Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2)(78)

I sat down at her hip, and she found my hand with her own. I stared at her face and waited.

I knew it was going to be something truly awful. Just knew it. The nature of that awful, however, eluded me. My head was in a dark place, and so the possibilities were endless.

The thing I feared the most, though, was not the worst thing that could have happened to her. I knew this because, the worst thing had happened.

She squeezed my hand tight and closed her eyes tighter. “I had no boyfriend. No lover. I didn’t know what had happened to me, until I realized I was pregnant. But I did remember a few nights that were…out of my recollection. And after those nights, I did know that something was off, things were askew. I woke up in ways and places that didn’t add up.”

“Oh no, Dahlia,” I whispered, stroking her cheek.

“It took me a while to piece it together, but…I had a few nights that made no sense, and as I began to uncover the facts, I realized that Dean had drugged me. A few times. I confronted him, and he wouldn’t admit it aloud, but I saw his guilt. And then, when I told him I was pregnant, it didn’t even faze him, and he straight up told me that he was the father.

“I hated him. Before any of that even happened, I couldn’t stand him. I didn’t have the stomach to get rid of the baby, or even to give it away, but I got the hell away from him. No way was I going to let him be in this baby’s life. He was a ra**st and a lowlife. I wanted to press charges, but I didn’t see what good it would do. I was so stupid. By the time I realized what had happened to me, all of the evidence was gone.”

“You poor dear,” I told her, kissing her forehead, aching for her. “I’m so sorry you got mixed up in that.”

Her hand moved from her side to rest on Jack’s little head in the bassinet beside the bed. “I’ve made peace with it. I love this baby, Danika, with my whole heart I love him. The rest is in the past.”

I had so much bitter poison inside of me, so many regrets, and it didn’t slip my notice that Dean’s ugly proclivities had produced a beautiful baby boy, while my and Tristan’s love had only ever ended in tragedy.

Life was so very cruel, but there could be no doubt that I loved that baby.

We doted on him, my perfect little nephew.

SIX MONTHS LATER

I didn’t look at his face, but listened to his words, hearing more what he didn’t say, than what he did.

We were sitting in the small café where I’d agreed to meet him. He was here with two other people, a young man and woman. I’d told him I hadn’t wanted to meet him alone, and that had been his solution. I hadn’t wanted to do this, but when he’d explained the purpose of it, as part of his rehab program, I hadn’t been able to refuse.

We wouldn’t be a part of each other’s lives again, but that didn’t mean that I was willing to cripple his recovery.

I’d wanted to show up first, so he wouldn’t see how I was still struggling to get around. That instinct was part pity, part pride on my part. I wasn’t sure which was stronger.

I’d dressed painstakingly, my hair loose and straight and shiny, my makeup heavy but flattering, my skirt long, to hide my knee brace and my orthopedic shoes, my shirt tight to show off my figure.

I couldn’t delude myself for long. Pride was stronger.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t shown up early enough. Tristan and his two shiny new friends had already been at a table, drinking coffee and laughing at something when I walked in the door.

I was ridiculously grateful to the man that held the door open for me so I could hobble through. It was amazing how the little things could help, and struggling with the door while Tristan watched was a humiliation that I did not care to contemplate just yet.

My chest burned as I made my way, one small crutch assisted step at a time, to an empty table near the entrance. I wanted to sit before he saw me, but I wasn’t so lucky.

One look at his face and I knew I wouldn’t be meeting his gaze for this little meeting. The raw regret, the crippling pity in his eyes was nothing that I cared to see. I’d prefer anything from him before I’d take his pity.

I couldn’t look at his face, so instead stared at his collarbone. I couldn’t face his eyes, the promises we’d made and broken, the things we’d lost. They were all there, accusing me, yet filled with guilt, filled with pity, all at once.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee or tea?”

A shudder ran through me. His first words to me were to offer to wait on me, because I was a cripple now? I couldn’t bear it. I almost bolted right then.

“Some tea, thank you,” I said through stiff lips, finally, after I’d debated in my head which would be more humiliating.

I didn’t so much as twitch while he went to the counter and got us both a cup of tea.

I stared down at mine, added one sugar, then stared some more.

“Milk?” he offered.

I shook my head, then added another packet of sugar.

I never took even one sip before he said his piece. I never touched that tea.

“I have many regrets, many bad things I must take credit for, but believe me when I say that the negative impact that all of my actions have had on your life is my biggest one.”

He stayed firmly on his side of the table, his eyes on his hands, and in their downcast depths, I saw his sincerity, but I hadn’t really been questioning it.