CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bryce
Iinhale the crisp fall air and study the changing colors in the trees.
It’s late September, and with how quickly the temperature drops in the mountains, fall arrives earlier than in other parts of the state.
The monarch butterflies that have been my constant companions these past few months—the namesake for the ranch—are beginning to disappear too.
I miss them when they go, but I always look forward to their return each summer.
I know I can count on the seasons to be consistent, each one coming and going in the same way it did the year before, even if everything else in my life feels completely off-kilter.
It’s been three days since my visit to Leanne’s. Since I went to the store to pick up all the things Becca said she needed—as well as a whole bunch of things she didn’t.
I encouraged her to take a shower while I was gone. Encouraged might be a gentler word than the ones she’d have used, considering she called me a bossy asshole. But hey, she agreed, and that’s what mattered.
I’d hoped we could talk more, but she was fast asleep on the couch when I walked back in the door, and I couldn’t bring myself to wake her. She didn’t even twitch as I guessed my way around her kitchen, putting everything where I hoped it went.
I contemplated sitting there and waiting for her to wake up, but that felt a bit too familiar, like too much of an invasion. So instead, I left her a note with Becca’s number and asked her to call me.
Three days later and she still hasn’t.
I want to give her space to process—hell, I’m processing too—but I want to process this together. I want us to talk and figure out what happens next—together.
I can only assume her wanting to set up an appointment with Becca’s practice means she intends to keep the pregnancy, but we didn’t cover that in any specific terms. If she was trying to get pregnant with her asshole ex for so long, I can’t imagine she’d want to terminate.
But why didn’t I ask?
I sure as hell don’t want that, but maybe I should’ve made it clear to her. I scrub a hand over my beard in agitation. I just want to fucking talk to her about all of this.
I’m glad she’ll be seeing Becca. If I can trust anyone to take care of Leanne and this baby, it’s her. And honestly, with our shared past, I know Becca will do everything in her power to ensure they are both okay—as demonstrated when she offered her personal line unprompted.
I have to keep reminding myself that everything will be okay. This isn’t the same as last time. It’ll be different. It has to be.
But I’m very aware of how little power I have to make that true. I’m not in a relationship with Leanne—she won’t even call me—so my ability to create order in this chaos is nonexistent. Just as nonexistent as the power I have over whether she’s safe or if this baby is delivered safely.
My hands shake as I pace the front porch of my cabin.
I haven’t felt anxiety like this in years.
I don’t know if it’s been this bad since I was a teenager with raging hormones and a life that had been turned completely upside down.
I was never anxious about Sarah or her pregnancy.
I blindly believed everything would turn out perfect, as did she, and after the accident, I was too distraught and numb to be anxious.
But now I’m terrified.
A red SUV turns onto the drive of the ranch and I stop in my tracks. It’s Becca’s car.
Is she here to visit her parents, or me?
My question is answered a moment later when she pulls up in front of my house and pops out of the driver’s side. She’s in her standard lavender scrubs layered under a grey fleece jacket, her brown ponytail bobbing.
“Hey, you!” She bounds around her vehicle and up the stairs of the cabin two at a time until she can wrap her arms around my waist.
“Hey,” I say softly, accepting the embrace—letting it ground me. I haven’t so much as touched another human since my hug with Leanne. I’m a physical touch sort of guy, especially with the people in my life that I love, and Becca is one of those people.
“How’re you doing?” she asks, pulling back to look me in the eye. She squints at me, trying to read anything and everything going on in my brain.
“I’d be better if Leanne would call. Have you heard from her?”
She bites her lip and shakes her head, then says, “I can’t tell you that. Doctor-patient confidentiality. Now that she’s a patient, until or unless she gives me permission to share details with you, I can’t. I’m sorry.”
I dip my chin. “Well, I guess if she’s a patient, she made an appointment with your team like she said she would.”
“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have even told you that. But hey, you could always call her.” She pushes on my shoulder, a knowing smirk playing around her lips.
“I don’t know if she wants me to.”
She makes a pfft sound and shakes her head, the implication clear: I’m being an idiot.
“What? I put the ball in her court. I bought her groceries and asked her to call me, and she never did,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest like it will quell the ache there.
