Chapter 13 #2
“Yeah, a girl in my old neighborhood—her boyfriend hit her sometimes. It took me a while to understand why she’d cover for him.
” He stared up at the stars for a long moment.
“But things were complicated for her. No matter how much shit the boyfriend doled out, I guess she thought he was still a step up from her parents. And maybe he was. But all I know is, when things got rough between them and the guy would show up around school searching for her—she got that same panicked look in her eyes that you had today.”
Bailey scuffed her toe through the wet grass while the swing twisted, trying to imagine herself as Dawson had seen her today. She wasn’t used to anyone paying such careful attention to her. For a long time, her parents had been too embroiled in their own drama to appreciate the nuances of her life.
“Did that girl get away from the boy eventually?” She hoped that Dawson’s friend had saved herself.
“I’m not sure. I don’t keep up with people from that neighborhood anymore.
Too many of them wanted to give me updates on my mother’s condition—she’s an addict—and I got to the point where I just couldn’t hear it.
” He traced the pattern of the metal chain links on his swing. “That might sound callous, but—”
“No.” Bailey turned to face him. “It sounds really smart.”
Nodding, he seemed to weigh that idea before continuing.
“But I didn’t come here to talk about me.
I came here because I want you to tell someone.
Start with your dad.” He pointed to the house, where her father was now wrestling a bag of dog food into an overhead cabinet where it didn’t belong.
“Having people know what happened—that’ll keep you safe. ”
Her belly turned to ice at the thought of talking to her dad about J.D. She hadn’t even been able to tell her mom, and they’d been close once. But her dad? Even before he’d been hurt, they’d had a weird relationship—more for show than anything since he’d never been home much.
But ever since he’d lost half his leg, she and her mom had done whatever they could to make things easier for him without looking like they were. Or, at least, her mom used to do that until she’d cheated on him with J.D.’s father.
Maybe her mom had gotten tired of tiptoeing around Cole when all he did was bark back.
“I’ve got to go.” Dawson sprang to his feet, all athletic grace and impatience. Hazel stood with him, tail wagging hopefully. “I told Lorelei I forgot something at the pizza shop, and I don’t like lying to her. Will you be over this week?”
For a second she thought he was asking her out. Will you be over? But then she remembered her job babysitting Aiden at the Hastings’.
“I watch Aiden on Tuesday and Wednesday.” She wasn’t sure about the rest of the week. Standing, she tugged off Dawson’s hoodie and handed it back to him.
“Good. I’ll see you then.” He made no move to leave. He watched her like he might have more to say.
“Why would you want to?” The thought drifted from her brain right past her lips even though she didn’t want to know the answer. He was just being nice. “Actually, don’t answer that.”
A sad smile lifted one side of his mouth.
“That girl I told you about? The one whose boyfriend hit her? She was older than me, and I got sucked into the foster system before I could figure out how to help her.” He leaned down to pet Hazel’s head.
“It sucks to stand by and watch someone else be hurt, Bailey. And I’m not going to do it again. ”
“In other words, I’m some kind of pity project for you.” She peered up at the sky, unable to look him in the eye. A plane flew high over her head, silent but steadily blinking, its destination far from Heartache, Tennessee.
“But you won’t be. As soon as you tell your dad what happened.” He tugged his bike out from the spot where he’d left it earlier. Then, leaning the frame on his hip, he pulled on the sweatshirt he’d let her borrow.
“Then you’ll be off the hook.” She was his personal charity case.
Flattering.
“Then I don’t have to worry about you.” He straddled the seat and pushed off with his feet. He looked over his shoulder as he pedaled away. “I can just like you.”
brIGHT SUNLIGHT SLANTED through the blinds overhead. Odd snippets of conversation drifted to Amy’s ears as she pulled herself out of sleep. Had a television been left on somewhere?
“I drove all this way. Please.” A woman’s voice—vaguely familiar—was pleading in a nearby room.
Amy’s limbs were pleasantly sore, her hair a rough tangle under one cheek where she lay in sheets that weren’t her own. Dove-gray sheets that smelled good.
Like Sam.
Her night in his bed had been far more satisfying than her teenage self could have ever imagined.
“When you brought him here, we agreed I could have him for six weeks.” The tone of Sam’s voice brought her upright. Stern and unyielding.
Nothing like the lover who’d whispered tender encouragement to her when she’d woken him with kisses a few hours ago, wanting him all over again.
