“You’ve got a hell of a hand on ya, sweetheart.” I chuckle, handing her back the projectile. “Aim’s spot on, too.”
Aurora giggles, kicks her feet, and shoves herself forward onto her hands and knees, and then this sweet girl… this brilliant, tiny little survivor, crawls to me.
My heart damn near stops, breath stalling in my lungs.
The nurses weren’t sure if she was crawling or toddling yet. Whole time in the hospital, she never tried to talk or do any of the other things she could be doing at her age—or at least attempting. They did make a list of the few things they noted, a list I added to my phone so I could keep track eventually.
But they didn’t know about the crawling… and I…
Christ, I wasn’t ready for what the tiny little milestone would do to my heart.
Once she reaches me, she wastes no time climbing into my lap, and again, the organ in my chest finds a way to grow and shift, all from one beat to the next.
Aurora blinks up at me with sleepy eyes, and I waste no time cuddling her against my chest, abs already burning from the angle. When she settles into me, thumb between her lips and pinky wrapped around a chunk of my beard, I decide I don’t care.
“I’m here,” I coo, rubbing her back, eyes burning, mind a fuckin’ disaster zone. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
After a while, Aurora passes out, and I carefully climb from the pen, dropping onto the couch. If she wants to nap on my chest, I’ll let her.
How could Marlee let this happen?
She’d been through so much. Her mom was an addict, in and out of jail her whole childhood. No father around. And when her mother died, she got dumped with a grandmother who barely tolerated her. Marlee grew up angry, desperate for attention, desperate for love. I knew that. I saw it. Hell, I lived pieces of it with her.
So how the hell did she end up with a man like Travis Vernal?
How could she let this baby—this perfect little girl—get hurt?
My gaze drops to Aurora’s chubby arm, bare and soft. Her tiny overalls are light pink, the white onesie underneath already rumpled. And just above her elbow, on the inside, is a small, faint scar. I thought it was from the accident.
Now… I don’t know.
My stomach turns.
Did Marlee do it? Did she watch it happen? Was she too scared to stop it? Or worse… did she just not care? Maybe she was too drunk or high to give a shit. Maybe she was just as much a victim as her daughter.
Either way, it doesn’t stop the violent rage pelting my system.
I’m desperate for a bottle of whiskey right now, but the judge said I’m banned from a good buzz and now that I have Aurora, drinking feels wrong. Never been one for drugs or beating the shit out of random, swinging objects to get my head right.
For a while after the military, I spent my days drunk—and weekends drunker. I’d find some random woman in Wildwood or Langley to fuck the pain away with. It’s been more than a yearsince I was that low, and I’m not proud of using it to cope, but it worked. The thought of doing it now has nausea clawing through me.
Only thing that feels like it would help at all right now isn’t a shot of whiskey—but a shot of Georgia.
If I close my eyes, I can practicallyfeelthe way her laugh rolls over my too-tight skin. The way it burns and wakes me up like nothing else can. The husky sound of her voice—a mixture of faded and blended accents I can never make out but find endearing and adorable.
I’ve never found anything endearing in my life, but here I am, missing the cadence of her syllables the way addicts miss their favorite fix.
With the baby on my chest, I don’t dare let myself think about all the other shit I miss—all the other ways I could lose my mind and fix my ragged emotions while lost in Georgia, but it’s there—an ache in my soul.
Glancing at the island, I catch sight of my phone and contemplate grabbing it to call her. I haven’t heard from her all day. Didn’t want to bug her while she was at work, so I kept busy. Cleaned. Organized. Prepped everything I could for Aurora’s arrival. I didn’t even know she was coming today. Thought for sure it’d be tomorrow. But then the doorbell rang, and there she was.
Ethel holding the car seat, Aurora looking up at me with wide, glassy eyes and a tiny, perfect smile, like she really remembered me. Like she’d been waiting, too. The hours since passed in a whirlwind.
I want to tell Georgia what happened. Wanna talk about Marlee. About the crash. About everything that’s ripping my goddamn heart open right now.
I want to lay every shattered piece of me down at her feet, just like she begged me to.
But what if it scares her off?
