Page 58 of Unbound

I can’t sleep at all. I toss and turn the entire night.

I can’t fucking believe him.

It seems like I’ve been here before, every thought, every feeling coursing through me familiar, and I’m slipping into the way it used to be. I swallowed that poison for too long and let it destroy me.

Our hearts are ruthless. They dictate a situation only to change its mind once the dust has settled, and I’m sure that’s what he’s doing to me now. The dust is settling and he wants out again.

It’s three in the morning when he knocks on my door, a light white-knuckled knock I know took him hours to do. I have Lyric on my bed and the last thing I want is for him to wake up and see this side of his father. In reality, this is exactly why I kept Lyric from him.

My breath comes shaky as my lips part. “Why are you here?” It’s impossible to look at him and not remember everything we’ve been through. The good, the bad, the horrible, and the love. He pushes himself against the doorframe as I take a step back, pulling away as he tries to reel me in.

He looks at me in a way I used to adore, one where I knew by the look in his eyes I meant the world to him. “Can you just please talk to me?”

“Are you going do to this in front of your son?” I crack the door open so he can see Lyric asleep on my bed. I have him in here because I know Rawley, and I knew he’d come into my room at some point to try to defend his actions. It’s what he does. He wants people to trust him but never judge or question him. “Do you want him to see that side of you?”

I need him to feel this. I can’t burn alone. Not any longer.

He’s silent, the kind of silence that’s suffocating because I don’t know what he’s going to do or say next. My heart is slowly splintering, cracking under the pressure of his presence, and he’s the one chipping away at the pieces. Sooner or later, it’s going to crack in half.

I watch as he attempts to mask his heart, his scowl dark as he remembers the night he left. I definitely hit a nerve. “Sophie….” His voice drops to a whisper and he has to force the words out. “I know what you’re referring to and that night in your apartment, you wanted it too… and you know it.” I shift under his cold gaze because like it or not, his expressions, his words will always spark a reaction from me.

He looks at me in ways I used to love. My response is to retreat, move away from him.

Unsure what to say, my throat tightens when I find my voice. “You tell yourself that butdo youbelieve it? I’m not sure you do because your conscience tells you differently, doesn’t it?”

This grabs his attention and he appears almost shocked, blinking steadily. He’s nothing but harsh breaths and silence. His eyes dart to the bed, to our son, then to me, tears forming as he exhales loudly. His agonized stare fills with sadness, a dull shade of guilt, one pulling for courage and forgiveness but knowing I’m not giving it.

I watch as his frown deepens, the lines of his forehead becoming more pronounced. Bringing his hand to his head, he forms a fist at his temple as he lets out a strangled, shaking breath. “God, Sophie.” His words crack and bleed with the breaking of his resolve, his chin quivering. “I wanted you to hate me that night because it was the only way. I needed you to feel what it was doing to me. I needed… I don’t know what I needed anymore. I hate myself as much as I needed you to hate me,” he says.

He waits for me to say something, but I can’t. There’s so much I want to say, but his expression, the tears, all of it takes a hold of me and I’m frozen in a moment I can’t shake myself from.

His gaze falters to the bed again and then to the floor, and he steps back, his head down.

When I don’t stop him, he nods and walks back to his room without another word.

Tears burn my eyes. I shut the door, my back pressing to the wood grain. My eyelids sink shut, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.

My heart hurts knowing how much he hates himself over that night and though I shouldn’t feel responsible for his actions then, or now, I do. Maybe I always will. He’s been a part of me for so long, anything he does reflects on me as well.

I DON’T SLEEP. I close my eyes but I know sleep isn’t there. Lyric’s up around seven the next morning, grabbing at my face and cooing. And drooling.

“Should we get you changed and fed, buddy?”

“Dadadadada,” he babbles, smiling. I’m sure he doesn’t know what he’s saying, but it hurts that he’s saying it knowing his daddy might not want him.

Deep down, especially after last night, I’m not sure I believe those papers. I’ve had time to sleep on it and I just don’t think he’s capable of it. Why would he be so tormented if he’d organized them?

It’s Wednesday morning and Mia and Red decided to close down the shop until Monday next week. There’s just too much going on with the wedding, and it’s actually nice not to have to work for the next five days and be able to process everything that’s happening.

Opening my bedroom door, I’m not sure what to expect or if Rawley will be outside my door or what.

He’s not and his door is closed. When I’m in Lyric’s room, getting him changed, I peek out the window to see the driveway and notice Rawley’s bike is gone.

Part of me is relieved he’s gone, and then there’s the part that’s worried. What if he left for good this time? Swallowing over the anxiety surfacing, I focus on my baby boy laughing at me as he kicks his leg every time I attempt to get his baby-roll thighs into his sweat pants.

“You silly boy.” Leaning in, I kiss his bare belly.

He takes a handful of my hair when I do this, gripping tightly with his baby strength.

---