Page 56 of The Roads We Follow

Fear grips me in its talons the same way it did two months after my nephew Aiden was born and I found Hattie catatonic on the bathroom floor while he screamed in his crib and Anabelle walked through the house with a half-eaten bowl of sliced strawberries, most of which were smeared on the front of her mermaid nightgown. And then I think of how hard Hattie fought to get well again, how hard we all fought to wage war against the cloud of postpartum depression that stole her from us for nearly a year.

I can’t let her go back to that dark place again.

And the truth is, she’s been teetering on the edge since the day Adele caught Peter alone with Francesca in the recording studio.

Our driver is pulling into the hotel’s unloading zone when I start in with a plethora of panicked assurances in Hattie’s ear.

Micah reaches behind her back and clasps my shoulder, his expression both kind and sympathetic when he says, “She can’t hear reason in this state, Raegan. Why don’t I help you get her inside and cleaned up, and then we can assess what should happen next.”

I nod because there’s simply nothing else I can do.

It’s the same response I give him when he suggests we take her back to my room for the cleanup portion of our plan. And again when he suggests I help her into some more comfortable attire before we prop her on my sofa so she can hydrate before sleeping off her intoxication. And then again when he offers to come back and check on us after he showers.

Of all the plans he’s suggested tonight, that one is by far my favorite.

15

Raegan

I’ve just taken a half dose of the prescription antihistamine I keep in my travel bag to stop the hive vine on my forearm when Micah knocks at my door. I answer in my sweats and my favorite sleep tee filled with Jane Austen quotes, but take care to keep the ugly red bumps hidden from view. If he saw them earlier while we cared for Hattie, he didn’t mention it.

As he stands in the empty hallway with a stack of journals in his arms and reading glasses on his face, I’m wondering at the advanced math formula involved in taking an already attractive man and making him ten times more attractive with such a minor change.

“I figured since we don’t know how much Hattie had to drink tonight, it might be good to have something to do while we keep an eye on her.”

Every cell in my body swoons at his suggestion.

“You don’t have to stay up with me, really.” I’d planned on it, of course, hence my half dose of meds, but Micah has a bus to drivetomorrow. “I’ll be fine.” I scrunch my nose as I catch my slip. “I mean, I don’t expect you to—”

“What if I told you I’d like to stay up and keep you company? Would you be good with that?”

I nod, willing the butterflies inside me to stay in their respective cocoons. They don’t.

He stops and scans my hotel suite, noting Hattie asleep on the far sofa where we’d propped her on pillows. “I’m glad she’s resting.”

“Me too.”

As we each take in the ransacked suitcases, hastily discarded clothing, damp towels, half-drank water bottles, and toiletries scattered about the sofa opposite Hattie’s, Micah starts to make his way over to it as it’s the only other place in the room to sit outside of the bed. Only, I have no energy left for cleaning tonight, and I’m certain he doesn’t, either.

“I’m not opposed to sharing the bed with you,” I say two seconds before my brain catches up to my mouth.

Micah turns slowly, smirking. “I’m flattered, Raegan, but I’m afraid I’m not that kind of guy.”

I ignore the heat engulfing my neck and point to the mess in the tiny living room area. “Then by all means, please feel free to pick up the trail of soggy laundry and towels on the sofa so we can—”

“On second thought, the bed sounds swell, as long as you’re sure you can keep your hands to yourself.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

I perch at the foot of the king-size bed where he tosses me a couple of pillows before taking two for himself and stretching out horizontally across the head of the mattress. I don’t hesitate to follow his lead. It’s been a long night.

He sets the journals between us once we’re settled, and I smile at him over the stack.

“Thank you,” I start, knowing the sentiment is nowhere near enough to cover my gratitude for what he did for my family tonight. “You were ... tonight was...”

“Gross?” he supplies helpfully.

“No doubt about that.” I grimace. “But I really do appreciate your help with my sister tonight. There’s no way I could have done all that on my own.”

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