Chapter Twenty-Three
Twenty-Three
Tobin collapsed into the passenger seat of Harrow’s car, her legs no longer capable of holding her beneath the weight of her grief.
Harrow slid in behind the wheel and stared silently through the windshield.
Long moments passed as Tobin fought to control her breathing, desperate to silence her brain from replaying the last hour—the hour that shattered her plan. The hour that killed her dream.
“Tobin—”
“Don’t. Just… don’t, Harrow.”
Her voice was low, trembling with rage. Pissed didn’t begin to cover it. She was furious.
“Nothing you say will change it.”
She curled her knees to her chest and pressed her forehead against them.
She would not cry…
Harrow’s hand found hers—a quiet, steady weight—and she fell apart.
A gut-wrenching sob clawed its way from the pit of her stomach, acid rising with it. She flung the door open and dry-heaved onto the pavement. Her gut was empty—a cruel parallel to her uterus.
She was barren.
“Your labs indicate a lower-than-anticipated level of egg viability.”
“There are things we can try to promote fertilization, but you need to be realistic.”
“Have you considered alternatives? Egg or embryo adoption?”
“What about a partner—someone who could donate or carry for you?”
The doctor’s words swam between her ears, pounding against her brain before settling in the hollow of her empty uterus.
She would never have a child of her own.
She would never feel the flutter of life within her.
She would never hold her external heart in her arms and feel a rush of completion.
Because she was barren.
But this shouldn’t have surprised her. If the last few years had proven anything, it was that her life never turned out the way it was supposed to.
She’d had to rebuild her dreams at every failure. Why would motherhood be any different?
She felt like a fool.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. She set it the cupholder, refusing to read the text she knew was from Grier. She couldn’t bear her optimism right now.
She needed this moment to grieve. She needed time.
It wasn’t every day your dreams were crushed and you were left to reassemble— again—the pieces of your brokenness into yet another distorted version of a life.
Not every day. But for Tobin, at least, it felt like a recurring theme every couple of years.
“Are you sure you don’t want to answer that?” Harrow asked, concern threading her voice. “Maybe Grier will have some ideas.”
“No,” Tobin growled. She absolutely did not want to lean on her newly minted girlfriend for this—not for advice, not for comfort. This was her loss. And Grier’s place in her life was still too new, too tenuous, to share this with her. She absolutely would not rely on Grier.
“Just take me to the hangar. I need to help with the float. Please.” They were supposed to finish the Pride parade float today.
Harrow hesitated. “Are you sure you want to go through with it? I’m sure Anchor would understand.” There was an edge of pleading in her voice.
Like wallowing at home would change anything.
She needed a distraction. She needed to make herself busy.
Building a float sounded like literal torture—but it would keep her hands occupied and her mind detached.
She could sulk freely. Hell, she might even get to swing a hammer at some unsuspecting nails.
Anchor wouldn’t press her about her mood. She wouldn’t even have to smile.
Harrow pulled into the hangar’s parking lot.
Eddie and Mike were repositioning one of the helicopters next to the float trailer.
Tobin exited the car and immediately avoided Eddie’s inquisitive gaze—she knew her appointment was today.
It was too much to hope she’d forgotten, but the tiny scraps of hope Tobin clung to whispered maybe. Maybe Eddie wouldn’t bring it up.
She headed inside to change and reapply her makeup. She didn’t miss Eddie’s concerned look as she crossed to meet Harrow at her car.
While she dressed, Anchor and Devon arrived with a van full of supplies for the trailer.
Tobin made a beeline for them, deliberately avoiding Eddie.
She felt safer with Anchor and Devon—they didn’t know about the appointment, and she didn’t have to pretend they weren’t silently wondering how it had gone.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She knew she couldn’t ignore it forever—Grier didn’t deserve to be punished for her body’s betrayal. She clicked on the screen and read the earliest message.
GRIER—8:58 a.m.
Thinking about you. Good luck!
Tobin couldn’t endure Grier’s unwavering support.
Not in hindsight. The familiar sting of tears pricked at her eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, desperate to stay in control.
She had to get her emotions under control—there was only so much waterproof mascara could handle, and today wasn’t the day to test it.
Grier had never been anything but supportive of her dreams to become a mom.
She hadn’t even flinched when Tobin first told her about the fertility appointment—or that she wanted to go through with it and start something with her.