“I didn’t know that I would miss him so much.” The woman’s tearful voice prompted Amy’s memory then.
She’d heard that same voice on Sam’s phone the day before. Aiden’s mother, Cynthia, was here. At Sam’s house.
Sliding out of bed, Amy searched for clothes even as she told herself not to get involved.
It wasn’t her place; this was Sam’s business.
But the tone of the conversation worried her.
She remembered how resentful Sam had felt toward Cynthia yesterday.
But if Aiden’s mother was truly suffering from postpartum depression, how unfair would it be for him to send her away?
All Amy’s deprived maternal instincts flared to life as she slid into her leggings. Fastened her bra hooks.
Dropped her dress over her head.
Sam’s voice rumbled something low, and Amy hoped it was something reassuring. As Aiden’s father, he would have the boy’s best interests in mind. She trusted that absolutely.
So when she found herself opening the bedroom door, it wasn’t to interfere. It was only to extend...
Forcing herself to stop in the middle of the hallway, she waited for that thought to finish itself.
She wanted to offer some kind of empathy toward the woman who—according to Sam—had abandoned her own baby. Where the hell was that need coming from? Normally she ran headlong from getting too involved in other people’s affairs.
Pivoting on her bare feet, she retreated to the bedroom. A floorboard creaked beneath her step.
“Amy?” Sam called to her from the front room.
She cursed herself for leaving his bed.
“Yes?” She didn’t move.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He didn’t sound happy about it. Because he didn’t want Cynthia in his house?
Or because Amy couldn’t mind her own business?
At least she’d put her clothes on. It would have been awkward to meet the mother of his child while wrapped in a sheet.
Make that more awkward.
She stepped into the front room, taking in a pale brunette dressed in sweats and a T-shirt with an olive-colored army surplus coat over it all. Cynthia clutched a yellow stuffed bunny under her arm, the head squished like she’d forgotten about it. This woman wasn’t at all what she’d expected.
But before she could take the thought further, Sam nodded curtly.
“Amy, this is Aiden’s mother. Cynthia.” Sam offered the woman a seat as he made the introductions. “I’ll get Aiden, but he’s not leaving the house.”
“Of course.” The woman shuffled her boots along the welcome mat before she darted into the spot Sam indicated. “I just want to hold him for a few minutes,” she explained while Amy took a seat on the couch nearby.
“Do you live in the area?” Amy asked, hoping it sounded like friendly conversation and not like she was gathering intel on a rival woman in Sam’s life.
Although perhaps, in all honesty, it was a bit of both.
“I live in Franklin.” Cynthia went to tuck her hair behind her ear, and, as she moved, the stuffed bunny fell to the couch. She righted the animal and set it on the wooden coffee table. The sleek, polished surface of the hickory was a nice balance for the rough exterior shape of the wooden plank.
The piece gave her an idea for the rafters in the loft room she wanted to build in the hunting cabin. She tucked it away for later.
But it was easier to think about her renovation project than about what to say to Sam’s former girlfriend.
Cynthia shot to her feet at the sound of Sam’s footsteps in the hallway. He held Aiden in his strong arms, the boy tucked securely against his father’s wide chest.
Amy’s breath caught in her throat just seeing him. She wondered vaguely if Cynthia felt the same. She knew they’d only shared a fling but still—they now shared this baby and a whole life she’d never be a part of. That stung more than it should have.
Yet the woman’s eyes seemed to be all for her son. Their son. Seeing the three of them together—however briefly—Amy couldn’t help but wonder if Sam would be trying to work things out with the mother of his child if not for her presence in his life.
Was she a distraction when he needed to focus on family?
“I’ll make his bottle if you’d like to feed him while I get ready for work.” Sam handed over the baby as Aiden started to fuss. Amy followed him into the kitchen to leave the new mother with her child.
“Sam.” She kept her voice low while he moved around the island to flip on the bottle warmer. “I should go.”
“No. You shouldn’t.” He wore the same basic clothes as he had the day before. Not a uniform, per se, but the black pants and gray shirt had a generic look about them, even if he happened to be fiercely handsome no matter what he wore. “We haven’t even gotten to talk this morning.”
The long look he gave her heated her skin.
Until she remembered the woman in his front room. A woman suffering from postpartum depression, separated from her child and at a truly vulnerable point in her life.
“We can talk later. Cynthia drove all this way to see you and Aiden—”