That was fine. After missing out on so much, Anna was my priority. If Kinsley needed space to process our new normal, I’d give her as much as she needed, but she was out of her mind if she thought I wanted anyone other than her.
With a long breath, Kinsley shook her head. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that, Jace.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she groaned. “We barely know each other. And no matter what happens next, we’re in each other’s lives. Forever. If we start something, and it doesn’t work out…”
Her unspoken words played out in front of me.Then Anna would be the one who got hurt.From the moments I’d spent with Kinsley, she was an incredible mom. She put Anna above everything and had sacrificed a lot to give her the best life. She was right; we didn’t know each other. At least, not as well as I wanted.
“Tell me a story, Kinsley.”
Her dark umber eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“Tell me something, anything, as long as it’s true.” I pushed up, resting my head on the pillow. I smirked at her frown, her eyes searching for the reason behind my request. “Please.”
That word made her melt; her smile was softer than it had been minutes earlier. She kept quiet as she moved through the apartment before settling on the couch. Humming to herself, she chewed on her lower lip, her eyes soft and distant until a slight curl formed on her lips. “Have I ever told you about my first baseball game?”
“No, but I’d like you to.”
She smirked into the phone. “I was five years old.”
“Shit, that’s young.”
“Yup.” Kinsley beamed back at me. “But my mom was a diehard Rebels fan. She never missed a game, and opening day was practically a holiday in our house.” Her voice cracked, and I itched to hold her, but all I could do was sit there, waiting for her to continue. “Sorry,” she croaked. “I don’t talk about her often.”
“You don’t have to,” I offered. “Not if it’s too hard.”
“No.” She stood a little straighter. “My mom deserves to be remembered, and I want Anna to know what she was like." Some of that heaviness had faded from her gaze. “I named her after her, you know. My mom—her name was Annalise.”
I couldn’t help but smile at her words. I’d never met my daughter’s namesake, but it was easy to see how much Kinsley loved her. My voice lowered. “Tell me about the game, Kins.”
She laughed, the sound so bright and cheerful, it made my lips turn up. “So, like I said, I was five, and my mom won a pair of Rebel tickets in a work competition.” She rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure she rigged the whole thing. She’d do anything to see them play.”
She softly smiled to herself, playing with her favorite pillow on the couch, as if trapped in the memory. “It was one of the best days of my life. I had no interest in baseball, but watching my mom explain every play? It was like she came alive in that stadium. We ate hot dogs and popcorn until I almost got sick, and then we stayed in this super fancy hotel. Before we left the next day, she let me pick whatever I wanted from the breakfast buffet.”
“She sounds like an amazing mom.”So different from my parents. My first game, I’d been stuck in a box, forced to smile and play nice for my dad’s prominent friends. My mother stuck to the corner, only talking to me when no one else was looking. I don’t think I ever saw the field, much less any of the plays. She left only a month later, and my dad hardened even more, not bothering to take me to any more games unless he needed a photo for the press.
Kinsley nodded. “She was the best. Sometimes, being here, I still feel her, like she’s going to walk out of her bedroom at any minute and scold me for working too hard.”
We sat in silence for a moment, not needing words to feel the connection between Kinsley and her mother. I cleared my throat. “What happened to her?”
“Ovarian cancer,” Kinsley breathed. “By the time they found it…there wasn’t a lot of time left. She tried to hide it from me, didn’t want me to worry. So when I found out,” she inhaledsharply, “it never would have been enough time. Not for us. But I would have done anything for a little more.”
“I’m sorry you lost her.”
“Me too,” Kinsley answered. “I wish she could have met Anna. She would have been the best grandmother. Driven us crazy, because she would have spoiled our girl, but she would have loved her so fiercely.” She lifted her eyes, finally meeting mine, and they were a little redder than earlier. “What about you? What are your parents like?”
“Nothing like yours.” But diving into my childhood trauma wasn’t something I wanted to get into tonight. I cleared my throat, my eyes getting heavy with exhaustion, but I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. As I leaned back into the pillow, I propped the phone against the spare one. “Tell me another story.”
She chuckled but didn’t question me. Instead, her melodic voice kept going, telling me all about her day and Anna’s latest obsessions. Apparently, bananas were the hit of the week. She spoke about anything and everything, and, as I drifted off to sleep, her voice was the last thing I heard.
TWENTY-FIVE
“Are you sure about this?”
If I chewed my thumbnail any longer, it’d bleed, but my hands refused to stop shaking. I looked around the room for anything I might have missed. Despite me cleaning for the better part of the week, the room still felt too cluttered; every time I searched the corners, a new bundle of dust seemed to appear. My nose scrunched as I perused the living room again. Shit, was that another stain on the carpet? At this point, it’d probably be easier to throw the damn thing out.
I reached down, scrubbing it with a towel, when a hand rested on my back. “You have nothing to worry about, Kins.”
