With my second beer in my hand, I walk to the family room and throw myself on the couch. I open the bottle and just take a sip, slowly drinking this one.
I haven't rehearsed what I want to say to these men. I was hoping that when I see them it will just come to me. I’d know if I could forgive them or if it was time to cut and run. This time, there will be no more chances. We’ll be over for good. That thought makes my heart hurt. I was so happy with them until it crashed.
I finish beer number two and return to the kitchen for another and a bag of chips. I sprawl out on the couch, eating and drinking while the sun sets outside. My eyes start to feel heavy, so I close the bag and finish my drink before setting everything on the coffee table and cuddling up. I didn't sleep well while staying on Emma's couch, and now it's catching up to me.
Something awakens me with a start. The room is in complete darkness, but I know someone is there with me. I sit up quickly, making my head spin a little.
"Whoa, take it easy, Blake," Foster tells me. He's cleaning the mess of garbage I left on the table. "Was this all you?" he asks.
"Yep. That was my dinner," I answer, then get up and go to the bathroom. When I'm done and return, Foster has picked up the mess I made and is sitting on the couch, waiting. I sit down on his left, leaving an empty cushion between us.
"Are you okay?" he asks me.
"Foster, I—"
He cuts me off, "No, we don't have to talk now. It's late, and I know you’re out of it. It can wait until tomorrow. I want you to know that I'm so sorry for keeping things from you. I need to know you're okay."
I can't answer him because I start crying. Huge sobs wrack my whole body while a waterfall of tears falls. I try to speak but can't get past the lump in my throat.
"Please let me hold you," he begs me. "I promise I won't assume this means I'm forgiven. It's killing me watching you cry like that."
I give in, scooting close enough that he scoops me up and settles me in his lap. He holds me to his chest, rubbing circles on my back with his hands, comforting me through my breakdown. When the tears slow, I pull back. He brushes the hair out of my face and kisses me on the forehead.
"Sometimes it feels like my grief cracks my chest wide open. The wound bleeds out everywhere. Why did I survive, but my child inside of me and my dad had to be taken from me?"
"I don't know. I don't know why we sometimes lose the ones we love too soon. Has Hannah's pregnancy triggered you? I was afraid of that."
"A little, but it’s not the only thing. You guys were gone, and it was thinking about back then, when you guys left me. Emma's pregnant again. It's been a lot. Sorry, I’m unloading on you."
"Let's get a few things straight, pretty girl." Foster holds up a finger, "One, no apologies. I will always be someone you can come to with whatever you feel." He adds another finger, "Two, we did not abandon you this time. You walked out on us. I don't blame you, but we've been waiting for you." Another of his fingers is added. "Three, I'm sure Emma's pregnancy, on top of everything else, was a lot. I know you're happy for her, but it's okay to be sad, too. I know you know that." And one last finger goes up, "Four, this is why I didn’t want to tell you about Hannah myself. I knew it would be hard on you, knowing she’s pregnant with Cole's son. In my defense, I tried to get him to tell you repeatedly. Both me and Talon did, but he kept finding reasons not to. That's between the two of you."
I give him a light kiss, "Thank you for this. I want to go to sleep now."
He takes my hand before I walk out, "Okay, pretty girl. Please don't shut me out."
"I won't. We'll talk tomorrow," I promise him. I grab my duffel bag and go upstairs to my room. I pass out as soon as my head touches the pillow.
I’m up late the following morning with an emotional hangover. I regret my choices from the night before. Dragging myself out of bed, I hit the bathroom and then head out to find the guys. I’m ready to finish this and move on with my life.
The smell of bacon wafts up to me while I skip down the stairs. At least one of them is in the kitchen. When I get in there, Foster is in front of the stove, wearing just a pair of blue basketball shorts hanging low on his hips. His sculpted back makes my mouth water.
“You just going to stand there and gawk?” he asks without turning around.
“Nope,” I answer, taking a stool and seeing that along with the bacon he’s cooking, there’s a bowl full of scrambled eggs with ham and cheese, a stack of buttered toast, and a jelly jar. “This isn’t your usual breakfast.”
“I know, this one’s for you. I’m apologizing with food and sexual favors... if you’ll let me.”
He turns away from the stove with a platter of bacon he adds to the spread. He hands me an empty plate and a fork. “Enjoy.”
He sits on the stool next to me as I load my plate with all the goodness in front of me.
“Hungry?” he asks.
“Starved. Dinner last night sucked.”
I notice a few red marks on his chest, “Wasn’t a great idea to fry bacon shirtless.”
He shrugs, “Not my best, but it got you to ogle me, so I won’t complain.”
