Unbreakable (Cloverleigh Farms, #4)(67)

That’s when I saw her come through the door.

She stopped short at the sight of me, about ten feet away, and crossed her arms over her chest. She’d changed her clothes, her hair was pulled back, and her face was bare. She looked young and vulnerable and sad.

I approached slowly. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“How’s Whitney?”

“Asleep. All cried out.”

My heart ached. “I’m really sorry, Sylvia.”

She shook her head. “It’s not your fault. Whitney’s feelings have nothing to do with you and everything to do with her dad and me.”

“I’m still sorry you’re going through it.”

She tried to smile, but looked like she might burst into tears at any moment. “Thank you.”

I wanted to ask what this meant for us, but knew it wasn’t the time. I could tell from the way she was standing and the tremble of her lower lip that this Sylvia was a different one than the one I’d been next to at dinner and alone with in her room. Even the tone of her voice was different. That Sylvia had been confident and audacious and strong. This Sylvia looked shaken and fragile, like she would bruise if you looked at her wrong.

“Can I call you?” I asked, keeping my arms pinned to my sides. I wanted to hold her so badly it hurt.

Her eyes filled. “I need some time to think, okay? Things have been moving so fast, and I feel . . . off-kilter. I think I need a few days to find my balance.”

“Okay . . . well.” My chest was uncomfortably tight. “You know where to find me.”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes for a second and composed herself. “I need to get Keaton home.”

“Of course.”

“Goodnight, Henry.”

“Goodnight.”

She skirted around me and headed for the kids’ table, and I hurried out of the building without even bothering with my coat. I’d get it another time.

When I got home, I felt like putting my fist through a wall, or taking a sledgehammer and smashing that bathtub to bits. It didn’t even make sense how upset I was—Sylvia and I had only slept together a handful of times. It’s not like I was in love with her. This shouldn’t be so painful. So what the fuck was my problem?

I undressed in agitated, jerky movements, viciously scrubbed my teeth, and thumped myself into bed, punching my pillow several times before burying my head in it. But I couldn’t sleep.

After a while, it came to me, in Sylvia’s own voice—something she’d once said.

I missed the life I thought I would have.

Being with Sylvia had given me hope for a second chance.

And right now, it felt like that hope was gone.





Twenty





Sylvia





I got Keaton home and into bed, wondering if I should bring up what he’d seen earlier tonight or just let it go. In the end, he was the one who braved the topic.

“Mom?” he asked as I was tucking him in.

“Yes?”

“Are you and Mr. DeSantis . . .” he started, clearly uncertain how to end the question.

“No,” I said. “We talked about it, and we do like each other a lot, but we’re just going to be friends. I’m sorry if what you saw upset you.”

“Okay.”

“Did it?” I ventured. “Upset you?”

“Kind of. I don’t know.”

I nodded. “I understand.”

“It’s not that I don’t like him. I do.”

“I know, honey. And it’s okay.” I struggled to hold back the sob attempting to tear out of my chest. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Inside my room, I undressed, crawled into bed, and proceeded to soak my pillow with tears.

I felt like I’d let down everyone I cared about. I felt like I’d screwed up my fresh start. I felt like I couldn’t do anything right no matter how hard I tried. Was I just destined to make mistake after mistake? I’d confused and upset my children, who were depending on me. I’d gone after Henry knowing full well I had nothing to offer him. I’d allowed myself to believe something more between us was possible—and I’d allowed him to believe it too.

How was I going to face him again?

I tried to list all the reasons why he would be better off without me . . .

I was an emotional wreck. I was a single mother. I had trust issues.

I was scared. Scarred. Damaged in places that couldn’t be seen.

I would never feel completely safe in a relationship again. I would always doubt the promises he made. I would never be able to put him first, the way he deserved.

Then there were all the things about me that Brett hated.

I cried easily. I liked sappy movies. I listened to Christmas music starting on November first. I wore short skirts. I liked Michigan more than California. I preferred hugs to diamond bracelets. It sometimes took me a long time to reach orgasm—although that hadn’t really been an issue for Henry.

But maybe the strongest case against me where Henry was concerned was my infertility. Granted, the issue of having children together should probably not matter until two people have had at least one actual date, but we weren’t twenty-five and flippant about the future. The reality was that Henry wanted children, and that would never happen with me. It couldn’t.