Chapter 33
Cody
I love hunting season. I love guiding. I love the adrenaline rush of watching a group of geese drop after an explosion in gunfire. But I’ll be honest, I finally get why Jesse was so irritable when he and Ella got back together.
It’s like withdrawal.
Especially now that Karissa and I are more than just friends raising a baby together.
We’re in love. We’re building something real, serious, lifelong. And I haven’t seen either of them in two days.
It’s killing me.
I told her I’d come by tonight, no matter what time it was, because tomorrow won’t be possible and I need to see them today.
Jesse stops me just as I reach my truck. “Hey, Ella saw Karissa this morning before her shift.”
I’m all ears. “Yeah?”
He nods. “Said she seemed pretty worn.”
I look down, sighing, even though I knew that. I knew she would struggle.
“She started crying,” Jesse adds, and my stomach drops.
“I’m headed there now,” I say, not even able to look at him again. I just want to get there…see her, help her.
“Cody.” He stops me and I look back to him. “It’s hard, man. Nobody’s to blame; not her, not you, no one.”
I tuck what he said in the back of my mind for later, for when I start doubting myself and feeling like she doesn’t deserve me, and climb in the truck.
I knock once before opening the door. She’s wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt, her hair up, no makeup on her face. She’s got Emma in her arms, who’s staring back at me, cracking a smile.
“Hey,” I say gently, stepping inside.
She whispers a “hi” back, like if she says it any louder she’ll break. I reach for her, tucking her against me for a hug.
“I’m sorry you’re having a rough time with this,” I say, only wishing I could offer more than just a lousy sorry.
She doesn’t say anything, just lets me take Emma and wipes her tears on her sleeves. I lean in and kiss her forehead.
“I’m here now,” I whisper.
Tears slide down her cheeks effortlessly. I shift Emma up onto my shoulder and hug her again.
“I’m so tired,” she says into my chest.
“I know, sweetheart. I wish I could do more. I really do.”
She pulls back. “I can’t keep up with anything. The dishes. The laundry. Emma doesn’t sleep by herself, I can’t eat in peace, I can’t shower. She’s just miserable, and so am I.”
Her voice cracks on the last word and she looks away, like she hates to even say it.
“You don’t have to be super mom, baby. Just take it one day at a time. So what if there’s dishes in the sink or laundry piling up? It’ll still be there tomorrow. Emma needs you. And you need you. That’s where your energy goes first.”
“I just wish I was stronger. I wish I could prove I could do it.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.” I run a hand over her back once before I gently nudge her toward the bedroom. “Go shower and go to sleep. I’ll feed her and put her down.”
“But you work early.”
“I don’t care. I can deal.”
She contemplates.
“Go.” I point and watch her slowly walk into the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind her.
* * *
It isn’t until 11 p.m. that I leave. I changed Emma, swaddled her, fed her and rocked her to sleep before successfully transferring her into the bassinet beside Karissa’s bed. Karissa was out like a light. Didn’t even hear me come in. I kissed her forehead and left quietly.
When I get back to the big house, I’m surprised to see Mason here this late. It’s not that it’s unusual, it’s just usually not a good sign.
I hear Dad’s voice first, low and serious. “Just ask her if she’s seeing anyone.”
Then Mom chimes in, “Or at least ask if she’s married.”
I round the corner slowly, not wanting to intrude on the conversation, but definitely curious.
“Oh, hey, how’s Karissa?” Mom asks when she spots me. Dad and Mason both glance up from where they’re sitting, like I caught them midscheme.
“Not great,” I admit.
“Yeah.” She nods. “She seemed tired today when she came up to help with lunch prep.”
“I don’t know what else to do for her,” I say, sinking down onto the couch next to Mason.
“Maybe Sunday you could take Emma off her hands for a while? Bring her up here for the afternoon and Karissa can rest.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Already planned on it.”
I glance at Mason, who’s suspiciously quiet. “What’s up with you? Girl got you messed up or something?”
He lets out a soft laugh, slouching back against the couch. “Not messed up. Just…thinking.”
I lift a brow. “What’s her name?”
“Megan.”
“Alright.” I grin. “And where’d you meet this Megan?”
He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly all bashful. “Went to the elementary school earlier this week with Travis to talk to the kids about safety stuff. She was the teacher. Super sweet. And, I mean…gorgeous, man. Like—”
“Like, made you sweat?” I tease.
“Oh yeah.” He groans, rubbing his face. “By the time we were done, the back of my shirt was soaked under my vest.”
We all laugh, and he cracks a sheepish smile.
That’s Mason. Always been easy to impress, quick to fall.
Acts fast, speaks faster, no filter to save his life.
Since we were kids, he’s been like this, moving a hundred miles an hour, even when he didn’t know where he was going.
Played sports, not because he loved the game, but because he liked the rush.
The running. The energy. The adrenaline.
Track was his thing all through middle and high school. It was the only time he ever looked calm…when he was sprinting.
And now, here he is, midtwenties, still sweating over a girl like it’s the first time he’s seen one.
“Did you get her number?” I ask, already half sure of the answer by the way he hesitates.
He rubs a hand over his face. “I wanted to, but it felt weird. In her classroom, kids everywhere.”
“So you just left?” I guess.
“I said it was nice meeting her,” he mutters. “And I smiled like a damn idiot before leaving. Haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”
Mom lets out a soft aww, but Dad just shakes his head like he’s seen this exact movie play out before.
“So just go back. Ask for her number,” I suggest, like it’s obvious.
“I know.” Mason sighs. “I just have to catch her after school…wait for her to walk out to the parking lot, like some creeper.”
I snort. “Hey, some girls like that kind of effort.”
He looks at me, deadpan. “Stalking?”
“Not stalking,” I say, grinning. “Strategic timing. Big difference.”
He groans and drops his head back against the couch. “Yeah, well, let’s just hope I don’t get reported to my sergeant.”
“If she’s for you,” Dad starts, “she’ll appreciate it. You show effort? Respect? That matters. Girls remember that.”
“Yeah?” he asks, like he’s still not sure.
“Give it a shot,” Mom insists.
Mason sighs again, but it’s lighter this time. “Alright. I’m going back Monday.”
“There you go.” I nudge his shoulder and he stands, checking his phone.
“Alright. Yeah. I gotta go home; I go in at five,” he says and leaves.
The door clicks shut and the three of us exchange a knowing look.
“Two dates.” Dad shakes his head. “That’s all it’ll take before he’s telling her he loves her.”
Mom and I laugh because, honestly, he’s probably right.