Page 48 of Reckless
“Yeah. A new phone seemed like the easiest way to disconnect. I handed that one over so Geoff could manage my social media accounts. I told him to tell me if anything important came through.”
“Hmm.” She nods, long and slow, almost rocking her body with the weight of it.
“Do you still have the messages?”
“Not the voicemails.” She sniffs as she fishes her phone out of her pocket. After a few swipes, she hands it to me.Theo Silvais the contact at the top, and I double-check the number. I know she sees me do it, because I feel her tense. But I need to know for sure she contacted the correct person.
The number is right, and part of me wishes it wasn’t so I could be angry at her for not trying harder to get in touch with me. I want someone other than myself to blame for this colossal fucking mess.
But when I read the messages in the chat, all those feelings evaporate, and in their place comes an oppressive dread. Grief. A sick twisting in my stomach. Because no woman in her right mind would continue trying to track me down after getting messages back like this.
I’m not interested in talking.
Thanks for letting me know.
I’m going to kill Geoff with my bare hands. He might be the only person in the world who would deem these messages “not important.”
Anxiety unfurls in my chest. I’m overwhelmed by the instinct to take this jumbled clusterfuck and untangle it. Make things as right as I can.
When I glance back at Winter, she’s curled in on herself, her gaze fixated on her fingernails again.
“Winter. Look at me.”
Her tongue darts out to take a nervous swipe at her lips, but she doesn’t turn her gaze my way.
I reach over, ignoring the sharp bite in my collarbone, and guide her chin gently with my fingers. When she finally gives me her eyes, I let my gaze trace them, wanting to know I have her full attention.
“If I had known, I’d have been here every step of the way. Supporting you in whatever way you needed. And Winter?”
“Yeah?” For the first time tonight, her voice sounds weak.
I catch a stray tear that slides down over the apple of her cheek and brush it away, tamping down the rage in my chest over how this entire thing played out. “Now that I’m here? I’m here. Okay? No expectations, but I want you to let me help you. I want to get to know her if that’s okay with you.”
She nods, and more tears fall. I bring my other hand up and try to catch them all, but I fail. They come too fast, so I pull her head against my chest and opt to let her soak my already damp shirt.
Seems like the least I can do for this woman after how thoroughly I’ve let her down.
* * *
I don’t sleep. Even though we’ve moved all my furniture into this brand-new house, it doesn’t feel like mine. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling. I’ve got Peter wedged into my armpit, snoring softly on one side of me, and regret on the other side with one hand on my throat.
Winter has always drawn me to her in some inexplicable way, and knowing she’s just a few steps away withourdaughter? It’s shifted something in me.
I didn’t want to be disruptive, or overstep my bounds, but I wanted to sit on the floor of that nursery and stare at Vivienne for the entire night.
Knowing you want to have children one day is a lot different from facing one that already exists. I don’t know how to wrap my feelings around it.
But I know who will.
Wincing as I shift in bed, I swipe my phone off the bedside table and call my mom.
“What’s wrong?” is how she answers the phone. Her instincts are wild.
“Why would something have to be wrong for me to call you? You’re my mom.”
“Right, but I know you. It’s currently six o’clock on a Sunday morning where you are, which means it’s five here.”
“Shit. Sorry, Mom.”
