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By the time I open my eyes again, bright sunlight streams through the window, and I figure I should probably get moving. I have an apartment to pack, a lease to terminate, and a rat to exterminate.
Climbing out of bed, I remember my suitcase is still downstairs from the night before. Not wanting to traipse around King’s house in the nude—at least during daylight hours—I open the top drawer of his dresser in search of a T-shirt. Instead, I find a neat pile of boxer briefs and undershirts. Sticking my hand in, I rifle through the clothing, hoping to find at least one decent-size tee I can throw on. I grab at a gray T-shirt, pulling it from the bottom of the stack. A glossy square of paper clings to my finger, and I lift it up, hold it to the light.
The black-and-white image trembles before me. Stomach sinking, I can’t catch my breath, my chest and throat tight. So damn tight. The skin on my arm prickles, darkness dancing at the edges of my vision.
The ultrasound picture of our baby. I have one exactly like it tucked away in a journal somewhere.
King kept it all this time.
I can’t believe it.
He really did care. Was maybe even as heartbroken over the loss as me. He just didn’t show it.
I back up to the edge of the bed and sink down onto the duvet, muscles quaking. Hot regret washes over me as I stare down at the grainy photo, the outline of the head, the tiny feet. We had the ultrasound a few days before I lost the baby, one of our last days together before everything came undone.
I blink back tears, all the memories flooding back. Memories I buried long ago so I could keep moving, keep living. Survive.
Otherwise I would have crumbled, a shattered mess of grief prostrate on the floor.
But life moved on—we moved on, both of us—and that chapter was over.
Still, he never forgot.
Something swells in my chest, a warmth spreading from the center all the way to my arms, my belly.
Throwing the T-shirt on, I head downstairs, ultrasound in hand. No more secrets, no more deception. Maybe if we talk things out together, we can finally put the past behind us and move on.
The kitchen’s quiet, empty. King must be out in the barn still. A Seaglass Inn mug sits on the counter next to the coffeepot, along with a note. I set the ultrasound down on the island and sidle over to read the message.
Morning, sunshine. Out feeding the animals. Be back soon. Have a cup of coffee, then we’ll head to town when I get back.
Love,
King
I smile down at the paper, his messy, scribbly handwriting inked at an early hour. Always thoughtful, considerate.
Pouring a steaming cup of coffee, I sweeten it up with a heaping teaspoon of sugar, then slide over to the island. I sip at the dark brew and stare out the window, over the lush green lawn, the huge canopy of oaks shading the grass.
I’m so lost in thought I don’t even hear the front door open.
“Hello?”
A high-pitched voice startles me, and I jump, coffee sloshing onto my skin.
“Ouch! Dammit.”
Setting the mug down, I hustle to the sink to rinse the burning liquid from my skin before it blisters.
“What are you doing here?”
I spin around. Poppy’s mouth hangs open as she stares at me from across the island. It dawns on me that I’m wearing King’s T-shirt and literally nothing else—no bra, no panties. She can probably see my nipples straight through the thin material.
Not exactly the best impression to make on his sister.
“Uh, hi ... ,” I stammer, cheeks flaming. Shifting my weight, I try to make the fabric hang lower on my upper thighs. I’m acutely aware of the cold air on my bare skin beneath the shirt, fanning my ass.
“Where’s my brother?”
