“Querida mía, I have every kink for you.”The moment lightens for a second before I sober again. “I want you to know—If you hadn't miscarried back then, I would've stepped up. Iwould've been excited, even if it would’ve completely changed our lives. I need you to know that.”
She looks away for a beat, her voice quieter when she speaks. “After I had some time to process it, I fell into a depression. I’d never been depressed and didn’t recognize what it was at first. It felt hard to do anything. Existing felt exhausting. I was grieving someone I never even knew, yet I felt so connected to them. And I felt guilty—because sometimes, I was relieved it happened. How messed up is that?”
“It's not messed up. You were young, scared, and dealing with a lot. That's normal. I just—I should've been there. I should've come after you. Fuck, I screwed up so badly.”
Her eyes swivel to mine, full of understanding I feel I don't deserve. “It's not like I made it easy for you. I blocked you on everything, shut you out completely. And honestly? I wouldn't have responded well if you had come after me. I was in such a dark place back then. Scottie and my mom were the only people I let in. They’re the only reason I even made it through school.”
I hold her closer, probably too tight, but I don’t care. My heart hurts for her, for us, for the loss of a baby I didn’t know existed.
I don’t like to buy into thewoe is mementality, but it’s hard not to in this instance. Our lives could’ve been so different, and I think a part of me will always mourn the future that never was.
CHAPTER 46
Dominic
IS THAT A GUN IN YOUR PANTS?
PRESENT
If it were up to me, we wouldn’t leave the bedroom for at least twenty-four hours. But Ellie wants to see the house, so we’re going to see the house, even though I’d rather keep her away from it for now.
It’s not that I don’t want her to see it; I do. I just don’t want her to see it like this. I imagined showing it to her closer to being finished—perfect—not in its current state.
A pile of garbage.
Ever since Ellie’s incident, I’ve all but neglected anything to do with the house. For all I know, we’re about to walk into an even bigger disaster than I can remember.
The drive is quiet, but comfortable. Ellie’s been staring out the window for most of the ride, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Something about her looks lighter. As if no longer carrying the burden of her secrets has finally let her take a full breath.
I steal glances at her when I can, catching the way the sunlight dances through her hair and the way she bites her lipabsentmindedly when she’s lost in her own head. Her face is bare of makeup, and while I find her stunning with or without, there’s something special about getting the stripped-down version of her. She’s beautiful in every light, but like this, she’s almost impossible to look away from.
We pull up to the house, and my chest constricts, preparing for the disaster. It’s so far from ready, the urge to turn around and hide it from her increases more and more the closer we get. It’s got potential, but right now it’s a far cry from the home I want it to be.
I kill the engine and step out, grabbing the keys from the console. Ellie follows me to the front door, her arms crossed against the crisp breeze, her eyes scanning the exterior.
“Still looks the same from the outside,” she says, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
“Hopefully not for long,” I reply, unlocking the door and pushing it open.
Inside, the place smells like sawdust and paint, and a combination of old wood and must. I’ve gutted most of it, but there’s still a long way to go. Exposed beams stretch across the ceiling, and half-finished drywall lines the hallways.
I almost forgot how behind I really am.
Ellie steps inside, taking it all in. “You’ve been busy,” she says, running her fingers along the edge of a workbench I set up in the foyer.
“Yeah, well, it feels like a lot of work and very little progress.” I shrug as I watch her move through the space.
Her eyes fall on the blueprint tacked to the wall, and she tilts her head, studying it. “Is this the layout?”
“More or less,” I say, walking over to stand beside her. “Some things are set, others are still up in the air.”
“What’s this?” she asks, pointing to a room marked off in thecorner.
I glance at the spot she’s pointing to and smile. “That’s the library.”
Her head whips toward me, eyes wide. “The library?”
“Yeah,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. “You always talked about wanting one. Remember? Back when we used to come here?”
