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Jace laughed. It had worked for her. The day he’d asked her to go for a ride and tell him everything she loved, and everything she didn’t, about Billy Patterson, was the day they both realized how much she loved him. It was also the day Jace realized she’d never love him the way she loved Billy.
“This is different.”
“It doesn’t matter how it’s different. It matters how it’s the same.”
“And how’s that?”
“There’s something going on with you that you’re keeping inside, not talking about, maybe not even acknowledging your feelings about. That’s the same.”
Everything she said was true. He doubted very much he’d ever be able to talk to anyone about it. Not even her.
Blythe was asleep when Tucker crept into her room. The nurse had just left, which meant he had at least an hour before anyone came to check on her again.
He hated to wake her, but they had to talk. He had to talk anyway, and she had to listen. He sat and watched her sleep. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this. The night they’d spent together, when they conceived the baby growing inside her, he’d watched her while she slept. She was as exhausted then as she was now. As strung out, too.
She hadn’t had much of a break between then and now. Pain, surgeries, pregnancy, almost losing the baby and, above all else, worry. The whole time, she also worried about him. He knew it as well as he knew his own name.
There was another thing he knew. She loved him. She was angry, and hurt, but she loved him.
She’d listen to him when she was ready. He didn’t need to do this tonight. He changed his mind about waking her. Instead, he’d let her sleep, get the rest she and the baby needed. He longed to rest his hand on the swell of her stomach, like he had when he first saw her. If he did that, though, she’d wake up.
For the last twelve hours, he’d been thinking about himself, not about her. He wanted to tell her, he wanted her to understand why he left, he wanted her to listen to him. But he hadn’t stopped to consider what she wanted.
He imagined that when he was gone, she’d wanted him to be there for her, to hold her and comfort her, but he hadn’t been here to do any of that.
“I love you, Blythe,” he whispered. “I love you so much. I’m going to show you how much.”
Tucker crept back out of the room as silently as he had come in.
Blythe had been holding her breath, waiting, waiting, waiting, to see what he’d do, what he’d say. He sat so quietly, for so long, she wasn’t sure why he came in. She hadn’t decided what she’d do if he tried to talk to her. She wanted to hear what he had to say. She prayed whatever it was would be enough that she could forgive him. That’s what she wanted more than anything—to forgive him. Sh
e wouldn’t make it easy on him, though. He didn’t deserve for it to be easy.
He said he loved her. That was almost enough by itself for her to forgive him. But she knew that, if she let him off that easy now, eventually she’d have to get answers. By then, he might not be willing to give them.
She had to stand her ground. He had to tell her why he left, and what happened in his past that made him leave all the time. He also had to promise her he’d never leave again, and he had to be convincing enough, when he did, that she believed him.
When Tucker came out of Blythe’s hospital room, Blythe’s father was waiting for him.
“Thought you left.”
“I’m back. Come with me,” he said, motioning toward the elevator. “Please,” he added when Tucker hesitated.
“Where are we going?”
“To the chapel. It’s on the second floor.”
“I’m not much of a praying man,” Tucker admitted.
“You will be today.”
There wasn’t anyone in the chapel when they went in.
“Have a seat,” Mark said, motioning to the pew. He walked around and sat in the pew in front of Tucker and rested his arm on the back of it.
“It’s clear to me that there’s more going on here than you being an asshole.”
Tucker shook his head and looked at the ceiling. “Depends on how you look at it, I guess.”
