“When you decide you’re not fine, call me. I love you, baby girl.”
I press the end key and put the phone away. Sitting here for a few minutes, trying to get a grip before I get my daughter. I love her so much, but she’s a clone of her father. Every time I look at her, it takes every ounce of strength I have not to cry. She gazes at me with those innocent eyes so full of love and it breaks a piece of my heart apart. Why won’t she ever get the chance to hold her father’s hand? Make him a cake. Tell him how much she loves him or to just know the love of a father. She deserves that. She should have both of her parents to guide her, but instead she only has me . . . a broken woman.
Each time her “uncles” come around, I hate them a little more. I hate that they can see her, hold her, touch her, but the one man who created her never will. The anger boils in my soul like a black cloud. It covers the light I’m desperate to see. Making the hope die out before it has a chance—because he’s dead. He took it away when he left this Earth. I want him back and not only in my dreams. I want to roll over and feel him next to me—instead I get cold sheets and an empty bed.
“Aaaaaa.” I hear my beautiful, little girl call out and I struggle to pull myself together. She makes random sounds while lying in her crib as I sit here in misery.
Stifling the emotions that burn, I gather the strength I rely on from my paltry reserves and go get my daughter. “Hi, peanut,” I coo as I enter her room. Just looking at her puts my life in focus. It’s amazing to me how children can completely alter your world.
Aarabelle is on her back looking at me with the love I’m desperate to hold on to. To her, the world is perfect. She doesn’t know pain, and in some ways she’s lucky. At least Aara didn’t fall in love with her father to have him stripped from her life. The things I worry about she’ll never fear because she’ll never have known it.
“Aaaaa!” she squeals as I look down at her. Her dark brown hair sticks out haphazardly and her brown eyes shine with adoration. She makes me want to get through this.
“Hi, baby.” She kicks her legs and her arms flail uncontrollably as I bend to scoop her up.
I hear a knock on the door as I cradle Aara in my arms. Every single time it happens, my heart clenches and my stomach turns. It’s been six months since that knock happened, and it still feels like the first time. For a while, I prayed it was Aaron going to show up and tell me this was all a giant misunderstanding. I place Aarabelle in her swing and draw a deep breath.
Unhurriedly, I move to the front door trying to quell the desires I conjure without permission. It’ll be Mark again . . . I tell myself and focus on breathing. It’s like having a mini panic attack each time.
I answer the door and a man is there with his back to me. His arms are thick and his shoulders broad. The tight shirt clings to every ridge on his body. I take in the walnut-colored hair that’s short and trimmed. He seems familiar, yet it couldn’t be because he’s in California. “Liam?”
Slowly he turns, easing into a wide grin. His tall, hulking body blocks the sun behind him. My face falls as seeing him brings it all back. Liam Dempsey. If having Mark and Jackson around is what I consider difficult, then Liam is going to be agony.
He removes his aviators and there’s a gleam in his eyes. “Hey, Lee. I was in the neighborhood. Wanted to come say hi.” His crystal blue eyes shimmer in the sun and I secure my mask firmly in place. If we’re going to talk about Aaron at all, I need it. I don’t feel . . . I don’t hurt.
“I didn’t realize California and Virginia are now neighboring states. Last I heard you were still out west?” Even I can hear the monotone in my voice. There’s no way these guys don’t see it. I’m not fooling anyone, but I really don’t care. I pull my long, blonde hair to the side and grip the door.
I take a second to look at him. He looks bigger, taller, or maybe I haven’t been around enough people. But everything about Liam looks . . . different. His frame takes up more space than I remember and he’s let the scruff grow out on his face. Yet it only helps define his strong jawline. I may be grieving, but there’s no way to ignore how good-looking he is.
“Can I come in?” he asks sweetly.
He’s Aaron’s best friend, his swim buddy, his brother through and through. Liam has been a part of our life for a long time and seeing him makes me feel Aaron’s loss even more. I nudge the door open and allow him to enter. Just focus on breathing, Natalie . . . he’ll leave soon.
“I tried to call,” he says while looking around.