42. Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Two

Indy — Now

G ray morning light seeped through the window blinds, the day only just begun. It was ready and waiting, full of endless possibilities. Fresh beginnings.

I pressed deeper into the bed, leaning into the strong arms looped around me. My neck ached, and I was sure if I stood, I’d feel the repercussions of not using a pillow and sleeping in one position too long. But I didn’t care.

I wanted to stay in this awhile longer.

“Just admit you’re wrong. Footloose is not a better movie than Dirty Dancing .”

Nolan groaned, dropping his head back on the pillow. “How can you say that? How can you betray Kevin Bacon like that?”

“I’m not,” I told him, not knowing how we’d gotten here. Nolan had woken up saying he wanted bacon, thus leading us to a fifteen-minute debate. “I like Footloose , I really do. But Dirty Dancing has better dances, and I love the storyline. And I’m sorry, but Patrick Swayze wins every time.”

I pressed my lips together, hiding my smile as he stared at me like he didn’t know me. “Really? Come on, it’s so cheesy. I mean, at the very end, when Johnny says, ‘Nobody—’”

“Don’t you dare.” I put my hand over his mouth, stopping him. “Unless you want to break my heart, you will not hate on what is possibly one of my favorite lines in cinematic history.”

“You need to watch better movies,” he murmured into my palm.

“Whatever,” I teased, removing my hand. “Your dad told me he once caught you watching it at two a.m. during summer break. Sounds like you maybe had a thing for Baby.”

“More like I had a thing for the girl who was obsessed with that movie.”

I smiled, resting my head back on his shoulder. We lay there for only a few breaths of silence before he whispered, “I always imagined Dad was with our baby too . . . And maybe it makes me a shitty son, but I’ve always thought if any good came from him dying, it was the possibility they were together.”

I pressed deeper against him. It had been like this all morning, both of us sharing quiet confessions. When I’d come home with him last night, I was lost. Hopeless it would always be that way. So when Nolan climbed into bed beside me, I’d held my breath, fearing what would come.

But when he’d told me how he imagined we had a son . . . it felt like he was breathing life into me. He wrapped himself in my grief, and in return, he handed me his. It was harrowing and left my soul aching, but it was a relief. Almost cathartic to release and hold one another in it.

“You’re not a shitty son. If it brought you peace, your dad would’ve wanted you to have that.” I wasn’t sure he’d believe me, but I wanted him to hear it regardless. I didn’t want to leave anything left unsaid. “Did he know about the baby?”

“Yeah.” His throat bobbed. “I’m sorry. I know we agreed to keep it between us... but eventually everything kind of bubbled to the surface, and I had to tell someone.”

I nodded, understanding. It was his grief, his loss, just as much as mine. If I could go back, I wouldn’t have asked Nolan to keep it between us. I wouldn’t have put my shame on him. “I’m glad you had him.”

His fingers dusted over my back, teasing the ends of my curls. “Have you talked to anyone about it? ”

I shook my head, my throat tightening. “Just you.”

“But we didn’t talk about it, Indy. That was our problem.”

I shrugged, not needing to see his face to know how disappointed he was in me. Nolan must’ve felt differently, because he sat up, bringing me with him. There was no judgment, no harshness in his eyes. It was sorrow, compassion. “I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t talk to me before. But thank you for talking to me last night. For talking to me now.”

I couldn’t deny how good it felt to share. It hurt. But it was a good hurt. A purposeful one. It was why I said, “It was hard not to blame myself for everything.” My eyes burned, but I forced the emotion away. I had to get this out; I couldn’t live in it any longer. “I think that’s why I couldn’t talk to you about it. I felt so guilty, like I’d let us both down. And I . . . even now, I sometimes still do. If I was just better, if I’d done more, we wouldn’t be here right now. You’d be playing baseball, and I’d be in the stands . . . with our kids. Cheering you on.”

“Indy . . .” He shook his head, letting out a deep breath. “Losing our baby was completely out of our control. Do I wish I could change it? Yes. But no part of me ever blamed you. And I’m sorry for leaving you in that feeling. I just—I choked, Indy. I didn’t know what to do.” His voice wavered, and I thought he might turn from me and hide the regret there, but he let me see it all. He let me see him. “In my eyes, I failed my wife. If I was a better man, if I was stronger, I wouldn’t have leaned on you as much as I did. If I hadn’t caused you so much stress . . . maybe everything would’ve played out differently. But over the years, I’ve come to learn what if is a dangerous game to play.” His fingers skimmed my cheek, brushing a curl behind my ear. “But I can tell you one thing for sure: in no future am I on that baseball field. My dreams of playing professional ball were done the first time that bottle touched my lips. It’s only because of you I got as far as I did. You gave me everything, Indy, and I’ll never forget that.”

