Chapter 12 #2
“My mom said I’m not allowed to do anything until I’ve lain here and thought about the idiocy of my ways.”
I pulled in my lips to hide a smile. “And have you? Thought about the idiocy of your ways?”
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded. “I’m a dumbass.”
“Everyone makes mistakes.”
He nodded toward his legs. “This is a big mistake.”
There were far worse things in a human body to break than bones. “You’ll heal. Don’t worry. Good as new in no time.”
The corners of his mouth turned down. His dark eyes flooded. “I’m going to miss basketball season.”
“I bet Coach Payne will let you sit on the bench and cheer for your team.” The high school basketball coach was one of the nicest people in Quincy and he loved his players.
Dante sighed. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Eat your dinner,” I said, turning on the television. “I’ll tell your mom that a little TV time was doctor ordered for stress relief and pain management.”
The tears in his eyes only seemed to multiply as he swirled some spaghetti around his fork.
Poor kid. He’d learned a hard lesson this week.
“Mind if I sit with you?” I asked, checking my watch. There was always work to be done, but I’d stick around until his mom got here.
“That’s cool.” He shrugged and ate another bite.
I pulled up the guest chair. “What do you feel like watching? ESPN? Disney? Cartoon Network?”
“ESPN.”
I scrolled through the guide and found the right channel.
Dante’s attention was instantly rapt on the small screen and the sports news recap.
ESPN wasn’t a channel I watched, mostly because I didn’t have the desire to keep up on professional sports. But also because it came with too high a risk of seeing Foster on television.
Dante’s mother had been right. We should have left the TV off.
Like the universe knew I was tuned in, the announcers changed the topic from football to the UFC. The show cut to an interview where a reporter was holding a microphone to a man’s face.
The man was wearing a pair of sweats and a tank top, his muscled arms covered in tattoos. Between the beeps they used to cover his curse words, he was talking smack about a fight.
“Scott Savage is going to kick that beep boy’s ass. You beep hear me? He’s old. Man needs to hang it up. Scott Savage is sending him into retirement.”
“This guy is such a douche,” Dante scoffed. “He always talks about himself in the third person. With both his names. Who does that? I hope Foster Madden kicks his ass.”
This—Scott Savage—was Foster’s opponent for his upcoming fight? I hated him already. Cocky bastard. “Me too.”
Foster’s face came on the screen, for just a minute, as the announcer recapped the fight date and each man’s stats.
Foster, on ESPN.
It was surreal to see him on the screen. I’d always believed he would achieve great things. I’d believed in him so hard that the loss of that faith had only multiplied the emptiness when he was gone.
I dropped my gaze to the floor and tuned out the television. It was easy, like placing a pair of earmuffs over my ears.
He had a daughter.
A lovely girl who was a mirror of Vivienne, from her chocolate eyes to the shade of her hair—brown with red streaks that glowed like copper strands under the sun.
My hand came to my heart. No matter how hard I pressed, the ache wouldn’t go away. Tears welled in my eyes.
Kadence. Cute name for a cute kid.
A name I would have known had I looked him up.
Maybe I should have looked him up years ago. But I definitely should have done my research when he’d arrived in Quincy. Before I’d let him into my home. My body.
Oh my God, I was an idiot. Such a fucking idiot.
Of course they had a kid. Kids? Did they have more than one child? They’d been married long enough to have a family.
Foster and Vivienne. And Kadence.
The Maddens.
My heart twisted again.
“Uh, are you okay?” Dante was staring at my profile, fork hovering above his plate.
“All good.” I lifted the remote and notched up the volume. Then I wiped the corner of my eye and sat straighter, staying until his mom breezed into the room, not caring a bit that he was watching TV while he’d had his dinner.
The ache in my chest lingered through the remainder of my shift. When I stood in the locker room, staring at the tally marks on the inside of my locker, the pain only grew.
What was the point of keeping track of good days? Should I erase the lines? Should I toss the marker in the trash? I’d been so determined to win over the nurses, my colleagues and our patients. To prove myself.
They didn’t even call me Dr. Eden. Maybe I hadn’t earned it.
I pressed my fingers to the marks, hesitating for a moment, before swiping them away. Then I pulled on my coat, slammed the locker closed and exited into the cold, dark night.