Grier had proven to be every bit as incredible as she’d low-key promised to be.
GRIER—10:36 a.m.
Are you done with the specialist?
If she only knew.
And now, Tobin felt the weight of her collapsed dreams bear down on her like an oppressive lid over a pot of boiling water.
She knew she was keeping Grier—this incredible, supportive, present woman—at arm’s length.
Because that’s what she did. Everything she touched crumbled.
Why would she expect anything different now?
Who was she to stare into the face of precedent and challenge it?
She didn’t deserve Grier. Grier deserved so much more than she could give. She was broken, after all. And Grier was the complete package—complete in every way that Tobin wasn’t. Grier wanted a family, too. Tobin couldn’t give her that. Not after today.
She steeled herself, replacing the armor she’d so carefully shed over the past few weeks.
She rebuilt her walls in an instant, cutting herself off from the inevitable loss she now felt looming.
She had to end things—before Grier saw her for the broken disaster she’d tried to disguise over the course of their brief—but substantive—relationship.
She knew better. There was no healing her brokenness. She was just a hodgepodge of razor-edged shards, turned outward like a barbed fence—a defense against anyone who dared to get close. Grier had successfully dismantled a few, but now it was time to put them back.
She couldn’t let Grier end things. She had to do it first—before the hurt of yet another rejection found her.
GRIER—10:51 a.m.
I have a bad feeling. Please tell me I’m
wrong?
She growled—low and wet—from the depths of her soul, from that hollowed place where she was most vulnerable.
She had allowed Grier to slink into her life, to convince her there was hope.
Hope! And in a matter of moments, that hope had evaporated, taking with it any semblance of a future. It removed Grier entirely.
GRIER - 1 MISSED CALL, 11:02 a.m.
GRIER - 11:05 a.m.
Please don’t shut me out.
GRIER - 11:05 a.m.
We agreed to remember there’s an us at the
end of this, Tobin. Please…
Her hands shook, blurring the screen. Or was that more tears?
No.
No.
She would not cry. She wouldn’t waste any more emotion on the inevitable. She had to push this aside right now; she had a float to build.
And she needed to look busy—because Eddie would call her out. And Tobin knew she didn’t have the stamina to fight her off today. If Eddie tried to pull her aside, she’d collapse.
TOBIN—11:08 a.m.
I’m fine. I’ll call you later. Building the
float.
She knew it was cold. She knew Grier would feel it, too. But it was all she had.
She’d call Grier when she got home. She’d end things. She’d put a definitive stop to today, closing off all the hope she’d amassed in the last several weeks. The perfect family—Grier by her side and a babe in her arms.
What a joke, she scoffed.
Anchor and Harrow were vainly trying to carry a sheet of plywood to the sawhorses. Tobin smiled at Anchor but didn’t say anything. The fewer words she had to speak right now, the better. Harrow approached her, a wary cadence to her gait. Quietly, she whispered, “Are you sure about this, T?”
“I’m fine. Let’s just get it over with.” Tobin slid her aviators in place. At least she could hide her sadness behind the lenses for a while.
For the next hour she measured, sawed, and hammered the hell out of any nail the crew put in front of her.
The float came together quickly: a Snoopy-style doghouse anchored one end of the trailer, the Bell 206 perched at the other, and the puppy pen from the farmer’s market nestled between them.
When Anchor hammered the “Ruffs and Rescuers” sign into place on the side of the doghouse, the group stepped back to admire their work.
Tobin was exhausted. She’d thrown every ounce of sorrow into the physical labor of the afternoon, and her body bent from the effort.
She joined Harrow and Eddie at a small cooler.
Harrow still wore a look of concern, but it was softer now—a little brighter.
She smiled tentatively, and Tobin was a little shocked to find that it wasn’t all that hard to smile back.
It even felt genuine—if slightly restrained.
Eddie watched her from the periphery. Arms crossed, face unreadable, she said in a low, discreet voice, “I hope you were able to settle whatever score all that scowling was about.”
Tobin deepened her scowl but appreciated Eddie’s indirectness. She grunted in response, knowing Eddie wouldn’t push. Not yet. She’d have to talk to her eventually, but they both knew it would go better when Tobin was ready.
And that wasn’t today.
First, she needed to get home. She needed to deal with Grier.