She holds up her hands in surrender. “This is me making assumptions based on very little information—of which I would like more of please—but I think she probably needs you to make the first move…”
I begin to protest that I already did—I went to her house, didn’t I? I did her shopping. I left the note—but Becca adds, “The next move then,” in a gentle voice.
I absorb her words but need a minute to sit with them. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” I say, and point her toward a chair.
“Yes please, I just got off a long shift at the hospital. I need caffeine if I’m going to make it home in one piece.”
I shudder at the thought of something happening to her. “I’m sure you could go up to the main house and rest. Your parents are there. Or you can stay here.”
“Nah, I’d rather sleep in my own bed, but I wanted to come see you first.” She bounces her eyebrows and I know I’m not going to be able to avoid her many, many questions for much longer. Especially since she drove thirty minutes in the wrong direction to be here.
“Fine,” I huff, walking inside to get her coffee.
When I return, I think she might be asleep—head lolled against the back of the rocking chair, eyes closed—but she shifts to look at me the moment the door creaks closed. I extend the mug and she wraps her hands around it, taking a sip of the golden-colored liquid.
I keep creamer in the house specifically for Becca. I drop my eyes to my own cup where the dark liquid looks almost black. The steam wafts up, curling in wispy tendrils against the cold air and carrying the aromatic scent of the blonde roast I prefer.
“Soooo…” she begins. I sit in the chair next to her and roll my head along the rest to find her smiling like the Cheshire cat. “Aren’t you going to tell me about Leanne?”
“You already know about her,” I hedge, but evasive tactics are not going to work on Becca and I know it.
“Um, no… I know she’s pregnant, but considering you never even told me you were seeing someone, I don’t know anything about her. About the two of you. Spill.”
I scratch my jaw again and avert my eyes. This is awkward.
“Bryce, are you blushing right now?” She laughs, head tipped back and smile lines around her eyes.
Goodness, it’s times like this that I really see how much she’s grown.
I know that’s weird, because she’s a whole-ass woman, but I’ve known her since she was eight, and sometimes I forget she’s an adult and not a kid anymore.
And yes, I am fucking blushing. Jesus. I glare at her and she looses another crow of laughter.
Through her chortling, she says, “Bryce, I already know she’s pregnant, and it’s not like any of us expected you to be a monk for the rest of your life. It’s been six years; you deserve to be happy…”
“It was a one-night stand, okay,” I nearly shout to get her to stop. I can already see her getting all these big ideas in her head about what my future will look like with Leanne and this baby, and I don’t want her to go down that rabbit hole when I can’t even get the woman to call me.
Becca’s jaw drops open and she blinks rapidly a couple of times as she processes this new, and likely very surprising, information.
“But…”
“But nothing, Becca. Saturday was the first time I saw her since…” I trail off, my cheeks heating further underneath my beard.
“Since you were together,” she finishes, her eyebrows pulling down.
“Yeah.” I take a sip of my coffee just for something to do. I don’t want to look up and see the disappointment in her eyes.
“Hey,” she says gently, reaching across to place her hand on my forearm. “I’m not judging you.”
“I know. It’s just not… I know it’s not what you were thinking. I honestly don’t even know where we go from here. She made an appointment, so she’s keeping the baby… or at least that’s where my head’s at. But considering she hasn’t called me, I have no idea what part she wants me to play.”
“Do you want a part to play?” she asks me gingerly.
“Of course I do. You more than anyone should know that. But this way?”
“Yeah, okay, it’s not conventional, but I’m sure you and Leanne can figure it out.”
I shake my head. “We had a pretty rocky start to things; I honestly don’t even know if she likes me.”
“Um. Maybe I’m missing something. How did you end up in bed together if she doesn’t like you…”
“It’s a bit complicated.” I squint at her over my mug and take another sip. “She’s… She was… Her sister was a bride here.” I swallow the hot coffee and avert my gaze.
Becca chokes and begins to splutter. “What?!”
“Yeah, her sister got married here back in August. Leanne was my contact for all the planning. We didn’t have a great working relationship, and that led to some charged interactions in person… Just in a different way than I expected.”
Now she’s cackling. Like, has to set her coffee down so she doesn’t spill it kind of laughter. “Oh my gosh, I never would’ve thought you had a hate-fuck in you, brother.”