The streets of Quincy were quiet. Tiny snowflakes floated from the sky, catching the beams of my headlights. When I reached the turn off Main that would lead me home, I hesitated, almost continuing straight. Almost driving to the ranch for the night to sleep at Mom and Dad’s.
But I turned, knowing that Foster’s truck would be parked in front of my house.
It was.
The man himself sat on my porch’s top stair.
After pulling the Jeep into the garage, I trudged inside, my footsteps as heavy as my heart. Flipping on the lights as I made my way to the front door, I slipped outside and joined him on the stair. We sat with our elbows on our knees, gazes aimed forward.
My anger from last night had faded. Or maybe it was just masked with this numbness. Shutting down seemed like the only way to keep from feeling too much.
It might have been peaceful, sitting in the night, sheltered from the snow. There were no streetlamps in my neighborhood. The only light came from the homes, golden and cheerful and warm. I was the only single person who lived on this block. Every other house belonged to a family.
It might have been peaceful.
Except tonight, I’d never felt so alone.
“Where’s your daughter?” I asked.
“With Vivienne at the hotel.” He dragged a palm over his beard. “I thought you knew.”
“How would I know?”
“Figured you’d looked me up at some point.”
“Never.”
Foster’s frame deflated. “Never.”
Never. The severity, the magnitude, of that word seemed as endless as the night sky above.
“Kadence starts school here tomorrow.”
I sat up straighter. “What?”
“That’s part of why I’m here. I don’t want her growing up in Vegas. I don’t want her part of that world.”
“So you came here? To my world?”
“Quincy is where you are.”
Foster had come to Montana for me. I’d known that for weeks now, but tonight, it hit differently. He hadn’t just moved himself. He’d moved his daughter. His family.
“You told me that if I heard you out and I still wanted you to leave, that you’d go. You weren’t going to leave, were you?”
He met my gaze. “Never.”
Never.
“I have never been, and never will be, in love with Vivienne,” he said. “I have never stopped loving you.”
“Foster—”
“And I never will.”
My hand came to my chest for what felt like the hundredth time today. I pressed and pressed and pressed. But it did nothing to stop my heart from cracking. Jagged lines began to split, right down my center.
There was a reason I hadn’t dated. There was a reason I hadn’t moved on with my life. Why I didn’t have a husband or family of my own. Why I was married to my career.
His nevers mirrored my own.
That’s why this hurt so much. I’d given him my heart and never taken it back.
I stood from the step, making my way to the sidewalk, then I stepped into the snow on the yard, my tennis shoes sinking into the fluff. The ice slipped beneath the hem of my pants, melting against my skin.
This fresh snow had added a perfect layer of white, like the powdered sugar Lyla sprinkled on her pastries.
I was careful with my steps, doing my best not to leave unneeded marks in the pristine surface, then lay on my back, legs straight with my arms at my sides.
Scrubs weren’t exactly snow gear. My legs were instantly cold, but I didn’t care. I made a snow angel, raising my arms and sweeping out my legs, all while I kept my eyes locked on the few stars that dared shine past the clouds.
Foster followed, joining me on the snow. He lay still for a few moments, his eyes on the heavens, until his legs moved. Then his arms. He made his own angel, then gave up the sky to stare at my face.
“How old is she?” I asked. “Your daughter?”
“There is more to say than I said last night.”
“Answer the question.”
Deep down, I knew the answer, or had a rough idea.
I was a doctor in a small town, which meant I saw a lot of kids in exam rooms. Kids needing their yearly checkups.
Kids getting shots for kindergarten. Kids with bumps and bruises.
Kids who had lost their front teeth, usually around the time they were six or seven.
Foster blew out a long breath, the wisps floating over the snow around us. “She turned seven last month.”
Seven.
We’d been apart seven years. Which meant if the girl’s birthday was in December, Vivienne had been pregnant before I’d left.
“I never cheated on you, Talia.”
Another never.
Was I a fool to believe them?
“Will you let me explain?” He reached for me, his cold fingers clasping around mine. “Please.”
I didn’t answer. I tugged my hand free and stood, leaving Foster in the yard as I went inside.
When I woke the next morning and peeked out the window, our snow angels were gone. Erased by the storm and the inches of snow that had fallen overnight.
Erased, like they had never been.
I cried for an hour before I went to work.
I wanted the angels back.