But over the last year, I kept coming home to find new additions up there. One by one, he’d built this Willa shrine. One framed picture was of me on the boat last summer, fishing. One was of me at camp, standing under the tall trees. The latest was one he’d taken of me barefoot in the kitchen, making french toast.
And now this painting.
It was too much.
“Please can we move it to the hallway?”
“No,” he declared and pulled on his boots.
“Why?” I asked, getting frustrated.
He sighed and stood tall, stepping close to rest his hands on my shoulders. “Did I ever tell you why I came to your apartment above the garage that first night? That night you were all pissed off at me and I didn’t know why?”
I thought back over the years, remembering that night. “No, I guess you didn’t.”
“I was at the bar that night, hanging with Thea. It was right before she went on that trip to New York, remember? Well, she was drawing in one of her sketchbooks that night. Guess who she was drawing?”
“Logan?”
He shook his head.
“Charlie?”
“You. She was drawing you.”
“Me? Why me?”
“She used to do that a lot. She still does actually. When she gets bored, she draws the people who come into the bar. I guess you’d been there that night.”
“Okay. So?”
“So . . . I saw that sketch and it opened my eyes. You’d been there, right in front of me all that time, and I’d been a blind fool. I left the bar and called Hazel, begging for your address. Then I showed up at your door and you yelled at me.”
“Yes, I did.” I smiled. “You deserved it.”
He grinned, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Yeah, I did.”
“So how does that lead to a painting above my fireplace?”
Jackson reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He thumbed through it and carefully pulled out a folded piece of paper. Slowly, he opened it up and handed it over for me to see.
It was the drawing he’d just described.
He’d kept it in his pocket all this time.
“Jackson,” I whispered.
“I like to keep that with me, but I can’t look at it every day, or it’ll get ruined. So instead, I have those.” He pointed over my head to the mantel. “Now tell me, what does this picture and all of those have in common?”
I turned and followed his pointed finger. Just like the sketch in my hand, all of those pictures and the painting were of me with my hair down.
“My hair.”
He twisted a couple of strands around his finger. “Your hair. Your hair looks the same in all of them. So if I can’t pull out this drawing every day, then I get those instead.”
“We could just get this sketch framed,” I offered.
He took the paper from my hands and carefully refolded it before returning it back to his wallet. “It stays with me.”
I stayed with him. That’s what he was really saying.
I stroked my baby bump. “If we have a little boy, I hope he’s as sweet as his daddy.”
Jackson pulled me into his arms. “If we have a little girl, I know she’ll be as beautiful as her mommy.”
I relaxed into his chest, enjoying this quiet minute together before we went to the chaos of my birthday party. It would be fun, but there wouldn’t be time for a peaceful hug with so many people around.
My parents would be there, along with some of my aunts, uncles and cousins from Kalispell. We’d invited Leighton and Brendon to come and introduce us to their new baby girl. June and Hannah were driving down too.
I didn’t see my high school girlfriends as much as I used to, but we’d settled into a different kind of friendship. One where we made it a point to attend birthday parties and baby showers.
Hazel was hosting my party. Ryder was already there to help her set up. Thea, Logan and their two kids would be there too. Thea was pregnant again—a couple months ahead of me—so at least I wouldn’t be the only one pigging out on birthday cake.
I had fully embraced the excuse of eating for two.
To my surprise, Jackson had been the one to bring up the topic of children. I’d been perfectly fine just enjoying our time as husband and wife, but on his birthday last fall, he’d asked me to go off my birth control.
When I’d asked him why, he’d told me it was because of his time spent coaching. He was co-coaching Charlie’s soccer team with Logan, and he was an assistant for Ryder’s football team. He didn’t want to be too old to coach his kids in sports.
That day, he’d given me another dream. It was one I hadn’t written about in my diaries, but it was one I’d always held in my heart.
“Do you love me?” I whispered.
He kissed my hair. “I love you so much, Willow.”
“Hey!” I pinched his side, making him chuckle.
“Still too soon, huh?”
I leaned back, trying not to smile at the smirk on my husband’s face. “Just for that, you owe me two orgasms tonight and you have to bring me ice cream in bed if I wake up hungry.”
“Orgasms and ice cream. I can do that.” He took my hand, scooped up the presents in his other and led me out the door.
Later that night, he gave me the two promised orgasms before I passed out, exhausted. And when I woke up hungry at three in the morning, he brought me a huge bowl of ice cream to eat in bed.
He catered to my every whim for the next four months, right up until our little boy, Roman Page, was born.
And he did the same when I was pregnant with our daughter, Zoe, two years later.
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Enjoy this preview from Tragic, book three in the Lark Cove series.
One or two.
“Kaine?” Mom’s voice echoed off the cement walls as she stepped outside. The glass door swished as it closed behind her.
I didn’t look at her as she stepped up to my side. My eyes were aimed blankly ahead as I wrestled with my decision.
One or two.
“What are you doing out here?” she asked. “We’ve been looking all over the hospital for you.”
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been standing out here. I’d told Mom that I was going to the bathroom and that I’d be back soon to talk with the doctors. But when I’d passed this exit door, hidden on the bottom floor in the back wing of the hospital, it had beckoned me through.
I’d needed a few moments away from the red-rimmed eyes and sniffling noses. I’d needed just a few seconds to pass without a single person asking me if I was okay.
I needed some quiet to decide.
One or two.
The parking lot ahead of me was shrouded in darkness. The night itself was pitch-black. There were no stars shining. There was no moon glowing. A thick fog had settled in, dulling the light of the streetlamps so their beams barely illuminated the few cars parked on the asphalt. The air should have been cold on my bare arms, but I couldn’t feel it.
I was numb.
I’d felt this way for hours, ever since they took her from my arms.
One or two.
It was an impossible choice, one I shouldn’t have to make. But because of him, it was inevitable.
“Kaine, I’m so sorry. What can I do?”
“I can’t decide.” My voice was rough as I spoke, the burn of rage and sorrow and pain making it nearly impossible to speak.
“Decide what?” she whispered. I didn’t need to look to know that Mom’s eyes were full of tears. Her dark hair had gotten a dozen new grays tonight. Her normally cheery and bright hazel eyes held their own fog of grief.
“One or two.”
“One or two what?”
I swallowed the fire in my throat. “Graves.”
One or two.
“Oh, Kaine.” Mom began to weep and her hand reached for my arm, but I shied away. “Please come inside, sweetheart. Please. We need to talk about this. He needs to talk to you. Give him a chance to explain.”
“I have nothing to say to him.” He’d done this. He was the reason I had to decide.
“Kaine, it was an accident. A tragic accident.” She hiccupped. “He—”
I walked away before she could finish. I walked right into the dark, wishing this blackness would swallow me whole.
Mom’s voice rang across the parking lot as she called out, but I simply walked, my boots carrying me into the black.
One or two.
An impossible choice.