Page 54 of Not Our First Rodeo
“Why?”
She doesn’t respond for a long moment, and I duck to meet her eyes. When they connect with mine, she doesn’t look away. I can see the gears moving in her head, the way she’s holding back what’s really on her mind, debating whether to say it. I get that sickened feeling with myself again, wondering how many times she’s done this before and I missed it, thinking she was just choosing her words carefully. That she wasthoughtful.
“Tell me,” I prod, unable to hold myself back. “Tell me, really, why you don’t want to see them.”
“They have to hate me,” she blurts, and I realize it’s the first time she’s ever done so. It takes me aback, the words and her tone feeling like whiplash.
I reach for her on instinct, my hand lifting to her neck, my thumb settling against the racing pulse in her throat. I feel her swallow against it, and I can’t help but drag the pad of my thumb over it.
Her eyes are wide, unblinking. There are so many emotions flitting behind her eyes, but most prevalent is regret.
And I want to erase it. Demolish it.
“They don’t hate you, Elsie. They could never.”
“The way I treated you…” she trails off, gaze dropping to the hollow of my throat and lingering.
“Doesn’t concern them.”
She shakes her head. “Doesn’t mean they don’t have feelings about it.”
“They might,” I concede. “But they don’t see me as some scorned husband, Els. They know there’s more to the story, more going on. Things we have to work through. Things they don’t need to know and aren’t trying to know.”
Her eyes lift to mine again, confused. “They haven’t asked questions?”
“No.”
“None?”
“Well, that’s a lie,” I say, and her expression falls. “My dad asked how you’re doing.”
She blinks, and I watch the words wash over her, settling into her bones. When she speaks again, her voice is shaky. “He did?”
I nod, my throat tight.
“Why?”
I shouldn’t be surprised by her question, but I am. I’m surprised by how low her self-worth has fallen. That she can’t believe that my family would care about how she’s doing after losing everything she held most dear in such a short amount of time. That she could think they held the separation against her.
“Because they love you, Elsie.” It’s so simple, but I can tell it isn’t simple to her. That she doesn’t believe she deserves their love, that she’s shocked as hell that they haven’t rescinded it because she fell apart and hurt me in the process.
I watch the thoughts flit through her head again, watch her shut down without saying the darkest of them, but I don’t press her. She’s been so vulnerable tonight, so brave, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt such a potent mix of pride and love and tenderness at once.
“Will you go with me?” I ask finally, breaking the silence, my heart beating in my ears. “Let’s tell our family about our baby girl. Together.”
She lets out a shaky breath, and I feel her pulse quicken beneath my touch. Then she nods. “Okay, let’s do it together.”
Maternityclothesareactuallythe ugliest things on the planet. Seriously, Jade and I have been shopping for the last hour, trying to find something remotely cute for me to wear to family dinner tomorrow, and there hasn’t been a single thing worth spending my money on. I’m tired of living in sweats and leggings. I miss my jeans.
“You’re just going to have to get something,” Jade says. She’s sprawled out on the uncomfortable-looking wooden bench in the dressing room, looking like she’s ready to burn this entire store to the ground. I don’t even blame her.
“It’s all horrible.”
Jade rolls her eyes. “You’ve mentioned that a time or two.”
“Maybe Cheyenne’s next hobby will be sewing, and she can make me some maternity clothes.”
Cheyenne has always had a wide range of interests, which she blames on her ADHD. She hyperfocuses on a hobby for weeks at a time, buying everything she could possibly need for it, only to give it up a few weeks later. It’s why her house looks like the inside of a craft store, just much, much less organized.
