Chapter 33
Ruth
Iwoke up so freaking happy this morning. I got the best sleep I’ve had in weeks—even with Tucker waking me up a few times so he could prove he can last longer than thirty seconds. Opened my eyes in his arms and felt safe and hopeful and was looking forward to the future.
Then I remembered I have to go back to Wyoming and face Deidre Bradshaw.
I put the last of Birdie’s toys into one of the large boxes we’re using to pack up my apartment. “Does your mom know about… everything?”
Tucker chuckles, not seeming to share my same concerns about his mother’s reaction to our charade. “She does, and the gloating is definitely strong.”
My stomach drops, falling straight to my feet. “Is she mad at me?”
I don’t know why it matters to me so much what Deidre thinks of me.
Of course I want her to like me, she’s Tucker’s mother after all, but I have to admit it’s probably more than that.
After watching how warm and loving she is with Brooke and Mariah, a tiny part of me has always wanted her to be the same way toward me.
And any chance of that ever happening probably disappeared when she found out I’m a big fat liar whose pants are on fire.
“Never.” Tucker stops what he’s doing, pushing aside the box packed full of Birdie’s clothes. “She’s as ready for you to be home as I am.”
I’m not sure I believe him. “That doesn’t mean she’s not mad at me.”
Tucker straightens, standing from his spot on the floor of Birdie’s room.
He rests both hands on my shoulders, expression serious.
“My mother is a lot of things, Ruthless. But she will tell you the most important one is a mother. She would never judge you or be mad at you for doing what it takes to protect Birdie.” He shakes his head. “Never.”
My throat is tight, a combination of sadness, hope, and fear trying to strangle me. All I can do is nod and pray he’s right.
We spend the rest of the day packing up the important parts of my apartment.
Things I don’t want someone else messing with unsupervised and items that need to accompany us on the flight back.
I haven’t been here long, so the amount of stuff I’ve accumulated is minimal.
By the time we have to leave for the airport, it’s all pretty much wrapped up and ready for the movers Tucker hired to come collect everything next week.
Tucker didn’t just handle finding the movers. He also talked to the property manager, took care of all the utilities, and got us plane tickets. All I had to do was pack and take care of Birdie.
Once again, Tucker is the one doing everything for me, and once again there’s not much I can do for him. I don’t have the kind of money to make all his dreams come true. I don’t have people around me who can love him and make him feel less alone.
All I have is nice boobs and a great bananas foster bread recipe.
And when he falls asleep on the flight with his head on my shoulder, I go to great lengths not to disturb him while entertaining Birdie and trying not to wet my pants.
Tucker rouses just as we land, jerking upright as he apologizes for falling asleep. He looks over where Birdie sits on my other side, like he needs to make sure she’s okay. She gives him the biggest grin, the expression displaying the mouthful of half chewed pretzels she just crammed in.
He reaches across me to smooth back a little of her curly hair, the look on his face filled with so much love it’s almost palpable.
Last night when he said she was his, I almost broke down, which really would have put a damper on the moment.
But now, there’s no arousal or lust keeping me in check, and I immediately burst into tears.
“Hey.” Tucker turns his attention to me, concern tightening his expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” It doesn’t sound like it’s true, but it is.
For some reason, I’m sitting in an airplane seat bawling my eyes out over how right everything is.
It would seem that after years of everything being wrong, my body doesn’t quite know what to do with this change of circumstance. “I’m just really happy.”
“Good to know this is what that looks like for you, because I would have been very confused.” A smile tugs at Tucker’s lips. “Does this also happen when you’re only moderately happy? I’m just trying to get an idea so I know what to expect.”
I roll my eyes and then start to laugh over how fucking happy I am to be rolling my eyes at his goofy self. So now I’m laughing and crying at the same time.
I think something’s wrong with me.
“It’s just a lot right now.” I swipe one hand across my cheeks. “I’m sure I’ll be back to normal in a day or two.”
“I’m not sure you’ve ever been normal, Ruthless.” Tucker leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. “And I love that about you.”
When it’s our turn to deplane, Tucker pulls down our carry-ons, passing me mine before taking his and Birdie’s, and leads us up the aisle. Between the two of us, we manage to get my—our?—toddler safely off the plane, through the terminal, and into Tucker’s truck.
He holds my hand the whole drive home, looking in his rearview mirror almost obsessively at where Birdie sits. As soon as we're in the garage, he gets Birdie and me out, ushering us inside before going to collect our luggage.
Birdie makes a beeline for the corner that still has all her toys exactly where she left them.
Since she’s occupied, I go to use the bathroom.
I check my reflection as I wash my hands, and discover I am a hot mess.
I take a few seconds to splash cool water on my face and swish some of the mouthwash under the sink.
It’s not as great as I’ll feel after I dig out my toothbrush and skin care, but I’m no longer quite as puffy and my mouth doesn’t taste like the inside of a shoe.
Back in the kitchen,I find Tucker spinning in a slow circle, our suitcases and carry-ons at his feet. He looks from the entryway to the great room, brows pinched together. “Where’s Little Bird?”
“She’s in the great room playing with her—” I point to the spot where my daughter was just a couple minutes ago.
There’s no Birdie.
“Birdie?” I listen for any sign of where she might be. I know she couldn’t have gone far—she’s still too small to open exterior doors—but that doesn’t mean she can’t figure out how to climb up a piece of furniture and fall off of it.
Or go up the stairs and then roll back down them.
Tucker must have the same thought I do, because he also turns for the staircase. The gate designated to barricade the bottom is still there, but instead of being tightened into place, it’s propped against the banister.
