The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (44)

Nonetheless, I have a feeling convincing her of this fact is going to be a hard sell. Women as strong as Maria have taught themselves not to need anyone. They can fend for themselves. Even now, she could go it alone, and I know she’d succeed. But she shouldn’t have to. Not when I’m ready and willing to help.

She deserves to have some kind of support system by her side through this. She shouldn’t have to go it alone, and from the looks of it, that’s exactly what she’s been doing. Handling all of this—taking care of Izzy, running a business—by herself. Without even the help of a nanny.

In an instant, I decide. From now on, I’m not going to wait for her to ask.





Maria

I pause in front of the sink, turning to the mirror only after I’ve stripped off my spit-up-soaked clothes and tossed them on the floor.

“Oh hell!” I shriek on a whisper, a hand going to my chest as I take a step back. The dark circles under my eyes could pass for UFO crop activity, and my hair looks like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket. I am a dark-haired Christopher Lloyd in Back to the Future, and the clock tower is chiming.

On a groan, I slap my hands over my eyes. “How did I get this bad in a day?”

I mean, sure, I’ve been struggling for the entire six weeks since Izzy was born, but I pulled it together this morning. I put on Valentino, for God’s sake. Now I look like a gutter rat who lives under the subway.

Shaking my head at myself and pointedly avoiding looking in the mirror again, I lean into the shower to turn on the water and let my naked body sink to the floor while I wait for the spray to warm.

I look to the ceiling and take a deep breath.

“I’m trying, Isabella,” I whisper as my eyes fixate on a barely there crack in the white paint above me.

Truthfully, I don’t know if some spiritual part of her can hear me or not, but I find myself saying it anyway.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, and I didn’t prepare well enough,” I continue quietly, hoping my sister isn’t disappointed in me. “I always feel like I can’t quite be who Izzy needs, you know? I miss you. I’m sure Izzy misses you. And I just wish I could figure out how to be second best.”

I can’t explain it, but a shiver moves over me as I hear a clank from Remy in the other room. I listen harder then, and that’s when I realize that the crying has stopped.

Calling him was a good start, the words move through my mind. You don’t have to go it alone.

My head falls back into the solid wood of my bathroom vanity, and the steam from the hot water of the shower starts to roll out over the glass door.

Get up, I tell myself. Get up and get in the shower and just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I stand and open the door to feel the water. It’s almost scalding, just like I need it to be to wash away the stress. To sterilize me to the point of a fresh start. To remind my nerves they can feel something other than the overstimulation of motherhood and Izzy’s cries.

I’ve had a lot of long days since having her six weeks ago, but none that has felt quite as hopeless as today. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t had Remy’s number, and if he hadn’t dropped everything to come over here.

I dip my head under the spray and let my whole face drown in the rush of water. It’s intense, but frankly, it’s the kind of thing I need.

When I pull my head out, I instinctually start to listen for the sounds of Izzy’s discontent. I don’t know if it’s the volume of the shower or if my ears have simply numbed, but I don’t hear the high-pitched wail anymore.

Goodness. I swore I’d hear that in my dreams.

The tension in my shoulders finally starting to ebb, I take a deep breath and lean a tired hand into the stone wall. My feet are the only thing I can see, and after about thirty seconds, even the vision of them starts to blur.

My mind wanders, first to the memory of what my body used to feel like—something very different from this tired, aged thing—and then to the day I had Izzy in that elevator with Remy at my side.

I can see the flex of his rigid, shirtless abdomen as if it were yesterday, only this time, thankfully, I don’t have to feel like I’m being split in half from between my legs at the same time.

His hard muscles, his strong, fearless demeanor—he looked like an Adonis that day as he came to my rescue.

And his smile…it’s a little older and a little wiser, but it’s still the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life, encompassed by a strong, defined jaw, straight white teeth, and the sweetest of laugh lines in his cheeks. His eyes are the showstopper most of the time, but when he smiles, that’s all I can see.

Without planning, my hand finds its way to the space between my legs and starts to explore. Dr. Maddox gave me the spiel that I was physically cleared now for everything, including sexual activity. I didn’t think much of it then, given my life of solitude and singledom, but now that I’m touching myself, I’m remembering how good it can feel.

Damn, it really feels good.

As my head falls back, the spray of the water centers on my chest, sluicing down my abdomen and right around my active hand.

I shut my eyes and Remy’s smile appears in my mind, and before I know it, my brain builds a scene around it.

Him, on top of me, naked and smiling with his hands clutching at the sides of my head. His hips are moving between mine, and he’s almost laughing he’s enjoying it so much.