“I found it online,” she says back, obviously proud of herself for the work she put in. She takes a bite, and I watch in wildamusement as she spits it right back out on her plate like a toddler. She gags, pushing back her chair and rushing to the sink to run her mouth under the faucet. “Oh, god!” she groans. She turns around and shouts, “I wouldn’t even feed that to Benji!”
At that moment, we both turn to where Brinley throws her pasta on the floor. Benji is at his usual spot below her, and even he doesn’t dare scrape it off the ground. Whitney sighs, slapping a hand against her forehead. “I’ll order a pizza.”
“Pizza would be good.” I respond, a chuckle working its way up my throat. Her baking? Immaculate. Her cooking? Not so much.
Nice to know Whitney is at least bad at one thing.
“You were just gonna eat it?” Whitney groans, waving a hand at me. “And not sayanything?”
“Figured that might be safer than telling you it tasted like roadkill,” I mutter. She gasps, throwing a rag from the counter at my head. I can’t contain the laugh that rushes through me when it slaps my chest. At least it wasn’t the frying pan that now lies in the sink, which probably would’ve been next if I didn’t stand and make my way over to her.
“Hey,” I say softer, my laughter dying with my words, “Thank you. I do appreciate you cooking. That’s more than anyone else has ever done for me.”
It was true. I’ve never been taken care of. Not like that. Not from someone who wasn’t obligated to, like my mom or Wesley. Her gaze melts, like she can read my thoughts and understand how big of a gesture it was for me. I lean in a little closer, drawn in by the pink flush that creeps up her neck and onto her cheeks—but a knock on the door interrupts us, washing over me like a cold bucket of ice. I pull back enough for Whitney to dart under my arm, rushing out an “I’ll get it.”
I sigh, leaning my forehead against the cabinet above me. I push off the counter and go to the fridge to pull out somestrawberries for Brinley while we wait for pizza. Just as I finish setting them on her tray, a man’s voice, one Idon’trecognize, trails into the kitchen. My body tells me to go, to see who it is, but I don’t want to leave Brinley alone while she’s eating.
“Are you Whitney Adler?” he asks.
“Uh, yes?” Her voice is nervous, and it makes my pulse jump.
“These are for you.” A ruffle, like he hands her something, and then words I could never have dreamed up echo through the silence.
“You’ve been served.”
Chapter Thirteen
WHITNEY
Another sob racks my body as I heave into the toilet. I have a vague sense of Wyatt setting a glass of bubbly liquid beside me. I don’t know how much time has passed, but the reality of the events that led up to that knock on the door have me reeling my head back. “Brinley-”
He interrupts me by dropping into a crouch and rubbing gentle circles on my back. “She’s fine. Ate dinner. Had a bottle. Now she’s snuggled up in bed.”
“Thank you.” I sigh in relief, pulling my head fully from the toilet and closing the lid. I took one glance at the papers, at the handwriting on the note nestled between red petals, and ran to the bathroom. This has probably been going on for the past hour. I’ve never been more embarrassed.
I’ll be seeing you soon.
-A.M.
I have no idea how Andrew even found us. The image of that note is imprinted in my brain, and I can’t shake it. And not just the note, but the roses too. A red so deep they couldalmost perfectly match what his mistress was wearing the night I walked in on them. A numbing sensation spreads across my chest. It all feels so intentional, every single fucking detail feels intentional. He always knows how and where to dig the deepest. Between all that, I also feel anger, and sadness, and a million different emotions I don’t even know how to process. Wyatt’s crouch falls into a sitting position as he leans against the vanity. I look at him, blue eyes swimming with an anger that mirrors mine, but worry is there too. He rubs a hand over the scruff on his face. “You don’t have to tell me, but-”
It’s my turn to cut him off. “His name is Andrew Millers. We dated for two years. We… well, you know how we ended things. I found out I was pregnant right after, and when I told him, he tried to throw cash at me and told me to ‘get rid of it.’ After that, I didn’t speak to him.”
I never once considered it. I never would. I’m all for women having that choice, but it wasn’t oneIwanted. I was terrified, throughout my entire pregnancy I was terrified, but I have never been more sure about my little girl.
Wyatt deserves to know everything. And if I didn’t talk about it, if I didn’t try to sort through these thoughts out loud, I’d lose myself to grief. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear before continuing, “During those nine months I wanted nothing to do with him. But then… then I had Brinley. And I realized I owed it to her to give him one more chance.”
“He didn’t want it.” Wyatt says. Not a question. A statement.
“No, he didn’t,” I confirm. But I hate how broken it sounds. I hate how it throws another lump in my throat and pushes the tears back up to the surface. “I tried, Wyatt.” I sob again, my body violently shaking from the force. “I triedsohard.”
He reaches forward, wrapping his arms around me in a way that allows him to pull me into his lap. He drops a kiss to myhead before smoothing over my frazzled hair with large, rough hands. “I know, baby. I know.”
“Whyis he doing this?” I ask, unsure if I’m asking myself, Wyatt, or the world. I don’t know. “What could he possibly want? He doesn’t even know her middle name, let alone how to take care of a child,” I say with a sniffle.
“I wish I knew, Winnie.” Wyatt whispers against my ear.
This is the kind of man Brinley deserves in her life. One who cares, one who comforts when it’s needed. The sadness I’m feeling quickly morphs into anger. To determination. Because now? Now Andrewcan’thave her. I won’t let him. “I need a lawyer,” I say, voice clearer and sharper than it has been in the past hour.
