Page 157 of Rescuing Rebecca
Oh God! For one breathless moment, her past surged up like a wave—every lonely night, every hour of grief, every time she’d curled into herself and dreamed of her daughter, the ache of it nearly broke her.
But this time, she let the feelings come. Let them wash over her. Through her. Until she could swallow the lump in her throat, blink the tears from her eyes, and exhale most of the hurt. She glanced back at Halia, watched her tiny mouth puckering. Shoot! Was she hungry? Wet? In distress?
Clueless as to what she should do, she looked around like she expected to find an answer among the stuffed animals adorning the nursery. Nope. They had zero advice to give. Not a peep from the rabbits and zero support from the bears.
Halia cried again. Louder this time. Shit. Shit. Shit! Panic rising, her temperature spiked, and she started to sweat. Oh God! About to break through the door to Jamie and Summer’s adjoining bedroom, Becca’s relief when Jamie appeared a second later, sleep-rumpled, smiling, and with a bottle in his hand, made her knees go weak.
“I was awake,” Becca said, feeling the need to explain her presence, but keeping her voice hushed. “And I heard her cry.”
“Yeah, she’s a demanding little thing when she’s hungry.” Jamie yawned. “Would you like to feed her?”
“I…I don’t know what to do,” she said, taking the bottle held out to her.
“Just do what comes natural,” he replied, hitching his chin toward the rocking chair in the corner. Then with his trust in Becca’s non-existent mothering experience absolute, he bent over to kiss her on the cheek, his daughter on the head, and left them alone to figure it out together.
“Well, sweetheart, I guess it’s just you and me,” she whispered, and carrying Halia over to the chair, she sat and offered the bottle to the hungry baby.
She latched on fast. No hesitation. No fear. Just the quiet trust of someone who instinctively knew she was safe, and for the first time in her life, Becca rocked gently as she fed the baby she held in her arms.
Sleep? Nope. Not possible. Not for Jay. Not without Becca beside him. Not after hearing her voice, soft and sure, slip through the dark with those four little words.
“I love you too.”
Quiet. Simple. Earth-shattering.
He hadn’t heard her say them in seven years. Seven years of silence. Of distance. Of waiting. Of hoping she’d come back to him. And she had. Not with a grand declaration. Not with fanfare or fireworks. But with a quiet truth, spoken from the heart, as natural as breathing.
She loved him.
He’d known it. Had never doubted it. But to hear her say it—unguarded and easy—cracked him wide open. Made him giddy with hope. He wanted to hear her say those words again. And again. And again.
Every morning. Every night. Mid-day. Mid-sentence. Mid-laugh. Mid-fight. He wanted it stitched into the fabric of their everyday lives until it was no longer a miracle, but a constant, unquestioned presence in the quiet and the noise. A love that didn’t ask for attention because it didn’t need to. It just existed. Messy. Imperfect. Endless.
Today had nearly ended them both. Heavy. Raw. Necessary. Becca’s breakdown had cut him to the bone. Watching her come apart—her pain clawing its way to the surface after years of being buried—had killed him.
Yeah, if he could’ve, he would’ve taken every ounce of her suffering into himself. Unfortunately, healing wasn’t something he could do for her. His only option? Walk beside her. Hold her hand. Keep her steady when she stumbled and help her up when she fell.
But tonight…
Tonight, it felt like they were finally moving forward. Together. No more hiding. No more running. No more pretending shit didn’t hurt. No more surviving day to day.
He wanted them side-by-side. Making plans. Dreaming big. Happiness blooming like wildflowers in their chests. He edged toward her empty spot on the bed, still faintly warm from where she’d been, and smiled into the shadows.
He had to take it easy. Slow his roll. Yeah, she’d come back. Not just for him. But for herself. By choosing to live one messy, beautiful moment at a time. Nothing else mattered but right here. Right now.
And right now, he wanted to share a box of Captain Crunch with the woman who made him crave more than just a bowl of sugar. He rolled back over. Turned on the light. Popped out of bed. Then grabbing his discarded T-shirt off the floor, he pulled it on while he made for the door like someone had lit a fire under his ass.
Out in the hall, he aimed his feet toward the back stairs, and in a hurry, he passed by Halia’s open door, rushing by with a quick glance inside before he stopped dead in his tracks and backed things up fast.
His heart melted at the sight of Becca curled in the oversized rocking chair. Halia cuddled in her arms, Miss Kitty staring up at them, her tail swishing. Domestic bliss. Nothing better described the scene before him.
God, she looked so…at peace. Like this moment had chosen her. Like this was how her life was meant to be. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and stepped inside, slow and quiet, not wanting to break the spell.
Becca looked up and smiled. “She’s sleeping,” she whispered, her awe audible in the quiet of the nursery, and just like that, he fell even more in love as he made his way closer. “I fed her and burped her and changed her.” She dipped her head to brush her lips against the crown of Halia’s head. “Then she fell asleep in my arms. I know I should put her down, but I don’t want to.”
“You don’t have to,” he replied, something fragile taking hold in his chest. “She’s used to sleeping in our arms.”
“She’s so precious.”
