Bring Me Back(43)

“I know it seems impossible,” his voice is soft, “but you’ll find a way.”

“I won’t.” I shake my head.

“You will.” He touches his hand to my arm.

I bite my lip and look up at him through my damp lashes. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I did. Granted, my son’s only two, but I make sure he knows who his mom is and that she loves him even though she can’t be here. I know he loves her too, because he’s always asking for her. Her picture, at least.” He shrugs and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “And as he gets older, I’ll continue to tell him stories about her and what a wonderful person she was. It’s not the same as her being there, but it’s enough.”

I inhale a shaky breath and choke on a sob. “How do you do it?” I ask him. “All on your own?”

He nods. “It’s just me and Cole. My parents help some, and Angela’s parents too. They all love Cole to pieces, even if he’s a little hellion most of the time.” Ryder smiles fondly. “I know things probably seem impossible right now, but trust me, once that baby is in your arms all that goes away. Heck, maybe even sooner for you,” he says. “As a dad, I don’t think it really hits you until the baby’s here.”

“I’m scared,” I confess. I don’t know why, but I find it easy to talk to Ryder. Maybe because our situations are similar, or maybe it’s just him. He has this sweet, easy way about him that instantly puts me at ease without him even trying.

“I’d be more worried about you if you weren’t scared,” he says. “I was scared shitless when Cole was born and knowing that Angela wasn’t going to be around much longer. I didn’t even know how to change a diaper. I’m pretty sure the nurse in the hospital rolled her eyes at me fifty billion times before we left. I bet you at least know how to change a diaper.”

I giggle and he grins, having had his intended effect. “I do,” I say.

He touches my arm again briefly. “You’ll be okay, Blaire. Not today, or tomorrow, or even the next day, but I promise you this: one day you’ll wake up and say I’m okay. After a time, you’ll even wake up and say I’m good. And then, I’m great. But healing doesn’t happen overnight. It takes time and you have to allow yourself to do it. Let yourself feel the pain; your heart will mend itself.” He looks down at his watch and cringes. “I have to go. I’m late to pick up Cole. You have my phone number, though. If you need to talk, call me. You won’t bother me.”

“Do other people call you?” I ask quickly. I don’t know why, but I need to know. I want to make sure he isn’t offering me special treatment.

He shrugs and his t-shirt stretches over his firm, muscular chest. “Sure. Sometimes.”

I nod and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear so that it’s not blowing in the wind.

“Bye,” I call after him. When he turns and smiles at me over his shoulder I add, “Thank you. I … I needed that.”

His smile grows. “You’re welcome.” He tips his head at me and then ducks into his SUV.

I shiver from the cold air and get in my car, cranking up the heat.

I sit there a moment, marveling at how one conversation made me feel a thousand times lighter, before I finally drive away and head home.





Morning sickness is the worst, but I refuse to complain. Okay, maybe a little bit.

I stand and wipe my mouth on a damp washcloth before washing my hands and brushing my teeth.

I’m silently thankful that I work from home and don’t have to endure this while at a job.

I pull my hair back in a sloppy bun and a few strands fall forward to frame my face. My hair has gotten pretty long, longer than I’ve worn it in a while. I should probably schedule an appointment and get it cut, but I don’t feel like parting with it.

I turn off the bathroom light and step into my closet. I change into a pair of jeans and a loose purple sweater that falls over my shoulder. It’s comfy and one of my favorite outfits.

When I get downstairs, my mom is already waiting with a steaming cup of hot tea. Since I’m not allowed to drink coffee, hot tea has become my go-to drink.

“Thanks, Mom.” I kiss her cheek.

“You look nice,” she says, rummaging through the refrigerator and pulling out a carton of eggs.

“Thanks.” I look down at my plain outfit. There’s nothing that nice about it, but I quickly realize this is one of the first mornings I’ve come down dressed in regular clothes and not my pajamas. I’m sure my mom is about ready to burn all of my pajamas so she never has to see them again.

“Morning, Kid,” my dad says from the kitchen table. “Sleep good?” he asks, looking at me over the top of the newspaper he’s reading.

“I did, actually.” It’s one of the first nights I haven’t fretted before falling into a fitful sleep. Talking to Ryder yesterday has really helped.

“Good.” My mom positively beams as she cracks an egg into the pan. “Your dad wants an egg sandwich; do you want one?” she asks.

“Sure.” I shrug and take a seat next to my dad.

Her smile widens in surprise. “You want it the same way you used to like them?”

I nod. “Yeah, cheese, tomato, and mayonnaise,” I tell her. My stomach rolls. “You know what, scratch the tomato.”