She grins. “Deal.”
“Okay, now shut your eyes,” I insist. I glance at Rosie again and mouth,Is this okay?
She nods and a small smile pulls at her lips. “I’m gonna go boil some water for tea. ’Night, baby girl.” She gives Charlie a kiss on the cheek before tiptoeing out of the room.
I cross my arms and lean back in the chair, gazing at my daughter.My daughter. It’s still sinking in even days after learning about her existence.
Watching her little brown eyes blink closed and her chest expanding and deflating as she slips into sleep is probably one of the most relaxing things I’ve ever witnessed. Forget meds. Forget therapy. Just give me this. Night after night.
She’s so peaceful now when moments ago she was a wreck. Just like me when I’m in panic mode. Hell, I was there tonight. Racing to the restaurant, rushing inside like a lunatic searching for a stuffed mermaid that cost me sixteen bucks. But the stupid relief I felt when I found it was something I’ve never experienced.
For the first time since learning about Charlie, I’ve got my first glimpse into what it feels like to be a father. It was terrifying. And she wasn’t even hurt. I can’t imagine how I’d be if she were in danger or sick.
My gut tightens and it hits me in this moment—I want this. All the time. Not part time and sure as hell not only for the week Charlie and Rosie are in Golden Harbor. I don’t know how that’s going to happen. But I know I need to do everything in my power to make it happen.
Rosie pops her head into the bedroom and gestures for me to come. I glance back at Charlie and my heart is torn. I could sit here and watch her sleep all night. But I don’t belong here. I rise to my feet and pull the blanket up to Charlie’s chin before turning around and joining Rosie in the hall.
“You want to stay for some tea? We should talk,” she whispers.
She’s standing so close. Too close. Her toes are practically touching mine. The walls in the hallway shut in around us and I pull in a much-needed breath.
My brain knows we’re going to talk about Charlie. She’s offering me tea and a chat not whiskey and sex like when we were first married. But I can’t convince my hormones of that. It’slike anytime I’m around her, I can’t think straight. I either want to fight or screw. Maybe both. Yeah, probably both.
I swallow. “Yeah, sure. Tea sounds…good.”
She smiles and places her palm to her stomach. The action sends a trigger to my brain, reminding me of her illness. I follow her down the hallway toward the stairs. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, waving her hand in a little twirl over her shoulder. “You know, the normal.Mynormal,” she clarifies.
I do know. More than I want to. I didn’t simply marry Rosie, I married her chronic illness. The two are not separate from one another. They can’t be when the disease is that severe. But I didn’t mind. I loved her. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her.
“Please tell me you’ve found some relief, some alternative medicine or surgery after all these years?”
She hunches her shoulder and we enter the kitchen. It’s clean but feels empty with no sign of Dottie.
“I’ve had a few surgeries. The symptoms got worse after I had to have a c-section with Charlie. More tissue attached to my organs. More specifically, my bowels. But who wants to talk about that?” She reaches in the cupboard for two mugs, and I study her while she moves around the kitchen with a little stagger.
My gut twists and I clench my teeth, leaning against the counter and crossing one ankle over the other. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“Thanks,” she mumbles, filling the mugs with hot malty scented tea. “I’m still debating on a hysterectomy. But my doctor says I’m young, I might want more kids.”
My gaze flickers up from the steaming mugs and I catch her eye. “Do you? Want more kids, I mean?” I don’t have a right to ask. But then again, do I? Charlie having a sibling would concern me.
So I don’t take the question back.
She pulls her lip between her teeth and I study the movement before lifting my gaze again. We stare at one another, heat coiling through my entire body as my heart picks up speed.
Oh hell, she’s beautiful.
I don’t want her having kids with anyone else. Hell, I don’t want her fucking anyone else.
She shakes her head, breaking the trance between us. “I don’t know. For now, I’m on birth control. But none of it matters anyway. You and I both know a hysterectomy isn’t a cure. It’s just a Band-Aid.”
“True…” I sift through what I remember about the illness. “But it might give you more relief than one of the other Band-Aids.”
Rosie brings her mug up to her mouth and blows it lightly. “How do you remember all this?”
I rub at the back of my neck. “Oh, c’mon, even though you hadn’t been officially diagnosed, I knew that disease backward and forward. You don’t just forget.” I give her an impish grin and pick up my own mug. I don’t tell her the full truth. That Dottie told me she was finally diagnosed with endometriosis a few years ago. And that I’ve continued to keep up on the research, including following the endo foundation account on Instagram.
