Burn It Up(114)

She tried to imagine how this would’ve felt, if he hadn’t been involved in all those dangerous things. If he’d been the good one, and she’d been the one whose confession had put an end to all of this. If she’d sat down and bared her soul and her past, and he’d told her, Sorry, but I can’t be with you. You’re too damaged. What had she told him, with her decision? Sorry—you’re too bad. Too crooked. Too selfish.

Yet he’d never been any of those things with her. So much the opposite, in fact, that she’d been shocked to hear about the things he’d done.

She nearly wished they’d never decided to share their pasts. Things could have continued, all blissful and ignorant. Blissful and passionate and fun and affectionate, and she could have discovered what the tiny bud of their nascent family unit might’ve grown into.

Would things have been different, if they were in love? If they’d said those words aloud, made some kind of commitment before that conversation had happened?

I think I was already in love with him, so what does it matter?

It did matter, though. It would have mattered if she knew for sure he felt the same. Would have been so much harder if he’d ever told her, I want that baby to call me “Dad” someday. Oh Christ, that would’ve made it a million times harder to end it. And not because of the security offered by such a statement, just because . . . because . . .

Because it would’ve been real.

She stared at the silver of his bumper as they stopped at the only light in town, a block from Benji’s. And it struck, like a slap.

It was real. He has told me those things. A hundred times in the last few months. Never in words, but in action after action after action. Every time he’d shown up with groceries, unbidden. Every time he’d offered to babysit. Every sleepless night he’d suffered, every bottle he’d warmed, every time he’d driven her to town, every cross word he’d had for her ex. Every dollar he’d considered earning and giving to her, no matter how terrible that idea had been.

He had told her those things, hadn’t he?

And actions don’t lie. People could. Words could. But not months and months of kindness. And not the things his body had told hers, any of the times they’d come together in her bed.

She tailed him into the bar’s back lot, heart feeling like a jumbled heap of too many questions.

“Home sweet home,” Casey called as she stepped out of her car.

“For now, anyhow.” She glanced up at the windows of the second floor, wondering what it would be like, staying with her boss and former boss. Casey was her boss as well, of course, but it had never really felt that way. Raina had been fair, but a hard-ass. And Duncan was . . . Duncan. Nice enough, but also stiff and stuffy and a touch overbearing when it came to rules and order. Nothing compared to my dad, though. Still, she’d be very mindful of keeping her and Mercy’s stuff from cluttering up the common rooms.

“You’ll find your own place soon,” Casey said, reading her mind. The back door was unlocked, as promised, and he picked up a cinder block from beside the Dumpster to prop it open wide. Abilene got the baby out, seat and all, carrying her up behind Casey, who had a suitcase in each hand.

They found Duncan in the kitchen, finishing what looked like a plate of salad. “Oh good, it’s not burglars, then.”

“Nope, just your new tenants,” Casey said dropping the bags. “Here, watch this.” He took the car seat from Abilene, setting it on the table.

Duncan’s eyes widened. “I’m due to open the bar in—”

“We’ll be quick,” Casey said, halfway to the door.

“Does it . . .” He eyed the baby, then Abilene. “Does she need anything?”

“No, she’s fine. If she starts crying, I’ll be back up in a minute.”

“Right. So I just . . . let her cry?”

She smiled. “She’ll be fine. I’ll be right back.”

She passed Casey on the stairs, flattening herself against the wall as he slipped by with the crib panels under his arms.

“He’s completely terrified,” she whispered.

“Excellent.”

She headed back out into the sunshine, smiling genuinely for the first time in days, it felt.

They had the cars empty in no time, and back upstairs, Abilene told Duncan, “Thank you. And good job—you’ve officially babysat now.”

“You’re welcome.” He stood, seeming eager to escape, as though she’d left him alone with a wolverine.

“Gosh,” she said, carrying Mercy into the spare bedroom, where Casey was reassembling the crib. “I think he’s, like, literally afraid of babies.”

“Perfect for Raina, then.”

She set the seat down and sat on the edge of yet another temporary bed. “Thanks again. For helping me move.”

“Anytime.”

Anytime, indeed. Anytime she’d needed him these past few months, he’d been there.

“Don’t hesitate to ask,” he added, crouching with the screwdriver in hand. “Just because you and I couldn’t be . . . you know. That doesn’t mean I’m any less fond of you. Either of you,” he said, nodding to Mercy.

“That’s awful nice.”

He shrugged, eyes on the task. “Apart from the bar, and my mom, what else have I got to do with my time? It’s my pleasure.”