Page 53 of Reclaim Me

Something about the statement pulls on my heartstrings because I know it’s hard for addicts to feel worthy of second chances. Hell, I’m still trying to feel worthy of the one I’ve been given, but I don’t want Taurin to be like me—doing the work but still holding the past against himself.

“Taurin.” I place a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not true. Whether or not you get it, you do deserve a second chance. The work you’re doing to improve yourself is proof that you deserve one, so just keep doing the work, okay?”

“Okay.”

Even though I’m tired, I stash my phone in my pocket and help Taurin finish cleaning the kitchen. Between the two of us, we have the place spotless in record time. Once we’re done, I head up to bed, making sure to tell him to turn in soon since it’s a school night. After my shower, I collapse into bed with every intention of falling asleep but find myself looking through the pictures of Riley on my phone. Most of them feature Rae in some way. She’s always around, holding Riley’s hand and walking down the sidewalk or running her fingers over Riley’s hair when a trip down the slide has caused her wild curls to break away from the puff she occasionally wears.

There is one photo that’s just of Rae, though. I took it one day when we were at the park by the gym, not noticing that Riley was out of frame. Rae is wearing a soft pink t-shirt and some light-washed jeans, a pair of crisp white Converses on her feet, and her head is thrown back as she laughs at something Riley has just said. Sunlight filters through the ends of her hair, kissing the tip of every curl. She looks happy and carefree, nothing like the tense and exasperated person she is when Aaron is around.

I liked the picture so much I made it her contact photo, so I could see it every time she reaches out. It’s on my screen right now, accompanied by the vibrations that announce an incoming call that I answer immediately.

“Rae, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Is Riley okay?”

My feet are already on the ground. My body refusing to wait for her voice to start making my way to her, to them.

“I’m fine, Hunter. Everything is fine,” she says softly.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because everyone is asleep, and I—” she pauses, the shuffling on the other end of the line telling me she’s walking somewhere. While I wait for her to continue, I analyze her breathing, listening for any signs of distress, deflating into a heap of relief when I hear none. “—I needed to talk to you,” she says, finally finishing her thought.

I relax back into my mattress. “About what?”

Rae is quiet, and I hear a door open and close, then she’s back, talking at a normal volume. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“You already thanked me once, Rae. You don’t need to do it again. You didn’t need to do it the first time.”

“I know, but I just—” The line goes quiet again, and I wait patiently for her to finish her thought. “You’re really good at this, Hunter,” she breathes. “And I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not surprised because at one point in my life, I pictured you as a father on the daily, but then?—”

“But then I messed it all up,” I finish for her. “And you walked away because you didn’t trust that I could be good for Riley.”

Or for you.

I think the words, but I don’t say them because they don’t need to be said.

“I was wrong.”

Regret coats those three words in heavy layers that drip remorse, and even though it would be so easy to agree, so easy to let Rae think she made a mistake back then, I can’t.

“No, you weren’t, Sunshine. The man you left, the one you walked away from, he wasn’t any good for you, and he was no good for our daughter. You knew that, and you made the only decision you could. You left, and it was the wake-up call I needed. You left, and I became the best version of myself, and now you’re back, and I get to be that man every day for Riley.”

For you.

Again, I don’t speak the words, but I know she senses them in the silence of the omission. She takes a shaky, gasping breath, and I close my eyes, praying to God she’s not crying. I hate when Rae cries; it makes me want to murder someone.

“She loves you, you know?”

I picture our daughter’s face, recalling her scent and smile. “I know. I love her too, so much. You’ve done an amazing job raising her for the most part.”

“For the most part?” I can hear sass all in her tone, and I smile, happy my playful jab is bringing her out of whatever mood she was in when she called. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I turn over on my side, letting the phone rest on my face. “It means you did an amazing job keeping her safe, making her smart and well-mannered, but you dropped the ball when it comes to shit-talking. Our girl definitely shouldn’t have been bested by a little asshole who couldn’t come up with something better than ‘Unisex Riley.’”

“Oh my, God.” Rae snorts, and there’s humor laced all the way through it, and I smile, proud to be responsible for such a beautiful sound. “Why was I thinking the same thing?”

19

RAE

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