26. River

26

RIVER

F our Days Later

The burn of whiskey in my throat barely registers anymore. It is the only thing that has offered a moment of respite from the relentless ache in my heart. The world around me is a wasteland. Every creak of the floorboards, every tick of the grandfather clock, reminds me of her absence. Bella. Ginny. A future that I could not claim.

Last night, I booked a flight to another country. I don't have that much luggage to carry, just a lot of burdens. Shouldn't be that hard.

I drain the glass, the amber liquid sloshing dangerously as I rise from the worn leather armchair. Four days. Four agonizing days since she stormed out, leaving behind a trail of shattered hopes and unanswered questions. I run a hand through my hair and stifle a groan. How did it become this way?

You know how, a voice in my head replies scathingly. You couldn't man up, and she couldn't trust you enough.

Yeah, she's been downright nasty to me, not telling me about Ginny—but I can't say I didn't play a part in being undeserving. Maybe that's all I'm good for. Maybe leaving is the only thing I do best.

The living room is bathed in sunlight, and beautifully so, now that the snowstorm has lifted. It falls on the brick red walls and the cozy furniture, casting a buttery glow over everything except the tomb of my mind. In there, the silence is as oppressive as it is loud. I reach for the bottle, my fingers trembling slightly as I pour another generous measure into my glass.

"You're killing yourself, you know that, right?"

The gruff voice startles me, and I turn to see Marcus standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his broad chest, a disapproving frown etched on his face.

"What are you doing here?" I grumble, taking a swig of whiskey.

"Came to see if you were still alive," he replies, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. "Looks like I was just in time."

Marcus lowers himself onto the sofa, his eyes scanning the disarray of empty bottles and scattered newspapers. "This isn't the way, River. You're drowning yourself in self-pity, and it's not doing anyone any good."

"What would you know about it?" I snap, the alcohol fueling my anger. "You can go to her right now and she'll take you back with open arms."

"She really won't, and you'd do well to not talk shit," Marcus warns, his voice hardening. "She's worried sick about you, just like the rest of us." His eyes cloud over for a moment.

It doesn't faze me, although I know Marcus and Wyatt are torn up over the way Bella left. I'm not sure I have those kinds of feelings left in me.

"Well, she can save her worry," I retort, draining my glass and slamming it down on the coffee table. "There's nothing left to worry about. Bella's gone, and she's not coming back."

"That's where you're wrong," Marcus says, leaning forward, his eyes boring into mine. "Bella loves you, River. She's always loved you. But you keep pushing her away, just like you're doing now."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. The whiskey churns in my stomach, a sour taste rising in my throat. "I didn't?—"

"But you did," he interjects coldly. "You kept sending her away, and now that there's finally a chance for you to redeem yourself, you damn well go and do it again. The fuck is wrong with you?"

"What?" I mumble defensively, shaking my empty glass at him. "How'd you know what I'm gonna do?"

"It's you. You're always running." Marcus's voice has risen. He's telling me deeply hurtful but very true things, and they're grating on my nerves. "It's the easy way out, River."

Damn him. I hurl my glass to the other end of the room. It smashes against the wall, breaking into a million small shards that catch the light. Each fragment glints mockingly, shattered and broken. The sunlight streaming through the window dances off the broken pieces, casting fractured reflections around the room.

I stare at the chaos I've created, my breath ragged, feeling as fragmented as the shards on the floor. The tiny points of light pierce through my rage. My pain, once contained, now lies scattered, exposed in the cruel daylight. The sharp edges glisten with a menacing beauty, each one a tiny dagger.

Shadows lengthen across my heart, creeping into the corners of my mind, threatening to engulf me completely. The darkness swells, whispering that just like the glass, I am irreparably broken.

"I have nothing left," I murmur wearily.

"You have everything left," Marcus counters sonorously. "The question is, will you take it all, or the easy way out? Because breaking her heart is simpler, River. And you're doing it again, like you did all those years ago."

I flinch at his accusation, the truth of his words cutting deep. "I didn't have a choice," I mumble, my voice barely audible. "I had to go. I had a duty."

"Duty?" Marcus scoffs. "Then what is it now? You call abandoning the woman you love and the daughter you never knew duty? And you know what? You're not the only one who's been hurt by your actions."

