Page 52 of Carver
“The shower would have been more appropriate, but I don’t want us both in there in case Ellie wakes up and cries and we can’t hear her over the water running. I have this nightmare of her learning how to jailbreak her crib, getting out, and hurting herself. I know it’s irrational. She can’t get out. But still.”
I brush her hair aside. The ends are damp, but so are the roots, from perspiration. I kiss the back of her neck. “I love how protective you are of her. You’re a great mother. You’re a wonderful partner. Not many people would get themselves off and then offer aftercare to someone else.”
“The aftercare is a combined effort,” she responds lightly, her voice like music, echoing in the small bathroom. “For both of us. You don’t need to take care of me. I mean, sometimes you can, but I’m here for you too. That’s what teamwork should be.”
I don’t even know how to describe the feeling that washes over me. It’s hot, like the bathwater. Soothing. It’s more than gratitude.
We’re just starting to rebuild our lives, but I think about that ring I have put away for Bronte. It’s hidden at the bottom of my backpack. It was one of the few things I grabbed that night before coming to Hart.
It’s not a question of if any longer.
If I can be the man she needs.
If I can be the person she deserves.
If I can get my shit together to even imagine a future.
I want Bronte to be mine. I want a life with her. I want to be hers. I want to be Ellie’s father. Bronte’s husband. I want to grow old with her. No matter what’s going on with my face or my body, it can’t break my will. It can’t stop me from working hard and doing everything I can to be the best person I can be.
I should never have let anything come between us the way I did. I lost myself, but I’m finding my way back. I’m going to get there, even if my injuries never heal. No matter what scarsI carry with me, Bronte’s made it clear that she loves me. Ellie doesn’t see my face or my arm when she looks at me. She just sees another person in her world who adores her and loves her with everything they have. If that’s the only thing that matters to the people who matter to me, then it’s the only thing that should matter to me too.
The truth is, I didn’t die under that fucking stone.
I didn’t.
I’m here.
I want tolive.
I rest my chin on Bronte’s shoulder. “I love you.” I’ve never heard my voice weighted down with so much emotion. I’ve never packed more meaning into those words.
Bronte hears. She knows. She’s always known. “I love you,” she responds, her tone just as thick. She moves back another few inches, until there’s no space left between us.
Until our bodies are one.
Chapter 15
Bronte
“What’s cooler than being born the day before Halloween?”
Hands down, I have the answer to that. “Being a spooky baby and getting lucky enough to be celebrated by an entire room full of bikers and their families?”
“You know me too well. It’s not fun if you can guess everything that I’m going to say.” Ginny pouts. Even fake pouting, she’s ridiculously pretty.
“Oh, it’s fun.”
“How did you swing this? It’s amazing!” Her eyes track the room. “Do you knoweveryonehere?”
The small hall we rented for the night ispacked. It’s the kind of thing that people probably do weddings at, with a big open space with old hardwood floors—the kind you’d see in a school gym, there’s a small stage at the front, and a large kitchen at the back. Surprisingly, when I called, they had Halloween open. Most places were booked already. It helped that it’s a Wednesday night and not a weekend. We set the party for six, so that people could come after work and have dinner, but made sure it was earlier enough that those who had kids could still take them trick or treating if they wanted to go.
There are kids of every age running around the space. Some of them are in costume, some not. It makes me want to laugh seeing all the bikers and their families, almost all of themdressed in black and sporting leather like it’s their costume of choice.
The noise level is somewhere around a hundred and forty decibels, which I think I read somewhere is around how loud a jet engine is during takeoff.
“Hardly. But that’s okay. It’s more of a meet and greet and a thank you for everything that they’ve done for us. Also? Bikers love an excuse to have a big gathering, and their old ladies get even more excited.”
“And the kids,” Ginny points out as a few little ones go racing past us, screaming at the top of their lungs. The sound is magnified off the hardwood floor and white cinderblock walls. “The kids are super sweet in a very loud way.”
