Page 22 of The Best Bad Decision

“Good. If I ever—”

“You won’t. He’s nothing. He won’t be coming anywhere near us.”

Cam swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“That’s why you were upset last night. About me bathing Maisy.”

“Yeah.”

“I would never hurt her, Amie.” His gaze softens, earnestness shining through the green. I squeeze his hands.

“I know,” I whisper. “I know you wouldn’t. You won’t. I know.”

“I love her,” he whispers. A wet sheen coats his eyes. “I love her like I never imagined I would. Just—one look at her, and I’d do just about fucking anything for her.”

“I know,” I whisper again. “She does that to you. She hadn’t been out of my belly twenty seconds, and I knew it.” My words come out in a rush, a tiny laugh mixed into a heavy exhale. It’s a laugh of lightness. Of relief. Of finally sharing something that had darkened my mind for a long time. Of no longer shouldering a burden alone.

“I’d do anything for you, too, Amie,” he whispers. His green eyes search my face, finally catching my gaze. It’s intense, and I hold it only for a second before I close my eyes. A tear leaks out from beneath my closed eyelids. “For Maisy, and for you. Anything you need. Anything you want.”

I want to sayI knowagain. Because I do. I believe it. I see it in his eyes. But I can’t bring myself to say the words, because to say them means to acknowledge everything unsaid between us—the unspoken words his gaze conveys. And to say it means accepting everything else that hangs over us: he’d do anything for his daughter, and his daughter’s mother. And it means opening my heart to a man who could break it again.

When I squeeze his hand instead of speaking, I let him think it’s because I’m too overwhelmed to say the words out loud. But instead, it’s grief. Grief for the father I never had. Grief for what Cam and I had in Singapore. Grief for the fantasy I’ve held every day since. And grief for what we’ll never be.

thirteen

Amie

“Does she have amiddle name?”

“Nope. Just Maisy.”

We’re lying on our backs on the picnic blanket in the living room. Maisy has fallen asleep between us, hanging on to Cam’s left arm. It’s long past her bedtime, but I can’t bring myself to disturb her to take her to bed. Cam has been here for four days, and tomorrow is his last with us. We’ve spent the afternoon at a soft play centre and the evening on the blanket under the fairy lights, doing jigsaw puzzles and talking about our favourite dinosaurs.

“Do you?”

“Alison,” I answer. He smiles.

“Amie Alison Caine. I like it. It suits you.”

“What about you?”

“John,” he says quickly. A sigh. “Pretty boring. Mom liked Camden, Dad liked John. No cool story about it.”

“I like it, though. It’s unique, but classic.” I smile.

“Will you tell me about her—Maisy? Everything I missed… Being pregnant, giving birth. What she was like as a baby?”

I push up onto one elbow, my hair falling over one shoulder as I roll to face Cam. His face is serious, green eyes bright in the twinkling lights.I move my gaze to Maisy, smiling softly at her peaceful, sleeping face, and I think back over my pregnancy and the day I went into labour.

“I feel so awful,” I groaned. “Sorry, K, I know we had plans but—” I slapped a hand over my mouth again, jabbing a finger at the ‘mute’ button on the screen before flinging myself towards the toilet bowl and emptying my stomach again. Once I was sure I was done—this time—I reached up to pull the flush handle, then grabbed for my phone again.

“Sorry, K,” I whispered. I didn’t even have enough energy left to speak.

“Don’t be sorry, love,” Katy said. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Get back into bed.”

True to her word, twenty minutes later, I heard her key click in the lock, and Katy’s footsteps thundered up the stairs. She found me still slumped on the bathroom floor, a towel rolled under my knees and my head resting on my arms on the toilet seat.

“I brought you some Sprite and crackers,” she said quietly, pulling her wares from a cotton tote. “And some soup for later, if you feel up to it.”

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