “And for the record, I wasn’t upset with him talking about you—it’s the show that’s torture.”
“Liar. Kailey told me you’re the one who asks her to watch it.”
“Well, that’s rude of her to divulge my secrets.”
And somehow…I giggle.
“Now that’s what I like to hear, Harp-tastic. You go get in the bath and call back if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Smitty.” A beat. “And I think you’re pretty awesome too.”
“Damn right, I am.”
We exchange our goodbyes and hang up.
Then I take the advice of a certain smart, awesome bearded hockey player.
I take a bath, pick the perfect spread of stickers.
And sleep does come sooner rather than later.
I glance at my phone and try to stifle the nerves that have been clawing at me all day.
I woke up early, feeling rested thanks to Smitty’s advice.
Then I texted Leo.
And he still hasn’t responded.
I keep telling myself that his lack of response has nothing to do with our argument, that we’ll figure it out, that we’ll be okay.
He probably slept late, considering that bottle of tequila.
Or he’s having a rough start, also considering the tequila.
Pretty soon he’ll shake off his hangover, and he’ll see the text and he’ll reply or call me or come over.
But he doesn’t show as I finish with the platter of mini sandwiches, nor the plates of pigs in a blanket (Kailey’s craving of choice at the moment).
He doesn’t show as I prep and bake off the batches of mini quiches.
Nor as I load my carrier with a mix of Funfetti and devil’s food and lemon cupcakes.
And he still doesn’t show even when I bake him his oatmeal raisin cookies.
“Maybe you weren’t right after all, Smitty,” I murmur, blinking back tears.
It doesn’t matter, though. I still need to get this food to Kailey’s party.
I pack everything up, lift one stack of the foil-wrapped trays.
“Whoa,” I mutter, and my head spinning, I promptly put it back down.
When was the last time I ate?
Or drank?
My water cup is empty, but I think back…
and can’t remember any food after lunch yesterday.
I was waiting to eat dinner with Leo (and for the fries and shake he was bringing me), but I didn’t eat after I talked to Smitty, and I was too nervous to eat breakfast this morning and… now it’s the afternoon.
“Crap,” I say, turning for some of the leftovers that haven’t been packed away. I’ll eat something to get me through the final preparations.
The bell goes at the front door and I look up from shoving a sandwich in my mouth just in time to see Luna pushing through the swinging metal door, her hand over her eyes as she calls, “Is it safe to come in or is there naked makeup sex happening far too close to my mini quiches?”
My lips twitch despite my misery.
She drops her hand, looks around. “You work quick, kid.”
“He’s not here.”
Her eyebrows form a little vee. “Did you send him off with the first load of food already? That’s great. I think we’ll be able to fit the rest in my car.”
“No,” I say, chewing and swallowing the sandwich. “I mean I haven’t see him at all today.”
A blink.
Another.
“You mean the man hasn’t apologized?”
I shake my head and—
Whoa.
I need to not do that, not when it makes the room spin.
“I cannot believe this,” Luna rants. “I told Smitty that men are dumb and he wouldn’t grovel right, but did he listen?” She tosses her hands up. “No. Of course not.”
My head starts pounding and I brace myself on the table. “It’s not all his fault—”
She snorts. “Um. No, sorry Harps, I got the scoop from Beardo. It’s all Leo’s fault and he should be here on his knees begging for your forgiveness. In fact”—she reaches into her pocket, snags her phone—“I’m going to tell him exactly that right now.”
I push off the table, start to walk over to her. “I told him—”
But I don’t finish.
Because black is crawling all over my vision.
And the last thing I remember is Luna’s scream as I crumple to the ground.