I haven’t been asked on a date… well, since before Brinley was born. I’d never even considered it. Realizing I’m still standing in the middle of the diner while Eddie makes his way back to his table, I beeline for the diner's doors.
Brinley’s wailscontinue to pierce the air as I rock her back and forth—doing anything,anythingto calm her down.
Panic grips my chest as my eyes skim over the red glow of the alarm clock.
2 a.m.
God, what if she wakes him up? He’s going to come storming in here, and if he kicks us out we won’t have anywhere–
The panic escalates to horror as the door to the guest bedroom creaks open, and Wyatt peaks his head in. I spin to fully face him, an apology and explanation already escaping my lips. “I-I’m sorry. I’ve been trying everything. I think she’s teething. The stupid pop-up crib is super squeaky and she doesn’t have her nightlight, so I think it made the–”
He interrupts my word vomit by opening the door all the way and crossing the room to meet us. “Winnie, just breathe. It’s okay.” He places a gentle hand on my back, towering over Brinley and me. “Why don’t you step out for a second and let me try?”
I’m so dumbstruck by the offer that I stand there with my mouth gaping like a fish. But the sound of her cries—they tear me apart. The urge to join her is rushing up to meet me too fast. The last thing this man needs is one more sobbing mess in the middle of the night. I shake my head as if to clear the fog, and gently transfer her to Wyatt’s arms. He immediately begins bouncing and rubbing her back in small, gentle circles. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, sweet girl. What’s all this fuss about?” His voice is softer than usual, but he doesn’t talk in that typical baby voice as he attempts to soothe her.
I wait for it. The anxiety. But the sight of Wyatt holding her doesn’t fill me with dread, or make my limbs reach back out for her. There’s something there… like comfort, maybe. And another feeling I can’t quite place, one that wraps around my heart and squeezes so violently it takes the very breath from mylungs. I blink, watching as her cries turn into small hiccups. I take that as my cue to leave, making sure to shut the door as softly as possible.
I make it to the archway before I slide to the floor and tip my head toward the ceiling, reveling in how cold the wood feels against the back of my head. When Brinley’s cries blink out entirely, heat blares behind my eyes, and there’s nothing I can do to stop the dam of tears that break free.
The fire. Her father. My impatience.It’s easy to feel like a failure. To feel like maybe, just maybe, she deserves better.
I don’t know how much time passes before Wyatt joins me on the floor. He gets comfortable across from me—slinging his forearms over his knees and resting his back on the archway frame. We fall into a relaxed quiet for a few minutes, and it’s me who speaks first. “She never calms down for other people. I-I can’t thank you enough for that.”
His gaze lingers on my face, and a crinkle between his brows forms. Wyatt clears his throat and shakes his head. “Wanna talk about it?”
I notice he doesn’t ask me if I’m okay. I let my chin drop and suck in a breath, tracing a finger along the pattern on my pajama pants. “Your house is beautiful,” I mutter. I don’t know why I say it instead of answering him. Fighting and bickering with Wyatt is my forte, but this softer side of him? I’m not quite sure how to navigate it.
“That was all my old man. Haven’t touched a thing.” His tone pulls my gaze back up to him. His black shirt is thrown on haphazardly. His hair tousled with sleep. “I wasn’t asking about the house, though.”
That little piece of information–that little dip into his heart means more to me than maybe he realizes. I decide it’s only fair that I share a little with him, too. I sniffle, wiping at my face. “Some days, it feels like I do everything I can to be perfect, tobe what she needs, yet it almost always feels like nothing I do is enough.”
What kind of mother am I? I cry all the time. My patience is shot. Our home has burnt down. Her father wants nothing to do with us. I brought a child into this world with little to no backup when things like this go wrong.
I wanted so badly to be nothing like my mother. To redeem myself—because I swore, I’d be different. But still, I fell short.
It seems impossible. Every turn, every hurdle, every struggle has been thrown at me over and over again like the world just wants to see me fail. Is it easy for those who don’t want this life? And just harder for the ones that do? What kind of balance is that?
Brinley’s firsteverythingwas in that apartment. The first time she started crawling. Her first steps. The first time she called me ‘mama’. I can’t get those memories back. Not even the first crib she slept in.
Wyatt stares at me for a few beats, like he’s drinking in everything I’ve said. His attention is electric, and his eyes never leave mine as he says, “She doesn’t need you to be everything. She doesn’t need you to be perfect. She just needsyou. The one who stays when it’s hard. The one who wakes up at two in the morning to rock her back to sleep. You don’t need to be perfect; you just need to be her mom.”
I nod, swiping at another tear that falls with his words. We sit here, against the archway facing each other, until my sniffles subside and my face begins to dry. He shuffles, and then he’s standing. Towering over me as I look up at him. He gives me a teasing grin, so at odds with the tender words and soft looks he graced me with mere moments ago. “Try to get some sleep. Don’t wanna be late to your first day of work. I hear the boss is a dick.”
I huff a laugh as he passes me, but my body is reacting before my brain does, and my hand shoots out to grab his. I swear hisentire body stills. I swallow the lump in my throat, and voice a quiet, “Thank you.”
His eyes jump from our hands to my face, and squeezes it back. “Goodnight, Winnie.”
“Goodnight,” I say back. I tuck that hand, the one that reached for him, between my shoulder and chin. Letting my eyes close for just a moment. A part of me wishes he had stayed a little longer.
Chapter Six
WHITNEY
Asoft, amber glow filters through the small window of the guest room, painting the bed in streaks of yellow and orange. I lift my head to squint at the dainty clock on the bedside, seeing it reads six in the morning. Groaning, I roll onto my back and rub at my eyes, hoping to clear any sleep from them. The second I open them, I startle?—
A ball of black fur is hovering inches from my face, tail thumping wildly against the mattress. Before I can fully grasp reality, a big, wet tongue swipes across my cheek, dragging a surprised laugh out of me.
“Benji!” I gasp, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. “Good morning to you too,” I grumble, reaching up to scratch behind one of his ears. Benji has a habit of sneaking off to Wesley’s, and since Blake now lives there, he even goes as far as to stay overnight with them. I’m not surprised he wasn’t here when we first showed up.
