Page 49 of Lost on Ice
So where is he? Where is the asshole? Why isn’t he here right now with Lilah cuddled against his side as he watches cartoons with her?
Why am I here instead of him?
Stretched out on the couch, my arm wrapped around Lilah, her hurt knee propped up on my leg. She’s freshly bathed and wearing pink footie pajamas, her arms wrapped tight around her stuffed bear. If the bastard knew what he was missing, he’d be banging down the door to get here and be with this amazing little girl. It’s crazy how much I’ve come to adore her in such a short amount of time, especially when I’ve never wanted kids or a family of my own.
There’s something about Lilah, though. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s Abbie’s. I’m not sure, but the idea that she’s not mine for some reason feels worse than the possibility that she could be.
Is she really not mine? When Abbie said those words, it felt like a physical blow, right to my gut. I was a bit taken aback by how devastated I was. I could tell Abbie regretted her words when her eyes went wide and the color drained from her cheeks, but it was too little too late. I’d left the room so I could cool off, and when I came back, I was determined to act like nothing had happened.
But I’m still twisted up inside, especially now that I’m spending this time with Lilah, feeling so protective of her.
Abbie is in the kitchen, cleaning up dinner dishes, and the whole scene is very domestic and tranquil and peaceful.
And I don’t hate it.
In fact, I kind of like it… which makes her earlier words even more heartwrenching.
“Yake,” Lilah murmurs. “Sleepy.”
“That’s okay, princess,” I assure her gently. “You can go to sleep.”
She snuggles deeper into the nook between my arm and chest and rests her cheek over my heart. Within moments, she’s asleep, her breathing steady and even.
I gaze down at her. At this perfect little bundle of giggles and cuddles and my heart aches.
What kind of bastard wouldn’t be around for her?
“Is she asleep?”
I look up at Abbie, who’s standing at the end of the couch staring at us with a hesitant look on her face. She’s got her hair up in a messy bun again - I’m really coming to like it when she does that - and is wearing a big crew neck sweatshirt and black leggings. I’m hit with the overwhelming urge to pull her into my arms to cuddle with me and Lilah, but I resist.
“Yeah, she is.”
“I’ll put her to bed.”
She comes over and carefully picks Lilah up out of my hold. Cradling her against her chest, Abbie turns and heads down the hallway toward the bedrooms. I stand and follow. Reaching Lilah’s room, I lean against the doorframe with my arms crossed and watch as Abbie gently places the tiny girl in her toddler bed. She takes her time, making sure that Lilah is still asleep. As I watch the quiet moment, something tugs at my chest.
Abbie moves away from the crib and I back out of the doorway so she can step out of the room and close the door behind her. We’re standing face-to-face, so close I could reach out and brush my fingers along her cheek.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” I murmur, resisting the urge to touch her. I hate this rift between us. As much as her words stung, it doesn’t make me want her any less. Maybe I won’t ever stop wanting her, if I’m really honest with myself. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. You’re obviously an amazing mom, and I shouldn’t have doubted you even for a second. I’m really proud of you. You’ve raised a really great kid.”
She blinks up at me, clearly taken aback.
“Um, thank you,” she whispers.
A tense silence falls between us and I rub the back of my head awkwardly.
“So, uh, you’ve really taken to this responsible mommy role pretty naturally,” I murmur. “You’ve come a long way from the wild girl I knew back in the day.”
She snorts. “Wild? I was the furthest thing from wild. I was a responsible, shy nerd.”
I furrow my brow. “What? You’ve always been sassy and bold. I’m always playing catch-up with you.”
Rolling her eyes, she grumbles, “That’s because you never noticed me in high school. My sassy side didn’t come out until you and I started hooking up. You have this talent for drawing it out of me.”
“Really?” I think back to high school and try to picture her, but there are no memories that stand out. It really is only after we started hooking up later that my memories of her are sharp and clear. Fuck. That makes me feel like a bit of a douche bag. “Well, shit. I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “No need to be sorry. We were kids. It doesn’t matter now.”
