“And how often is that?”
I shrugged, and Laura sighed, nodding. My silence was answer enough, and just like that, I felt as though I’d disappointed her beyond repair—again. Once again a failure. A loser.
“I wasn’t drunk last night,” I quickly added, as if that made things at all better.
“Would you have gone to the bridge if you had been?”
I laughed and reached up to squeeze the back of my neck. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably not though. Any other time I thought about offing myself, I drank until I passed out, so …”
Laura frowned, setting the shaver aside. She washed her hands quietly, not saying anything more, and when she went to dry her hands on the towel hanging beside me, I wrapped my hand around her wrist to stop her.
“What are you thinking?” I asked quietly, seeking her gaze and finding a tremendous sadness that seared my heart and made me wish I’d looked away instead.
“I hate that you wanted to die,” she replied simply.
I filled my lungs with air and exhaled, leaving me empty and deflated. “With you, I don’t.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
She ran her hand over my hair. “I don’t know that I’ll be able to let you leave.”
“So, don’t.”
Her gaze fell as she sighed. “Max, I—"
Her voice was cut off by the sound of people coming from downstairs. She turned her head abruptly toward the open bathroom door as a man called her name up the stairs.
“Shit,” she hissed beneath her breath. Bewildered eyes turned to me. “You have to get dressed.”
I glanced down at the towel I was still wearing. “Okay,” I replied, sounding clueless and confused, even as the truth drove itself home.
That was her ex-husband who’d called her name. Those little voices shouting gleefully from the living room were her kids. Herdaughters.Fuck, Laura was a mother, and how stupid could I have been to even suggest I … what? Stay here in her house forever? How did I know she was even ready for her kids to meet me, the man who had come before and after their father?
She has children with someone else.
In her room, I zipped my jeans and pulled on the shirt I’d worn to my parents’ house the night before. I glanced in the mirror, checked my beard, and was impressed by the job she’d done on me. I looked presentable, and foolishly, I wondered if Dad would’ve been such a dick had I shown up looking like this and less like I’d belonged on the streets.
Downstairs, I heard Laura shift gears. She was no longer flirtatious, coy, or sad. Now, she was loud and happy, greeting her girls with holiday glee, and they greeted her back with squeals and excitement.
Is there room here for me?
Butterflies the size of jets took flight in my gut at the thought of going down there and meeting them. Shit. I had never been good with kids. I wasn’t sure I ever wanted them myself—God forbid I injected this blood into someone else’s veins—and interacting with others was typically awkward. How would it be withhers?
There was no getting around it, no avoiding it, so after lacing up my boots, I headed down, keeping it casual. The first head to turn was that of a man about my height but thinner. He wore glasses and looked like he belonged behind a computer screen. It startled him to see me standing there, and I didn’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes or the way his nostrils flared as he looked me up and down.
Laura was kneeling on the floor with two identical girls with auburn pigtails, but when she noticed I’d entered the living room, she quickly stood.
“Um, Brett, this is my friend Max,” she said, clearly trying to not sound awkward, but failing miserably.
“Nice to meet you,” I lied, reaching my hand out to shake his.
He didn’t return the pleasantry, nor did he accept the gesture I was offering. Instead, he twisted his lips to one side, his head bobbing. “You’rehim, aren’t you?” he asked quietly, so low that I wasn’t sure the little girls heard him.
“Brett,” Laura warned, “don’t start.”
He shook his head, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, making it clear he wasn’t going to shake my hand.
