Page 46 of Reckless
I peek down at Vivi, still in the same blissful position as the last time I checked on her. Then, with a deep, centering breath, I march across the room and wrap my hand around Theo’s. His palm is damp and clammy as I lead him over to the edge of the white crib.
And then we stand there. Two people who barely know each other.
Staring down at our daughter. Him for the first time. And me for the millionth.
After only a few beats, he shifts his fingers so that they link between mine. His hand squeezes, and it feels like he’s squeezing at my heart instead. When I look up at him, his eyes are wide and unblinking.
“Winter.” My name is a breath on his lips this time. He reaches down and trails a knuckle over one of her full cheeks. Her little lips make a suckling motion, and she turns her head into his touch.
“Oh god. What’s—” His free hand clamps up over his mouth. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Straight across the hall.” I barely get the words out before he’s gone.
I follow and hear him heaving as I approach the door. He’s left it slightly ajar, and I can see a sliver of him hunched over the toilet, hands in his hair, looking utterly defeated.
I step away to give him some privacy. And then I slide down the wall beside the bathroom door and hang my head in my hands before giving myself over to my own feelings of nausea.
Something went wrong along the way. I’m not sure what, or where. All I know is the man in my bathroom would never have sent me that text.
13
Theo
I’ve missed so much.
It’s the sentence that keeps running through my head. The one that hammers at my heart until it hurts. The one that has me heaving as though I could expel the thought from my body.
My head snaps up when I hear a soft knock against the door. “Theo? I, uh...I brought you some mouthwash. Can I come in?”
I flush, stand, and open the door the rest of the way. In my haste, I didn’t take time to close it and lock it. My vision went blurry at the edges and my stomach turned over on itself as the realization that I have a child struck me down to my knees.
A little girl.
And I’ve missedso damn much.
I take Winter in, really take her in, seeing her in a different light now. Hair tossed up in a messy bun. Face makeup-free with dark circles under the eyes that are fixed on mine and wide as saucers. She looks tired but healthier than the last time I saw her. There’s a glow about her, like she spends time outside.
I let my eyes trail down her body but snap them back up to her face when I get to her chest. Her loose tank top hides nothing and she’s not wearing a bra. Gawking at the outline of her nipples through the thin gray fabric isn’t what the moment calls for, so I focus on her icy-blue eyes, swirling with so many questions.
But she doesn’t ask them.
She holds out a white plastic cup, halfway filled with a liquid that matches her eyes. “Here.”
When I take the cup, our fingers touch. For a minute, I rest the pad of my index finger over the tip of hers. I slide it up to the next knuckle, feeling as though I’m touching the edge of all the ways I need to say sorry. I don’t even know where to start.
“Thank you.” I toss the minty liquid back, then brace my hands over the sink and stare down the drain as I try to come to grips with all the ways my life has changed today.
A daughter.
Another wave of nausea hits me, so I spit, rinse, and sit on the floor with my back leaned against the tub, ass plunked down on a plush pink bathmat.
“Wanna come sit in the living room?” Winter’s voice is smooth, calm. I’ve heard people call her icy, but I see a strong woman. One I admire even more now.
“I think I should stay close to the toilet.” I glance at the pink foamy duck covering the tap and organic baby soap with little ABC blocks on the front label.
Her lips roll together as she regards me. “Listen, it’s clean in here but like...notthatclean.”
“To be frank, the cleanliness of your bathroom is the last thing I care about right now.”
