Getting Real (Getting Some #3)(74)

He gives me the distrustful eyes.

“What story?”

“About my dad. See, I had a dad who made a lot of mistakes over the years. Like your mom. That’s why she’s here—because she realizes she’s made mistakes by not seeing you guys enough and she wants to make up for that. My dad was like that too . . . only he never realized it was a mistake. It’s been . . . over ten years since I’ve seen him . . . and he still hasn’t realized it. He probably never will.”

Brayden frowns. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“But she wouldn’t be here if Aaron didn’t get hurt.”

I nod slowly. “Sometimes it takes a bad thing happening to make us realize what’s important. The people who are important to us.”

“If your dad came here and wanted to see you after all that time,” Brayden asks, “would you see him?”

And I give him the straight, unvarnished truth.

“I would. Because he’s my dad, the only one I’m ever going to have.” I look down at my hands. “Maybe that makes me a pushover. Maybe that makes me an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Spencer gripes, like he’s insulted on my behalf.

“Your mom’s always going to be your mom. And she’s here because she really does love you. You get that, right?”

“You love us,” Spence insists in his sweet little voice, making my heart squeeze so hard.

I move from the desk chair to crouch down in front of them.

“I do. I love you. I love you, and I love Aaron and your dad. So much. But you know what I’ve learned in my thirty years?”

“What?”

I brush his hair out of his eyes.

“You can never, ever, have too many people around who love you.”


*

Dinner is a go. The boys put on clean shirts and their shoes and head downstairs and out to their mom’s car.

Halfway out the door, Stacey pauses and turns back to me.

“Thank you, Violet. Really.”

Her voice is smooth and melodious, and her eyes are shimmering dark and grateful. And for the first time, I can picture it—the beautiful couple she and Connor must’ve made for all those years.

And a sneaking, slithering voice in my head tells me how stupid I am—that I might be cutting my own throat. That it would’ve been so easy to do nothing and leave the wedge between Stacey and the boys right where it was. That the closer she gets to them, the closer she gets to Connor—and maybe, the further he gets from me.

But I could never do that. Not to them . . . not to him.

Still, I’m not a pushover and because I do love those boys, I tell her, “They’re giving you a chance, Stacey. If you hurt them again, there probably won’t be another. Don’t mess it up.”

She glances down at the floor, nodding.

“I won’t.”





CHAPTER NINETEEN


Violet


A week later things are better . . . and worse.

Aaron continues to improve. His fever breaks and we’re allowed to visit him briefly. The moment we walk into the ICU room, Spencer flings his arms wide and gently lays his head on his brother’s stomach, in an awkward but heartfelt hug.

“I’m so happy you’re not gonna die, Aaron!”

Brayden steps up beside the bed and holds Aaron’s hand, his words thick with emotion. “Yeah, I’m really glad you’re going to be okay.”

Aaron’s pale and his voice is weak, but he smiles. “Me too, guys. Me too.”

During the visit, things are noticeably easier between Stacey and Connor. The tension and animosity that was so palpable the night of the accident have completely evaporated.

Before we go, I kiss Aaron’s forehead and brush his hair back, telling him to rest up and that I know he’ll be home soon.

Connor’s been sleeping in the on-call room at the hospital, showering in the locker room. I stay at the house with Brayden and Spencer and we see him, but only for quick snippets of time.

But it’s okay. This is how relationships work. You’re there for each other, support each other in whatever way is needed.

At least . . . that’s what I thought.

Until a call from Connor at the hospital hits me right between the eyes.

“Vi, seriously it’s fine. You’ve done so much already—my parents can stay with the boys for a few days. I want you to go home and relax.”

“Brayden and Spencer are relaxing to me,” I tell him, standing in his kitchen.

“And that means everything to me—really. But I’m not going to put this all on you—go back to your house for a while, recharge or go back to work if you want.”

Work? He expects me to be able to focus on work knowing he’s upstairs and Aaron is still in the ICU? Has he lost his mind?

“Maybe you can take them again in a couple days. I might be home by then, I’m not sure.”

My stomach nosedives. So does my heart. A vertical drop, straight down from thirty-thousand feet—no safety net, no parachute.

“Connor—”

“I’ve got to go. Ortho’s here to talk about Aaron’s leg. I’ll call you back when I can.”

“Okay, I’ll—”