Page 61 of Wicked Love

I bury my face in my knees and bawl.

And then I stand up, wipe my face and blow my nose, and crawl back into bed, pulling the covers to my chin as I blink in the dark.

I’m having Bowie Fox’s baby.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHANGES

BOWIE

The boxes are piled high in my living room, mocking me. Stamped with my mom’s loopy handwriting, I wonder how she had the time to get everything packed so quickly. She must have not been sleeping since the funeral. She sits perched on the couch with a cup of tea, overseeing the chaos with an air of calm that grates on my nerves.

The guys bustle around the house, carryingfurniture inside. Poor Martha skitters all over the place, trying to stay out of everyone’s way.

“Do you really need all this? It’s a temporary situation, remember?” I ask.

She frowns. “You don’t want me to feel displaced, do you?”

“Of course not.” My jaw grinds together and I walk out of the living room.

“Last box is in the truck,” Henley announces, wiping sweat off his brow with his shirt. “But fair warning, it’s labeled ‘kitchen,’ and I don’t think there’s a single thing in it that belongs in a kitchen.”

“Antiques,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “She can’t let anything go.”

“Not true!” Mom calls from the other room, sounding perkier than she’s sounded in years. “I let your father go.”

Rhodes shoots me a look. “Awkward,” he mutters.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. The noise, the boxes, my mom’s cheerful tone—it’s all too much. I step outside to take a breather…and grab the last box.

I didn’t expect my dad’s death to hit me hard. I actually thought it might be a relief, if I’m honest with myself. He was abusive and a shadow I’ve spent my whole life trying to outrun, but now that he’s gone, there’s no closure. There were no final parting words to settle the wounds, no moment of warmth by his side in the hospital that softened any edges of our history.

And my mom thinking she can show up for me now…I’m not sure how to categorize these feelings. The normal things I do to lock things away are not working.

I set the box on the porch and lean against the railing. My mom steps out, pulling her sweater tighter.

“I know this isn’t what you want,” she says. “Me being here.”

I don’t respond.

She sighs and looks down at her hands. “I want to be a better mom,” she says, her voice low but steady. “And you need someone to be all over you, meddling in your life. That’s what moms do.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “You? Meddling? That’s a scary thought.”

She reaches out and touches my arm. “I mean it, Bowie. I want to try. For you. For Becca.”

My throat tightens and I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“Now,” she says briskly, patting my arm. “Go help your friends unpack the kitchen box. It has my collection of miniature giraffes. They will look so good in your kitchen.”

I groan. My house is decorated sparsely on purpose.

She laughs. “Come on, your house could stand some brightening up.”

For some reason, that makes me think of Poppy, and I pull out my phone. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I need to check on someone.”

She goes inside and I text Poppy.

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