Page 75 of Baby Maker

Chapter Fifteen

Calliope

“One hell of a party,” the man behind the liquor store counter comments, ringing up my four bottles of alcohol.

That’s right. Count them—four bottles.

And not a party in sight.

My only plan for the evening? Drowning my sorrows until I forget that I loved either Nigel or Keegan.

Four bottles aren’t nearly enough.

I slog the bags from my car, depositing them on the kitchen counter with a flourish. Grabbing a glass, I crack open the whiskey and pour a glass. Not a finger. Not two fingers. An entire damn glass.

I clutch the tumbler in a death grip, my body both craving and dreading the first sip of the amber liquid. I’m not a drinker. A glass here or there to celebrate or relax, but I never considered the bottle a form of therapy.

Until now.

I flip on some mournful blues, and after half a glass and two songs, the numbness creeps in. Wow, it’s lovely. My entire world is crashing around my ears, but with whiskey on board, I can stand back and watch it fall.

A knock on the door jolts me from my stupor. Knowing my luck, it’s the last of the traveling salesmen, complete with a full bottle of snake oil with my name on it.

I yank open the door, my heart dropping to my stomach.

It isn’t a salesman. No such luck.

“What are you doing here, Dr. Russo?”

Keegan rests his hand on the doorframe, his gaze settling on my half-empty glass of whiskey. “I was worried about you.”

“Why? I’m not your patient any longer. You fired me today, remember? I’m not your… anything.”

“May I come in?”

“Give me one good reason.” Whiskey also apparently makes me belligerent. Let’s hope he brought his boxing gloves.

“I don’t think you should be alone right now.”

I swig back another sip of liquor, feeling the burn fire up my anger. “Oh, but what does it matter? I am alone. Why delay the inevitable?”

“May I please come in?”

I step aside, letting him into the foyer, and point in the direction of the living room. “Have a seat. Want a drink? Wait, you’re likely too busy starting a new life to wallow with me in mine.”

He grabs the glass from my hand, downing the contents, those blue eyes sparking at me. “I don’t know what to do, Calli. I don’t know the right answer to this situation. To any situation. I’m trying, and failing, at every turn.”

I’m not sure if it’s the sadness in his eyes, hidden beneath the cool facade, but the shield of anger slides from my body, and I collapse into a chair. “Join the club.”

He kneels in front of me, grasping my hands. “What do you need, Calliope? Not what you think you need or should need. Not what your family or friends think you need. What do you need? When was the last time you actually considered that question?”

“It’s been years. I came to America to be with Nigel. It wasn’t my choice, although I’ve grown to love it here. But Rhode Island never felt like home, and now that he’s gone, I’m adrift, with no anchor. The last two years I mourned him, and the two years prior, I dedicated myself to saving him. I’m really angry with God. I’m really angry with myself that I didn’t take full advantage of all my chances. I’m exceptionally angry that I failed to seize the chance I had with you.” I squeeze his hands, feeling the sadness creeping back in. “I’m glad that you are taking advantage of your chances. We never know how many we’ll be given. We assume opportunities will always present themselves, knocking at our door. But we never stop to consider that after being ignored, that opportunity may seek out a new dwelling.”

Just like that, I realize that Keegan and I are over. Our brief, but spectacular love affair, is now relegated to the history books. That thought cuts like a knife. A jagged, rusty-edged knife, tearing through the most sensitive parts of my soul.

I need to mourn.

In private.

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