The Resurrection of Wildflowers (Wildflower #2)(27)

“It’s never too soon to open your heart to love again. I made that mistake, thinking I couldn’t, now look at me.” She shrugs her bony shoulders. “I’m going to die, never know true love, never knowing a good man. I had you girls, and my store, and other dreams realized, but sometimes I do wish I’d allowed myself to open my heart to someone.”

“I’ll think about it.” My phone sits like a heavy weight in my pocket.

I know I technically already agreed to this date, but now that he’s put a day and time on it, it’s so much more real.

But I have to tell him.

I just don’t know how.





Rain pounds against my bedroom windows, trees blowing relentlessly. I wish I could say it’s the summer storm keeping me awake, but it’s not. My thoughts keep going around and around. There’s no silencing my mind.

Throwing the covers back, I toss a jacket on and shove my feet into an old pair of flip-flops. Slipping down the stairs and quietly past my mom, I let myself out the door. As soon as I step from beneath the cover of the porch, I’m pelted with rain. By the time I make it next door I’m drenched.

Are you really going to do this?

Yes.

I pound my fist against the door. I don’t stop either. I just keep knocking and knocking until it swings open, revealing the man on the other side.

My eyes eat him up and I allow myself this moment because after I say what I have to, he might hate me. I wouldn’t blame him for it either.

He stands before me with sleep tousled hair, his chest on display for my eager gaze. There’s that smattering of chest hair I loved so much that grows thicker beneath his navel, disappearing into his sweatpants that it looks like he haphazardly pulled on. He takes me in as well, looking confused. I’m sure I’d be equally confused if he showed up at my door looking like a drowned rat.

“Why are you—”

“Can I come in?” My voice is soft, cracking on the end.

“Yeah.” He steps back, opening the door wider. “Are you all right? You didn’t answer my text earlier.”

He closes the door behind me, but we don’t move away from it. It feels weird, standing in this foyer again. It looks exactly the same, like no time at all has passed. Six years is so short but so long all at the same time.

“I’m fine, but I … uh…” I start get choked up. I don’t want to get overly emotional telling him this. Fortifying myself, I look into his eyes and say the words that have been long overdue. “I can’t go out on a date with you, not in good conscience, without telling you this first.”

He cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed and skeptical. “Tell me what?”

I clench my hands together, my fingernails digging into the skin of my palms.

Spit it out, Salem.

“I have a daughter.”

There. It’s out there now. I can’t take it back.

He gives me a funny look. “You were worried I’d be mad you had a kid? Do you think so little of mine?”

“No.” I exhale a weighted breath. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall behind us.

I’m thankful for that bit of extra space between us. It allows me a second to breathe air that isn’t intoxicated with his presence.

I’m realizing there’s no good way to say this. No right words. Nothing to make it easier or better.

“Do you remember—that last time we had sex? You’d been drinking and—”

His eyes narrow further until I can’t even see the brown anymore. “Yes.”

I wet my lips, nerves sending a bead of sweat down my spine despite my wet clothes. “I got pregnant.”

“You got pregnant?” he repeats, slowly, carefully, making sure he’s grasping what I’m saying. “With my child?”

“Yes.” I’m surprised the word comes out so sharp and clear when I feel so jittery on the inside.

He looks away, a surprised sound leaving him. It’s almost a laugh, but not quite. “Pregnant?” His eyes drop to my stomach like he expects it to find it rounded and full. It’s not, but it is squishier than it used to be with stretch marks on my stomach and hips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I cover my face with my hands, letting my arms drop back to my sides. “A million different reasons and none of them are good enough. I was terrified. You were drinking yourself into oblivion and deep into grieving and I just … I guess I thought if I couldn’t manage to pull you out of this, then how would a baby? And I didn’t want you to fake it for our baby’s sake either.” Swallowing thickly, I add, “You said you didn’t love me anymore, didn’t want me, and that scared me too because what if I told you and you thought I was trapping you.” I’m rambling at this point, but that’s how my thoughts were back then—all over the place. I was a terrified nineteen-year-old, practically a kid myself. “I stayed as long as I could—until I realized I wasn’t the person who could help you.”

“That’s when you called Laith,” he fills in the blanks. “Did he know you were pregnant?”

“No. Just Lauren at that point.”

He tugs on his hair, shaking his head lightly. “Wow. This is a lot to process.”