I leaned into him, resting my head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady and sure, and I wished I’d told him this sooner. If we’d leaned on one another, instead of walking away, how differently our lives might have turned out. But Nolan was right—there was no sense in wondering what if. Our past was over. Only the future lay ahead of us.

“Is there a reason you haven’t talked to anyone about it?” he asked, tracing his fingers down my arm.

I shrugged. “When you lost baseball, your dad, our marriage—no one doubted it. Those are losses they can see. But they can’t see this. For some reason, that’s always made it feel less real.”

His lips were warm against my temple, his arms tight around my waist. “It’s real.” Grateful, I slipped my hand into his. “Is that why you don’t see your family much? Did they say something to you?”

“No. I never told them anything. I doubt they even suspected what was going on.” I raised my fingers to my lips, struggling to form the words. I knew what to say, but I didn’t know what he’d think once I said it.

“My mom and I have never seen eye to eye. You know that,” I said, remembering all the times I’d vented to him. “She didn’t support us getting married, and I feel like she’s always kind of thrown that in my face. How I should’ve listened to her.” It was why I hadn’t told her about the miscarriage. I was afraid she’d confirm the fears already in my mind. “Growing up, it was easier to brush her comments off. I don’t even know if she realizes she’s doing it. But after we separated, it hurt more, and it was easier to stay away.” I blew out a breath, my stomach twisting. “I do talk to my sister. I try to keep in touch with her . . . but it’s hard. I don’t like how it makes me feel sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

I set my chin on his chest, looking up at him. “Promise you won’t tell me how shitty I am? I mean, you can think it, but at least pretend I’m still your precious, sweet little peach.”

“I’m not sure you’ve ever been my precious, sweet little peach,” he said with a laugh, his eyes crinkling. “But you’ll always be my peaches . Nothing will change that.”

My heart warmed, and I didn’t know why, but everything in me believed that. “I know my sister’s life is far from perfect—but sometimes, I feel bitter. Almost angry, seeing her have everything I wanted. Why does she get to have kids, but I had to lose mine? Why did my body betray me?” I shook my head, not knowing if I was making any sense. It certainly hadn’t made any sense when I’d felt not only excitement, but devastation when Auburn had texted earlier this morning to let me know she was in labor. What kind of person felt anything but joy for her sister? “I’m not angry at her. It’s not her fault. And I know it’s not fair of me to feel this way. I don’t want to feel like this.” I sat up, bringing my hands to my heart. “But I don’t know how not to. I feel so tangled up in knots, and I don’t know how to sort through what I’m feeling. And I don’t want to hurt anyone, especially my sister, so I figure it’s just best to keep my distance until I can find my way out of this grief.”

“I know this isn’t what you’re looking to hear, but I don’t know if anyone ever finds a way out of grief. Not truly,” he told me, his hand finding mine. “When I lost our baby, you, then Dad too—I wanted to die. It felt like I was drowning. But the more time has passed, and the more I’ve worked through it rather than hiding, I’ve kind of settled into it. I’m not drowning, just sort of floating in it. It’s uncomfortable, but I can live with it.”

I nodded, quiet tears in my eyes. I believed him, but it was hard to see my own way through when I was in the thick of it. I’d worn this pain for so long. Nolan brushed his thumb along my cheek, catching the tears. “There’s nothing wrong with how you’re feeling, Indy. You’re allowed to be angry, question why this happened to you. And you can still be happy for your sister and sad for yourself. You can be two things at once.” He leaned forward, his lips grazing my skin. “But you don’t have to be in it alone.”

I leaned into him, my forehead resting against his. We shared quiet breaths, and I couldn’t help but think, for the first time in years, there was nothing between us. It was just us.

Us .

I lifted my hand to his cheek, my voice a hushed whisper. “I have missed you so much.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, his words dusting my lips. “Careful, Indy. Those are fighting words. ”

I smiled with him, realizing Nolan was right. I could feel more than one emotion at a time. There was sorrow in my heart, painful yet bittersweet. But there was something else too. Something I’d denied myself for a long time.

My heart was racing, my voice breathless. “Find me.”