Page 111 of Not Mine to Rescue

“I said, I don’t care. I don’t care about the odds. I don’t want to know them.”

I laughed in his face. There was a time, during the last pregnancy, I’d said the same damn thing. “You think that’s it? That’s all you need to do? Ignore it?”

“I’m not ignoring anything. I’m saying we should⁠—”

“You’re telling me what to do.”

He stood up and paced the room. As he did, he shoved his fingers through his hair, transferring soot and mud into the strands. Finally, he squared off with me.

“You’re right. It’s up to you. Not me. I don’t get a say in this.”

He was going to make me do this alone, wasn’t he?

I couldn’t.

Not even the world’s best therapist would be able to save me if I were really alone. Which left me no choice. None. “For what it’s worth? I’m sorry for everything. If I am, I’ll ask about terminating⁠—”

“No, you won’t. You can’t.” His face twisted. “Shit. I mean, I know I can’t force you, but I can beg you not to do that.”

“Beg?” I was getting mixed signals. He claimed he’d be a bad father, that he was out of my league, not caring enough to have a say, but now…beg? Out of frustration, I kicked the closest thing to me. The cotton ottoman flew across the room and hit the wall, landing and rolling onto its side and showing its belly like I’d killed it. The dogs barked at the suddenness of it all. DA hopped off the couch he’d been lying on and ran around the stool, biting at it like he had to finish the job.

Molly joined in, and it took more than a minute to settle them down. When it was finally calm again, Wombat spoke. “I’m sorry. I was out of line. It’s your choice.”

Unfortunately, I really didn’t have a choice in this. Not one I could articulate. It was so complicated. I knew deep down he was right. My heart was fighting for this. I wanted to try. I wanted to be something so badly I wished I could ignore reality. My poor broken well of hope was begging right alongside him.

It was time to admit the truth.

“I— I think I’m like you. I’d love it, too. Even if it can’t…be. And, I don’t want to be like that because it will devastate me in the end. I’m not strong enough. I can’t—” I couldn’t get my hopes up. “I don’t want to watch my dreams die. Not again.” I crumpled onto the couch and pulled Molly close.

“This shit’s hard, isn’t it?”

He had no idea. “It gets harder. Trust me.” So much harder.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Wombat

The anguish in Honor’s voice cut like a blade. I knew she was being honest with me, but still had no idea how I could help.

Fuck. I couldn’t even help myself. The best I could do was get out of her hair. “Thanks for taking DA.”

“About that, he’s been lethargic.”

“Has he thrown up?”

“No, just…fragile, if you could call a sixty-pound pile of muscle and bones that.”

That was new, but Lemon said he’d be that way for at least another week or two with the bland diet and rest.

“I’ll let Lemon know, she’s at Sonnet’s right now. I think she’ll be back by the time I get home.” My sister was still reeling from rehousing so many rescue animals and likely escaped for the afternoon because of all the bikers who’d been in and out of the house. She claimed it messed with her energy.

There were things I needed to do back at the house. I hadn’t planned on doing more than picking up DA. But I was stalling because I couldn’t leave Honor alone, could I? I didn’t know. That was the problem. I didn’t know how to fix things. That was something I usually excelled at. Finding the right place to distract, distance, bullshit my way through, and occasionally hammer the solution home. But Honor soaked into my soul. When she felt pain, I felt it too. And she was hurting. How could I walk away?

I filled the gap with rambling plans instead. “Also, Fly’s staying the night, but only to help cover emergencies. He’s in a lot of pain. I wish Walt had someone else, but none of them are competent enough to handle it. I think it’s wearing on him.”

“You’re tired, too. I’ll come over.”

“Don’t. I’m in no shape to—” She needed to stay safe. There was no telling what Winter would do.