Chapter 9
Joelle
I clutch the phone with both hands like my grip is the only thing keeping me together.
“Say hi to Mama, sweetheart.” Janey’s voice is warm but tired in that bone-deep way that makes guilt sting under my skin.
There is rustling. A clumsy thump. The tiny grunt of effort from a small body trying to hold something too big.
Then his voice bursts through.
“Ma-ma!”
My knees go weak. My heart is soft and painful all at once.
“Oh, baby—hi, baby,” I whisper, fighting the crack in my throat. “Hi, sweet pea. Mama loves you.”
His voice is a squeak, high and wild and full of joy. He babbles unintelligibly, then Janey picks the phone back up, and he fades into the background.
I laugh, wet and shaky. “I hope he’s been good for you.”
“As good as any one-year-old can be,” she says, and I hate myself for leaving her to carry the weight of my choices—even if I am only doing it so I can build a life where he and I are not squatting in her spare room forever.
“I have two more days of my trial,” I say, “and then I can come get him.”
“Is it going well?”
“Yeah.” I swallow the truth about Wade’s mouth easing the pressure in my breasts, the way he touched me and left me shaking, the way it soothed a deep raw ache inside me that has been hurting for months. She does not need to know that.
“That’s good, Joelle. Bake your chocolate chip cookies. They’ll never want you gone.”
A quiet smile tugs at me. “You think?”
“I know. And make that beef stew with ale and biscuits. Cowboys love big, hearty meals.”
She’s right. They probably would love it. Maybe not as much as they love my body, but she’ll never hear me admit that.
“He’s fussing,” Janey says. “Call tomorrow?”
“I will.”
The line goes dead. I lower my phone to the counter and slide down to the floor, my back hitting the old wooden cabinets. The moment I sit, everything inside me unravels. I cover my face with both hands and sob.
I cry for my son’s tiny voice, for the softness of his hair under my lips, for how he curls into me after naps and presses his warm cheek to my chest. I cry for his weight in my arms, for the milk that fed him, for the way my body feels empty now that the swelling is gone.
Empty and wrong. My breasts feel light and soft again, but my heart feels heavy.
Mostly, I cry because the space between us hurts like something sharp I cannot pull out.
I don’t hear the door open. Not until boots scrape across the kitchen floor.
“Jo?”
I freeze and swipe at my face. Caleb stands in the doorway, big and silent, blocking half the light behind him. At first, his face is guarded, like he’s bracing for something he’s not sure he should see. Then his eyes land on me, and everything in him softens.
He crouches slowly. “You okay?” he asks, voice as soft as worn flannel.
I shake my head. The truth sits heavy on my tongue, too heavy to speak.
He moves closer and pulls me into his arms without waiting for me to decide if that’s what I need.
I fold into him on instinct, helpless against the warmth and comfort he offers.
His chest is solid and broad under my cheek.
He smells like sun and soil and clean soap.
His arm comes around my back, big and warm, and he rocks me gently.
The calm of it hits me so hard it almost breaks me again.
He glances at my phone, resting on the floor next to me. “Talk to your boy?”
I nod against his shirt. “I miss him so much. I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing.”
He pulls back enough to search my face. “You’re doin’ what you have to,” he says. “You’re making the hard calls. That’s what moms do.”
His voice changes then, deepening, like he’s reaching into a place he keeps shut away. “My momma died when I was five, and I still remember her softness and the good things she did for me. Your boy will remember, too. He knows you love him. He’s waiting. You’ll be with him soon.”
My lip trembles. “If it works out here.”
“It will.” He says it like a fact, not a hope.
He helps me stand and keeps his hand on my waist until I steady myself. I wipe my eyes, but my cheeks are hot and sticky, and I know I look wrecked.
When I look up at him, I see hints of Wade in the bones of his face, but Caleb is kinder somehow. Rough, yes, like every cowboy, but tender in a way I remember. The pain in my heart eases because he’s here.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
“I know.” He gives a small, crooked smile. “Wade’s tough. Real particular. But he’s fair. You just gotta keep him happy.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That simple?”
He chuckles. “Simple’s not the same as easy.”
“What about you?”
He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “I think you’re doin’ fine.”
A flush runs through me. It scares me a little, because it’s been so long since a man held me without taking something from me.
Does he know what Wade and I have been doing? Does he want the same? Or does he feel sorry for the girl crying on the kitchen floor?
I swallow hard. Caleb’s being kind like he always was. I’m no one to him. A girl from his past who's going to put food on his table and freshly washed underwear in his dresser.
The truth settles in my chest like a bruise. My heart is already cracked from the man who broke me before my boy was even born. I cannot afford another break. Not here. Not now.
I breathe in deep, steadying myself.
Whatever happens next, I have to keep my head clear. For my son. For my future. For the pieces of my heart I still have left.