30. Tommy

Chapter thirty

Tommy

S itting in the waiting room, I can't keep my leg from jiggling, my nerves getting the better of me as I bite my nails. When Mom comes back out, shaking her head, my heart sinks.

"I tried, Tommy. I'm sorry."

I'm on my feet in an instant, heading toward the door, but Mom grabs my hand. "Let her think on it," she says. But Tilly is here, right behind those doors, and she's hurt.

We sit back down, and I bury my head in my hands. Did I really hear right? That bartender mentioned to the EMTs that Tilly was pregnant.

But then, I saw Tilly kissing that guy over the bar. The one with the kid. Did someone else get her pregnant or is it… could it possibly be mine? We were together two months ago that much I know, though, technically, it only takes one night with some other asshole to do the deed I guess. I force the thought away; dwelling on it would drive me insane. Ma's right—Tilly knows I'm here, that I want her to come home with me and Ma. Miranda's been keeping her family at bay, none of them are even in Tahoe anymore. But Tilly being in the hospital? I called Miranda the second I saw the ambulance pull away.

She's ready. It was the final push needed to get her on board with the plan to turn on her family. I'm a wreck. You ever see those people at the store that are just… done? They have no fucks left to give and let it show. Their clothes are ragged, their eyes wild, hair a tangled mess. They got that from me and actually toned it down a bit.

Ma rubs my back, offering a semblance of comfort as I replay the events over in my mind again. Pregnant, I think. Some other man's kid is growing in my woman's belly. I want to shout it aloud, cry it out to Ma so she can hold me while I weep. But I know I shouldn't mention it, it's not my news to share. Tilly will talk about it when she's ready. If she ever is. It seems like she's found a new life here. A man with a kid, a baby on the way, a job at a bar, and what looked like friends that cared about her.

As if anyone couldn't care after meeting Tilly.

Twenty minutes later, Tilly finally appears at the exit, looking different with her hair dyed red and tied up, wearing a tight green blouse. Despite the frown on her face, she looks radiant.

I stand but don't approach. She walks straight to us, her chin held high. "I'll come with you," she says, her voice timid.

Joy surges through me. It doesn't matter to me if she's pregnant or what happened while we were apart. She's agreed to come with us.

"But I need to get my stuff from the hotel," she adds, and Mom envelops her in a hug.

"That's great! Yes, we can take you there. Is it the one across the street from the bar?" Tilly nods.

But I can't help but scoff, remembering earlier. "What?" Tilly looks at me, puzzled.

"Some angry lady earlier lied to us about you working there."

"Probably Jemma. She was just looking out for me," Tilly says.

"Then I owe her a thank you," I say, feeling a bit bold. Anyone who kept Tilly safe has my gratitude. I'm yearning to hold her, to feel her close, but she maintains her distance.

Still, I notice that she blushes at my comment, a hopeful sign to me. We head out to Mom's rental car, and I'm eternally grateful she came along. Not only did she prevent me from choking the man Tilly kissed, but she also played a crucial part in convincing Tilly to come back with us. I know that if I had asked, it probably would have ended up differently.

Opening the back seat for Tilly, she whispers a soft "thank you" as I slide in after her. Can you smell my desperation? Well, I can, but I don't care. I'm not sitting in the front when she just got out of the hospital. Once we're all settled in, Mom starts the car for the brief drive across the street to the hotel.

As soon as we park, Tilly gets out of the car without a word. Compelled to follow, I jump out too, needing to see where she's been living these past months, the place I've tried so hard to imagine.

"Tommy! You need to give her space," Mom calls out, but her warning fades as I hurry up the stairs after Tilly. Without her in my sight, I'm terrified she'll run away again or worse, get hurt somehow.

Stopping at her doorway, I find her frantically packing her clothes into a garbage bag.

"Do you need help?" I ask, a little out of breath.

"Uh, sure. Can you get my stuff from the shower?" she asks, nearly as flustered as I am.

I enter the bathroom, noting how neat and tidy everything is, which isn't like Tilly at all. The Tilly I knew in Costa Rica barely kept her clothes in her closet. But that was a long time ago. Maybe more has changed than I realize. I gather her toothbrush and toiletries, including a bottle of prenatals on the counter. Pregnant. It echoes in my mind again, but I push the thought away. Don't ask, I remind myself. Scaring her off is not an option.

Returning to her, I say, "I left the loofah. My ma has spares, and it was wet."

She just nods, hoisting the bag over her shoulder in a way that makes her blouse ride up. For a brief moment, I see the tiny bump on her stomach, the first visible sign of her pregnancy. My face heats up, and I quickly look away.

"Let me carry that, Til," I offer, and without any objection, we swap our burdens. Back at the car, I carefully place her bag in the trunk while she gets into the passenger seat. Fuck. No way can I fit up there with her. I guess I'll settle for staring at the back of her head like a stalker.

"I've already got us flights home, but we have to drive to Denver. It's about two and a half hours."

"You want me to drive, Ma?" I ask, but she insists she's fine and urges me to rest.

Leaning back, sleep seems impossible with all these swirling thoughts and questions. Yet, I force myself to lie back and close my eyes, focusing on the reassurance that Tilly is right beside me for the first time in months, trying to find some peace in that.

***

Waking up, I find Tilly smiling down at me, a gentle wake-up call. "Hi, Ma says it's time to wake up."

"Ma?" I echo, still half-asleep.

She nods. "She insisted."

Looking around, I ask, "Where is she?"

"Buying me a suitcase. Can't really take a garbage bag on the plane," Tilly says, her smile making the situation feel less dire. Ma has thought of everything, as usual. Spotting a sign for a 24- hour Walmart, my stomach reminds me I've skipped dinner in all the chaos. Hopefully, Ma is grabbing snacks too.

Tilly seems to notice, offering some jerky from the front seat. I gratefully start munching, and amidst the silence, she whispers, "I'm sorry."

My heart swells. "Don't be sorry, Tilly. Please. I'm the one who should be sorry. I should never have left your side. Then we'd have run together."

She scoffs and my head snaps her way. But right when I'm about to demand an explanation, Ma returns. "Okay, I got some cold brew and a suitcase. Baby, can you put her clothes in it?" I nod and climb out of the car.

But Tilly's scoff stung more than I'd like to admit. Did I say something wrong? Am I coming on too strong? I need to keep my emotions in check. Maybe Ma is right, I should give her some space. Let her come to me. We haven't touched since I found her, and the urge is so strong I have to tuck my hands into my pockets to resist.

I hurriedly pack her clothes into the suitcase, closing the trunk with more force than necessary. Playing this game is hard, but I'm determined to win. A win means a life with Tilly, of being with her every day. If that means I keep my hands to myself until she's ready, then that's exactly what I'll do.