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She was fucking frozen, trapped alone in one of the worst fucking moments of our life.
Which meant…
The door at the end of the hall was shut as well. I grabbed the doorknob, but fuck, I couldn’t open it. I needed to. For her, I needed to. I shut my eyes, pressing my forehead into the wood as I took in a shaky breath. I’d told myself I’d never enter this goddamn room again.
The little taped-up pieces of my cold fucking heart began to fall away, stripped raw as I made myself open the goddamn door. The pain came rushing back with the sight of the soft blue walls and sunshine yellow trim. Bright and airy was what she’d called it.
The perfect combination for a nursery.
Our son’s nursery.
My knees locked up as I stepped into the room. Dust coated the ledge of the white crib, collected on the matching changing table, and altered the glider she’d put in the corner next to the window. The gray tone was somehow fitting to what we’d lost—what had been unfairly taken from us.
My breath hitched hard in my throat, making it hard to breathe. Nothing had changed. Not a fucking thing. Even the clothes she’d laid out were still on the changing table. My hand shook as I touched the tiny onesie, running my fingers over the custom message on it.
Welcome to the world August James.
“August… I like that. We can call him Auggie or Gus-Gus. Oh! His first Halloween costume could be the mouse from Cinderella!” I could still hear her happy giggle at the thought.
Sitting next to the onesie was the only thing in the room that hadn’t been there before. A single photo of Genevieve and I holding our son. I picked it up and dragged my thumb over the image, feeling my fucking heart shatter.
Fuck, I didn’t even remember it being taken. It was such a devastating moment. I couldn’t remember a fucking person in the goddamn room let alone a picture being taken.
Somewhere in the middle of all the crap we were going through with her father, Genevieve had found out she was pregnant. She didn’t want anyone to know—our secret. We’d only have so much time before everyone wanted to be a part of his life, that was what she’d said. As the first Byrne in the next generation, she wasn’t wrong.
So, we kept the secret. Winter clothes and her barely noticeable belly made it possible for longer than I’d expected.
Genevieve thrived in it, nesting and building a fucking future for us. But me? I couldn’t see a fucking future beyond the shit her father was putting me through. I drank more than I should’ve, we fought a stupid amount, and we still pretended like we weren’t racing toward some inevitable explosion.
That catalyst came crashing down on us when she was twenty-five weeks pregnant and woke up bleeding. Bad. It wouldn’t stop, she couldn’t feel him move, and I was fucking helpless. All I could do was rush her to the nearest fucking hospital two towns over.
There had been no heartbeat.
That was the moment I watched my wife break in an unimaginable way—a way I didn’t know how to help her recover from. I stayed when they induced labor, and I stayed when she gave birth. I held him and not a damn thing in the fucking world could prepare me for the grief. I would’ve ripped out my own fucking heart and given it to him if it would’ve brought him back.
And the guilt?
The guilt drove me to the nearest bar while the nurses helped her shower and clean up. Guilt had me drowning in a bottle that couldn’t offer a damn thing. Guilt reared its ugly face to remind me this was my fucking fault. Every fight I picked with her had stressed her out.
I slid down the floor as my knees gave out, a sob tearing through me. Hot tears burned my cheeks as I clutched the photo. Pain, guilt, and grief clashed in a deadly combination. I’d spent three fucking years burying it, keeping it away, and pretending it wasn’t there.
How fucking wrong I was as it consumed me all over again, and I broke down.
Chapter 63
Genevieve
His Jeep was parked out front. What was he doing here? I’d given him everything and only had asked for enough time to pack up.
Every step was painfully composed as I crossed the house to put more boxes in the kitchen. I couldn’t face him. Not here.
Except he wasn’t here.
Not where I could see him.
Unless…
My heart skittered in my chest as I heard a click and Killian came down the stairs two at a time. Those midnight eyes were red-rimmed and his lips pressed together tight as he faced me. Why was he upstairs? Panic clutched my chest—a warning bell of things to come.
