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I bury my face in her strawberry-scented hair and wait. Then Isabella shifts and moves away from me, leaving a few inches of space between us. Even in her dreams, she can’t get away from me fast enough.
Bile rises in the back of my throat as I throw the covers off and swing my legs over the side of the bed. In the semi-darkness, I pat for my shorts. After pulling them on with a snap, I creep out of the room and into the carpeted hallway. Downstairs, the kitchen is lit by the pale glow of the moon, and everything remains untouched.
I fill up a glass of water and stare out the window. Across the lawn, I see our house silhouetted by the light of the moon.
Are we ever going to go back there? Or has the house, like everything else, been tainted?
I down the water in one gulp and push myself away from the sink. When I hear a pair of light footsteps, I’m rummaging through the cupboards for something stronger.
Anything to burn away the rejection that lingers in Isabella’s wake.
“I keep the good stuff somewhere safe,” Anita says in a thick voice. She shuffles into the kitchen and pauses to tighten the sash around her waist. Without looking at me, she pushes her hair out of her eyes and ducks underneath the kitchen sink. I squint as I see her hand dart out, and something clicks. When her head re-emerges, she’s got a triumphant but sleep-filled smile on her face.
She pulls out a bottle of brandy and sets it down on the counter. “This is my well-kept secret. I expect you to keep it to yourself.”
My lips lift into a reluctant half-smile. “This conversation never happened.”
Anita pushes herself up to the tips of her toes and retrieves two glasses. After setting them down, she untwists the cap and pours a generous amount into both glasses. “How’s Isabella doing?”
I tip back the glass, and the liquid burns a path down my throat. “I have no fucking clue.”
Anita tips back her own glass and then eyes me over the rim. “I know patience has never been your strong suit, but if you push her too hard, you might lose her for good.”
I take the bottle and pour myself some more. “It feels like I’m going to lose her anyway.”
If it’s not to violence and chaos, then it’s to Isabella’s guilty conscience. There’s a reason I’ve been trying but failing to picture how we move forward from this. Even if a part of me still won’t admit it.
Anita frowns and leans against the counter, her features suddenly softer and more vulnerable. “You can’t give up on her, Carter. I’m not going to pretend to understand the dynamic between the two of you, but I can tell you one thing. She needs you as much as you need her.”
I tilt back the drink and exhale. “What if we’re not good for each other anymore? I’m not a knight in fucking armor, Anita. Isabella knows that, just like she knows that we can’t raise a baby in the middle of all this.”
No matter how badly we want to.
Anita blows out a breath. “When two people love each other and have been through a lot together, they find a way to make it work.”
I study my aunt, and a jolt courses through me. “You sound like Dad.”
Anita’s lips lift into the ghost of a smile. “Your dad wasn’t the only romantic in the family. Granted, he was far better at the grand gestures than your uncle Matteo, but we could’ve given him and your mom a run for their family.”
Something low and pleasant unfurls in the center of my chest. “I can’t imagine that.”
Anita’s smile grows wider. “Well, you wouldn’t. You were off in your own world. You always have been.”
I grunt but can’t come up with a response.
It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of my parents’ relationship. While a part of me remembers my dad buying my mom flowers and twirling her around the kitchen, I’m ashamed to realize I can no longer remember what they sounded like. Or what they looked like.
Reliving that chapter of my life is too painful. And it’s pointless.
What good is it going to do me to chase ghosts of people long gone?
Anita reaches across the counter and pats my hand. “I know you and Isabella are going to find a way to work things out. In the meantime, you keep fighting for both of you.”
I search my aunt’s face. “What if she doesn’t want me to?”
“Unless she explicitly tells you, then you don’t stop fighting,” Anita replies after a brief pause. “Isabella is strong, but you have to remember that even strong people can’t keep it together all the time. She’s been through a lot, more than anyone should have to in a short amount of time.”
I nod and exhale.
