Don't Let Go(59)

“Well, give it a shot,” she said, her old sarcasm seeping back in. As annoying as that was, it was a good sign. She sniffled and wiped under her eyes again. “So you were engaged at seventeen?”
The memory of Noah replacing the string with his little ring he’d worked so hard for sent a pang of regret through my core. We could have been a family. You had a family, Jules. Now I’d pushed him away again so he could have one.
“For a little while,” I said, forcing the words out. “He was going to marry me.”
“God, it’s like watching a movie, Mom,” she said. “Like I’ve been in this family all along, the stupid one that didn’t know anything. Do you know how crappy that feels?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, inhaling deep and letting it go. I reached for her hand, and she inched it away. “Becca, I’m sorry. That’s another choice I made, and maybe not the smartest. But it’s not like knowing would have helped you.”
“Who was the guy?” she asked, making my head spin with the direction change. “Wait.” She turned to face me. “Linny’s brother just came back from somewhere. Mr. Ryan was making all that noise over—”
I nodded before she finished. “Yes.”
Her wheels were turning again, and all I could do was hang on.
“That’s him?” she asked. “And that lady at the library—you said it was his fiancée—oh, holy crap.”
“Fun, isn’t it?” I said, rubbing my eyes.
Becca’s gaze landed on the photos again, and she leaned over me to pick one up. One of Seth around thirteen years old, braces on his teeth. “So Nonnie had all this and didn’t tell you?” she asked. “Why?”
A laugh that wasn’t really a laugh but really just exhaustion making noise came out. “That’s the question of the day.”
I looked down at the photo in her hand, and then at her profile. At the crazy hair framing her face, the eyes that had evidently cried the eyeliner off before she’d ever gotten home. Still so innocent and young, no matter how many ways she tried not to be. I took a chance and swung an arm around her, pulling her head over to me.
“Things happen as they’re supposed to, baby girl,” I said, kissing her hair. “I thank God for giving me you.” I heard a sniffle. “And I’m so sorry about earlier.”
I knew that slap would haunt me forever.
“Me too,” came a squeaky response.
I didn’t hold any na?ve opinions that all would be rosy, but just for one tiny moment, curled up on the couch with my girl in the middle of the night, I took a deeper breath than I had in a week.



Chapter 15

Hayden looked as if he’d aged ten years in a day, sitting in my kitchen, staring into his coffee like a whipped puppy.
“I’m giving it up, Jules,” he said. “I mean it this time.”
I sat on a stool across the island from him, nursing a third cup of coffee, still in the black leggings and tank top from the previous day. I’d added an old hole-ridden sweatshirt I’d inherited from him when I was pregnant with Becca. It had seen better days, but it was a comfort thing, and if I was pathetic enough to keep on the clothes I’d nearly made love to Noah in, then my ratty sweatshirt was right there in the running.
My head pounded from the crying marathon, my eyes were gritty and my throat was raw. Hayden’s face had lit up with concern when I’d opened the door, thinking I’d fallen on my face when he’d pushed me down at the bar. It’s always encouraging to know just how bad you really look.
I knew what he was there for, it wasn’t the first time. Hayden was a binge drinker, not a constant one, but when he’d decide to tie one on—well, there wasn’t an off switch. There’d been many mornings such as this, full of apologies and promises and good intentions. And I’d learned long before that time faded them. His good intentions would fall in a hole somewhere, and four or five months later we’d be right back here. Sitting in a kitchen, drinking coffee, talking about how things would change.
It didn’t matter that much anymore, since he always stayed on the straight path around Becca, but old habits die hard.
“I know, Hayden,” I said. “It’s okay.” My whole face itched with salt overload. “Want a Pop-Tart or something?” I slid off my stool and opened the fridge. “I think I have a can of biscuits in here somewhere.”
Harley jumped up from her full-body sprawl at my feet, her ears perking at the mention of Pop-Tarts.
“I’m fine, Jules,” he said, running a hand over his face and up through his hair. “I’m not here for you to feed me.”
“Well, that’s about all the brain power I have right now, so I’d grab it if I were you,” I said, opening the freezer to look for bacon. Found it. Closed the door. Not energetic enough to deal with oil.
“I know you don’t believe me,” Hayden said, his words bouncing off my headache like they were playing Ping-Pong.
“I always believe you,” I said, finally finding the biscuits and deciding I wanted them. To hell with anyone else. I’d eat all five. Maybe share one with Harley. Thank God it wasn’t an eight-count can.
“And I always let you down.”
On that one, I turned. “Hayden, let it go. Please.”
He met my eyes. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” I said, holding the cold biscuit can against my right temple. “It’s not about me anymore. You want to quit? Quit. But it’s for you, not for me.”