Chapter 36 #2
Logan grabs both of my biceps to steady me as I sway even farther, settling me into the chair across from the one I vacated with worried eyes. “Breeze? Breeze!” I can see his mouth moving, but the sound is nothing but white noise.
I glance from him to Norah, and then Bennett, and then Clay and Josie, who are hugging in front of the counter like being connected is their only lifeline.
And then I swing to the door—to a wide-eyed, completely frozen Tad right in front of it.
His hands shake slightly, his fingers clenched on each side of the newspaper as he stares right at me. I know immediately he’d just as much like to know the truth—if what the paper says is real—as he’d like to time-travel to somewhere in the past and never come back.
He’s in real, raw shock. To be finding out like this—I can’t even imagine.
I lick my lips and steady my chin, holding it up. And then, I nod. Twice. Once for confirmation, and then again to prove his eyes aren’t deceiving him.
After that, I leave the ball in his court, and for as much as I’m hoping he’ll rush toward me and pull me into his arms, I can’t—I won’t—judge him for any other response.
He can run. He can yell. He can faint.
It doesn’t matter. I’ve promised myself grace—for him and for me—and that means giving him the time to process however he sees fit.
The door bursts open behind him, a young, fashionable woman throwing her hands in the air and shouting. “Surprise! I’m heeerrreee!”
It’s only then I recognize her as Norah’s best friend from New York, Lillian, a weirdness flowing over her as she reads the room. “Okay, whoa. What the hell did I just walk into?”
My eyes jump back to Tad automatically.
White washes over his face, sickness and a sudden problem with digestion, I’m guessing, turning him ill. I wish it didn’t make my heart flip in my chest, but it does. I don’t blame him, but I do feel bad for myself.
Last night, I finally let myself come to terms with the fact that my life of independence in New York and the boss-bitch persona I played so well was one comprised of loneliness.
It was battles fought on my own and tears cried in the shower.
It was strong will and the ability to handle anything that came my way—traits born because I had to.
I’ve always been the caretaker, but so often, when you take on that role, no one takes care of you.
And God, no matter how hard it is to admit this, I desperately want someone to take care of me.
I want someone to comfort me in times of trial and champion my wins. Someone to wade through the mud with me, no matter the depth.
I know this thing with Tad started out as casual, but when I wasn’t looking, hope edged in. Longing and dreaming and daring to think, maybe, I wouldn’t always have to do it alone.
His reaction is valid. Hell, I’m shocked by the way Eileen just plastered the news everywhere, and I’m already in the know.
And yet…it still stings.
“I can’t believe you fucking did this!” Josie shouts at the top of her lungs. “You had no right, Eileen! You had no fucking right!”
“Fu-ck!” Autumn yells in unison, but this time, Norah doesn’t even correct her. Sometimes the f-word is all that’s appropriate in a tense moment like this.
“This was my news to tell!” Josie hollers, and Clay wraps his arm around her shoulders.
Josie’s pregnant too? If I weren’t so wrapped up in my own pregnancy and Tad’s subsequent outright shocked reaction that’s currently taking place across this coffee shop, I’d probably be wondering why she didn’t tell me.
Or how she managed to get pregnant in the first place.
For the longest time, I was one of the only people who knew about the tragic accident that turned her world on its head.
“It’s okay, Josie,” Clay reassures, squeezing Josie tightly to his side.
Eileen stands there, a mix of delight and outright fear residing in the crow’s-feet of her eyes.
I think there’s a part of her that’s flying high on cloud nine for breaking the bombshells of news that are quite literally true for once in her sleazy journalistic life.
But there’s also another part that’s scared shitless as the rage-filled eyes of Josie Harris stare through her soul.
“No. It’s not okay!” Josie shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m pregnant and emotional, and the only thing that will make me feel better is if I get to kill Eileen!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sheriff Peeler bellows, heading into the fray to stop a homicide. “Let’s everyone calm down.”
All I can do is look back at Tad. His eyes are as wide as Josie’s big coffee mugs, flitting between me and the newspaper clenched tightly in his hands. He gulps once, and then three more times after that.
A cacophony of screams breaks the sound barrier as Josie gets more riled up, and Clay and Bennett join in, shouting at Eileen for her gross invasion of privacy, all the while Sheriff Peeler does his best to make sure their altercation doesn’t end in bloodshed.
Norah tries to shelter the newly arrived Lillian from the sharp word bullets being tossed in the air with a quick hello hug, and Autumn clings to her shirt while simultaneously repeating the word fuck every time someone shouts it.
But it’s all basically background noise as I keep my eyes locked on Tad.
His feet are the first things to move, the rest of his body seemingly in limbo or purgatory—or hell, I suppose—skittering and scampering until they get traction out the door.
It falls closed behind him as I watch on in horror as he jogs to his truck and jumps in, peeling out of the spot at the curb and taking off down Main Street at double the speed limit.
When I turn back to reality, my heart in my throat and chaos still living and breathing inside Josie’s coffee shop, Logan’s gaze finds mine. There’s a softness in his face that’s been missing for fifteen years or more, and I know with horrifying reality its root cause is pity. For me.
I can practically smell tomorrow’s headline now.
Poor Beatrice Bishop: Upon pregnancy announcement in paper, Farm Daddy flees town for good.
Boy, that silly nickname didn’t age well, did it?