That's it, that's all I can take. I sink down on the chair, my whole body trembling. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I'm not giving up on you, River," Marcus continues, his voice softening. "But you need to stop giving up on yourself. We need to go after Bella. Fight for her, for Ginny. Show them that you're not the same man who left all those years ago."

"What if it all goes to hell?" I ask him, my eyes smarting from the tears I refuse to weep.

"Then it is what it is," he replies with a shrug. "But," he says, pausing a second, "what if it doesn't, and you get everything you ever wanted in this life?"

Damn it. I stand up, my legs unsteady. "I'm going to find her," I announce, my voice rough with emotion. "I'm going to tell her how I feel, how much I regret everything."

Marcus nods, a hint of a smile finally playing on his lips. "That's my boy," he says, clapping me on the back. "Now go get a shower first, and then some food in your stomach. We aren’t going to get her back with you looking and smelling like this."

Right. Of course. Over the next hour, I do the needful—which is quite a lot because I am shaking the whole while. The ride over to Jonathan's home is quiet, with Marcus and Wyatt watching me warily. We park at a reasonable distance from the house and step out.

The crunch of snow under my boots is the only sound that breaks the silence as we approach Bella's father's house. A sprawling ranch house nestled among snow-covered hills, it's a picture of warmth and welcome against the stark winter landscape. But the warmth I feel isn't from the promise of shelter. It's the nervous heat of anticipation

Marcus claps a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Chin up, brother," he says, his breath misting in the frosty air. "We're in this together."

We trudge up the snow-covered path, our boots leaving a trail of dark footprints in the pristine white. The front door is slightly ajar, a wisp of warm air escaping into the frigid afternoon.

As we round the corner of the house, a burst of laughter fills the air, cutting through the crisp winter silence. My heart skips a beat as I spot Ginny, bundled up in a pink snowsuit, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She's standing beside a snowman, a lopsided creation with a carrot nose and coal eyes, but to her, it's a masterpiece.

My breath catches in my throat as I watch her, a miniature version of Bella, with the same fiery red hair peeking out from beneath her woolen cap and sparkling green eyes filled with joy. She's a living, breathing testament to the love Bella and I shared, a love I foolishly threw away.

A wave of longing crashes over me, a desperate yearning to hold her, to protect her, to be the father she deserves. My knees creak as I kneel down in the snow, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Hey there, little one," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Is that your snowman?"

Ginny turns to me, her eyes widening with surprise. For a moment, time stands still. Then, a slow smile spreads across her face, revealing a dimple in her left cheek, a mirror image of her mother's.

"Yes!" she exclaims, her voice muffled by her scarf. "His name is Mr. Fluffypants."

I can't help but chuckle at the name. "Mr. Fluffypants, huh? He looks like a friendly fellow."

Ginny nods enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with pride. She points a tiny mitten-clad finger at the snowman's lopsided hat. "I made him!" she declares, her voice filled with pride.

My heart aches with a mixture of joy and regret. A daughter. A daughter who knows her father's touch, who cherishes the moments they've shared. A daughter I almost missed out on entirely.

"He's a very handsome snowman," I say, my voice thick with unshed tears. "You did a great job."

Ginny beams, her smile as bright as the winter sun. She reaches out a tiny hand and grabs mine, her grip surprisingly strong. "Come play?" she asks, her eyes pleading.

"Ginny! Ginny, come back inside right now!"

Bella's voice reaches the two of us, shrill with worry and perhaps anger, too. She's standing at the doorway, her face rosy from the snow, hair falling in soft waves to her waist. She looks livid, but then again, I did just share a moment with her daughter without her permission. I get it now. I wasn't there.

I wasn't there for the endless long nights, for the spit-ups and colic pains, the teething aches, and the vaccines. Bella thinks I'm stepping in when it's gotten nicer, but she doesn't understand. The hard times will return, albeit in different ways. And when they do, I'll stick around. If she lets me.

If she lets me, I'm never leaving again.

Ginny runs to her mother and blows her a kiss before scurrying inside. Bella folds her arms, leaning against a banister as we approach her. She's looking only at me, because obviously, she's not mad at the others.

"Well?" she draws out the word.

I read between the lines. What'll it be?

"Can we take a walk?" I ask gently and hold out my hand.