45. Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Five

Nolan — Then

T he mattress creaked loudly, and the sound of shifting blankets drifted through the room as Indy struggled to get comfortable. I didn’t move, fighting the instinct to reach for her. She shuddered a breath, and I heard the unmistakable sound of quiet tears. I’d been with her the entire day, but it was the first time she’d cried. For the past two weeks, she’d waited until it was dark, until she thought I was asleep. I should reach for her. Close the few inches between us and wrap my arms around her. Take away the pain I’d given her.

But I didn’t know what to do. The times I’d tried reaching for Indy, she’d stiffened before pulling away. She didn’t talk. Not about the baby, not about anything. She was right beside me, but she’d never felt so far. I wanted to promise her she wasn’t alone. That I’d hold her hand and lead her out of this darkness, the same as she’d once done for me.

But what if she’d never led me out of it?

What if I’d just dragged her into it with me? Selfishly let it consume her, if only so I wouldn’t be alone. Like a poison, I’d infected and drained her, all because I hadn’t wanted her to leave me. Maybe she was finally seeing me for what I was. A burden. Maybe she was finally realizing what Mom had, that she’d be better off alone .

But Indy wasn’t like Mom. She wasn’t selfish, cold. She wouldn’t run. She’d give me everything she was, even when she had nothing left. She’d always put me first.

It was my turn to do the same.

I’d stayed up most of the night, talking myself through the hard decisions I needed to make. When Indy’s breaths were steady and my mind was made up, I fell asleep, solely so I couldn’t talk myself out of it. At the first sign of dawn, I slid out of bed and crept around the moving boxes scattered across the apartment before slipping out the front door.

It was Wednesday, and we had until the end of the week before we had to be out of the apartment. We’d packed most of our belongings, but I had a few odds and ends to wrap up before Dad drove up on Friday to help us move. Grabbing the textbooks I’d rented, I started across campus to return them. It would be quicker to drive, but my license was suspended for the next six months.

I’d expected some sort of jail time, or at least probation for driving under the influence, but since it was my first offense and my record was otherwise clean, I’d gotten off with a suspended license. I’d bet it had something to do with the judge assuming I’d learned enough of a lesson with losing not only my athletic scholarship but being permanently cut from the team. Surprisingly, I hadn’t been expelled from the university, but with no money or desire to pursue a degree, I’d dropped out.

I had no place here.

Finished, I hurried back to the apartment. Indy was probably up and packing. She wouldn’t admit it, but I knew it was straining against her recovering body. Halfway there, out of habit, I glanced at the baseball field. When I’d gone to the field house yesterday to return my gear, I thought I would feel ashamed to see my former teammates and coaches, even sad my baseball career was finished. But when I walked away, it wasn’t regret I felt. It was relief.

It was over.

My phone rang and I pulled it out, not surprised to see it was Dad. He’d never been one to hover, but since I’d been arrested, he’d called every day. Everything was out in the open. He knew about my drinking, even when I’d done it in high school. He was aware how weak my mind was, though he promised he didn’t see it that way. Instead, he spewed nonsense about the importance of mental health. Claimed I wasn’t the first person to feel this way and threw around words like therapy and depression. I didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t care if there was a name to whatever I was feeling. Dad must’ve sensed that, as he’d sent Brooks over a time or two, likely to see if I was drinking.

I hadn’t drunk since my last game, but that wasn’t because I’d learned my lesson. I hadn’t changed. I was coming to accept I’d always be this way. Indy was the only reason I wasn’t reaching for a bottle right now, and even that was wearing thin.

After I assured Dad I was fine three times and we discussed what I’d texted him last night, he said, “I know it might not feel like it, but everything’s going to sort itself out. This isn’t the end.”

I didn’t waste time disagreeing with him.

After saying goodbye, I pushed open the door to the apartment. Like I’d suspected, Indy was awake and standing on a step stool, the smell of chemicals wafting through the room. Her back was to me, paintbrush in her hand, and my heart sank when I realized what she was painting over. She smeared white paint onto the wall, slowly covering the wildflowers she’d painted last semester.

When we moved in last August, my initial impression of our apartment was that it was a dump. It was stuffy and cold, the walls so white it almost felt clinical. I’d told Indy I would try to find us a better place for the next semester, but she insisted she didn’t mind. I’d thought she said that because she hadn’t wanted to make a fuss, but as she added pops of color and life, slowly transitioning the dingy apartment into our first home, I realized Indy had a talent for seeing things not for what they were, but what they could be.

She was hopeful like that.

As she covered the last of the red and blue flowers, I wondered if she’d stopped thinking that way. If she’d stopped imagining what someone could be and instead accepted they would never change.

“If you want to lie down, I can finish painting for you,” I offered, seeing the way Indy kneaded her lower back every few minutes.

“I’m okay.” Her tone was easy, polite. “Thank you.”

I rubbed at my jaw. There was plenty left for me to pack, but I felt helpless as to what to do. “You want to go on a walk?”

“No.”

“You sure? There’s duck ponds not even a quarter mile away. We can take a few slices of bread and feed ’em—it might be fun.”

She paused mid-stroke, white paint dripping onto the tarp beneath her stool. “I just want to get this done. We don’t have a lot of time left.”

She was right.

Making myself useful, I loaded a few more boxes into the back of my truck. When Indy was finished painting, and there were no more boxes of my stuff left, I found the nerve to say, “I talked to Dad. He said I can work at the shop . . . live at the house for a bit.”

“Oh.” She froze at the kitchen sink, water trickling off the paintbrushes. Her brows were furrowed, like she was carefully choosing her words. “I . . . I don’t know if I can go back.”

I’d expected that response, hoped for it even. I didn’t fault her for not wanting to return to our hometown. She hadn’t mentioned it, but Dad had told me what the town was saying about her. How they blamed her for what happened. How she never should’ve let me get behind the wheel. Claimed she’d hidden my drinking because she only cared about herself and money.

They were wrong. They’d always been wrong about her. And she deserved better.

Before I could tell Indy it was okay, that I didn’t expect her to go back, she said, “I’ve been looking at a school in Ohio. The one we considered going to before you got an offer here.” She brushed a curl behind her ear, not quite meeting my gaze. “I was thinking we could go there . . . It’s far. Sort of thought it might be nice to get away from Arizona.”

My chest squeezed, and something that felt like true agony gripped my veins. Even after everything I’d done, how I’d failed, she didn’t want to let me go.

I didn’t want her to. But I needed her to.

I leaned against the wall and gave her an easy smile, pretending I wasn’t dying inside. “I need to go home, Indy. But you should go to Ohio. Wherever you want.”

Her lip trembled. “I should?”

I tipped my chin, struggling to get the words out. “Yeah. Some space would do us both good.”

She let out a broken breath, blinking hard as she washed the paintbrushes beneath the water once more. Tears slid down her cheeks, and I knew she felt the same paralyzing pain I did.

“It wouldn’t be forever, right?” Her voice cracked, and it took every morsel of strength I had not to reach for her. To take back what I’d said and follow her anywhere. “It’s just a little break? I-I don’t want to get divorced.”

I put my fist over my mouth, grateful Indy wasn’t watching me as I fought to keep myself in check. Blinking away the moisture in my eyes, I cleared my throat. “It’s not forever.”

“You promise?”

She looked at me then, and even with the distance and pain between us, I could see the love in her eyes. Love I didn’t deserve, but I prayed to God I’d someday be worthy of. “I promise.”

But that was just another way I’d broken my word.