“Shit. I didn’t even think to put that up before I left.” Tucker takes the steps two at a time, calling out for Birdie as he goes.
I’m right behind him, not exactly worried, but feeling a fair bit concerned knowing how quickly my daughter can make a mess. We both rush past the open door to his room, thinking she might have gone to her old bedroom.
Now her new bedroom.
But our steps slow to a halt after a few paces.
Tucker turns to face me, and I can tell by the flare of his nostrils he smells what I smell.
I cringe as he goes past me, flipping on the light as he steps into the space I’m hoping we now share. There, standing right next to his—our?—bed, hunkered down with pinkened eyebrows, is the smelliest little girl I know.
“What are you doing, Little Bird?” The question is almost identical to the one he asked the first time she was in here.
And just like the first time she was in here, Birdie gives him a blunt response. “Poopin’.”
She lets out a particularly productive sounding fart and I wince, knowing the odor that kind of sound usually accompanies. “I’m really sorry.”
But instead of looking upset or grossed out, Tucker starts to laugh, head thrown back as his shoulders shake. He laughs so hard his eyes start to water.
Or maybe that’s the smell.
I go for his windows, opening them in an effort to help the noxious cloud dissipate. “I don’t know why she likes to do that in here so much.” Normally, Birdie just goes wherever the urge strikes her. But here, she works hard to get into Tucker’s room to do her business.
Tucker swipes at one eye, shaking his head as he continues to chuckle.
“Maybe she’s just marking her territory.
” He goes to where Birdie is straightening, seemingly finished with the task at hand.
Tucker scoops her up, hands under her pits as he holds my toddler out in front of him.
“Don’t worry, Little Bird.” He brings her in, kissing her on the nose before holding her back out again.
“I belong solely to you and your momma.”
“I feel sick.” It would be bad enough if I was just seeing Deidre for the first time since coming back from Maryland two days ago.
Instead, I’m seeing Deidre for the first time since coming back from Maryland two days ago and meeting the three women who are brave enough to take on William with me.
Probably should have tried to throw up before we left our house.
Just so I wouldn’t risk having to throw up all over Deidre’s beautiful home.
The only reason I make it inside is due to Tucker’s warm hand pressing against my back. Otherwise, there’s a good chance I would have turned tail and run.
I am not a coward. This is just… A lot.
Feminine voices carry from the kitchen to echo through the entryway as Tucker, Birdie, and I make our way inside.
When I reach the kitchen, I feel a little faint.
It’s surreal seeing three little kids who resemble my daughter in ways I never wanted to see.
Admitting William had anything to do with her creation was painful.
Sometimes disgusting. Humiliating. So I did my best to ignore any evidence of it.
But now it’s staring right back at me in the form of curly heads and dimpled cheeks. Every one of the kids is adorable. So freaking cute I almost can’t stand it. It makes it easier to admit that while the man might be a complete and total piece of shit, he does make cute babies.
But the kids aren’t the only attractive humans occupying Deidre’s kitchen. The three women circling the island are gorgeous. We’re different enough to say William doesn’t have a type, but each woman is stunningly pretty.
Everyone goes quiet when we walk in, turning our way. Deidre immediately smiles, clapping her hands together the way she does before she starts speaking to a group.
“There’s my girls.” She comes straight for us, scooping Birdie away from Tucker and giving her a tight squeeze, before asking, “Did you miss Gram Gram? Because Gram Gram missed you.” Her eyes move over my daughter’s face, like she’s soaking it up.
Guilt has me feeling almost as sick as my nervousness does, making me grateful I know where the closest bathroom is. But I don’t have time to run away, because Birdie starts to wiggle, clearly more interested in going to investigate the other kids than getting loved on by Deidre.
After setting her down, Tucker’s mom turns to me. I brace, not knowing what’s coming.
Deidre takes my hands in hers. “My darling girl.” She gives my fingers a squeeze. “I am so happy you’re home.”
Tears prick my eyes as she reaches up to pat my cheek. No one has looked at me the way she is now. Called me their darling girl or lovingly cradled my face. Not since my mom died. And like so much else lately, I’m having a hard time dealing with it.
After years of being the only person I could count on—having to keep it all together because no one was there to reassemble me if I fell apart—I break, crumbling straight into Deidre’s waiting arms.
She holds me so tight, one hand rubbing up and down my back as she makes the kind of soothing sounds only a mother can.
I hate that these women are seeing me like this—I don’t want them to back out because they think I’m weak—but for just a minute, I just want a mom to hold me and tell me it’s all going to be okay.
After what feels like way too long for me to be able to categorize this as a quick little mental breakdown, I finally straighten, sucking in a breath to dry out my running nose.
Deidre gives me a second to compose myself then hooks an arm around my shoulders. “You ready to talk about giving William Sheppard a taste of his own medicine?”
I nod. “I’m ready.”
She introduces me to the group. Not just names either. She knows what each woman does for a living. Where they live. How they met William and what he’s done to make their life a living hell.
Seems like Senator Sheppard has been busy.
Not long after introductions are made, the attorney Tucker hired arrives and begins explaining the process of what we’re doing.
Nothing’s going to be officially filed—and hopefully won’t ever be—but it will be coming from his office, on his letterhead, with his signature beneath ours.
Hopefully it’s enough to scare William into walking away.
And I think it will be. It’s time for him to see who holds the power here. The four of us can take everything from him. His marriage. His reputation. His political career. We could ruin his life in the blink of an eye.
But none of us want to do that. We simply want him to go away and forget we—and our children—exist. So we can move on. So we can be happy. So our kids can feel safe.
So Birdie can officially have the dad she deserves.