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“He also told me you feel responsible.”
I turn my head, unable to stand the look of pity in his eyes.
His hand grips my jaw, pulling my head back. He looks directly into my eyes. “You’re not.”
My body is wracked with uncontrollable tremors as I cry out, “I should have listened to him!”
He brings me to his chest, holding me tight. His hands tangle in my hair. “No. I should’ve told you, especially after Davey attacked you at the club.”
I want to agree with him, but I can’t. Brady’s loyalty to his friends and family is one of the things I love most about him. I understand why he didn’t tell me. He harbored his own secrets for years. His embarrassment and shame were more than he could bear, much as I’m sure it is for Davey.
I pull away, reach up, and hold his face between my hands. “It’s not your fault, either, Brady. I won’t let you own the blame.” He shakes his head, reaching for my hands. I hold tight. “It’s not. I understand why you never told me. You’re a loyal friend. I love that about you. I refuse to fault you for that.”
He pulls me back to his chest. I cry against him, wondering where we go from here. How do we move past this?
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers.
I’m not sure which one of us he’s trying to convince more. “Where is she?”
His body tenses beneath me. “Tug is making funeral arrangements.”
Hearing him crushes me again, causing tears to return with fiery vengeance. “Oh.” It’s all I can manage to say. As morbid as it is, I want to hold her tiny hand, kiss her cheek, and tell her I love her. Tell her how sorry I am. I never will. I’ll never hear her laugh or watch her take her first steps. She’ll never go to prom. Brady will never walk her down the aisle. I failed her. More importantly, I failed Brady. For the first time since we’ve been together, I failed to be strong for him. I vow to try now. He’s suffered enough.
Chapter 15
Tori
After three grueling days, I finally use the restroom, and the hospital agrees to release me. I can’t wait to go home. Brady has doted over me nonstop, and as grateful as I am, if I don’t get out of here, I’m going to lose it. I want to sleep in my own bed.
Once I’ve signed a few forms, I’m wheeled downstairs. Brady pulls up in his truck and opens the passenger door before helping me inside. The trip home is short and quiet. I sit with my head resting on the window, watching the dilapidated buildings pass by. I wanted out of the hospital, but now that I am, the hollow pit of my stomach feels deeper. My head aches. My fingers won’t stop shaking. The constant vibration in my body makes me feel sick. Reality sets in. I’m going home without my baby girl.
When the house comes into view, I fight off tears, willing my mind to stay strong.
Brady insists on carrying me into the house. He sets me down on the sofa. As I look around the room in a haze, I try to hold back my tears. I fail. They exit my eyes with force, like they do every damn second of every damn day since Mona died. It’s a deep, torturous kind of pain, a constant ache, a constant reminder.
I stand up. “I’m going to go up to bed.”
“I’ll help you up the stairs.” Brady’s arms are around me, guiding toward the stairs.
I hold my hand up, shaking my head faintly. “No. I’m fine.”
His hands fall from my waist as he gives me a disappointed frown. “Okay. I’ll check on you in a bit.”
I nod and head up the stairs. On the way to our bedroom, I spot the open nursery door. I step into what should have been our baby’s room and glance toward the closet. I’m not entirely sure how long I stand there, staring at the neatly hung outfits. I imagine what she would have looked like. I envision her in one of the outfits. I see Brady in the rocker soothing her to sleep with a song.
My neck heats as each thought increases my anger.
It’s not fair. I want my fucking baby!
“Why?” I scream before racing to the closet and tearing each piece of clothing from its hanger. I run into the bathroom across the hall and return a minute later with scissors. One by one, I cut the outfits to shreds, trying desperately to shake off the feeling of hopelessness that has consumed me since the day I awoke to an empty bassinet. Next, I go to the crib, pull the comforter out, and slice into it repeatedly. My gaze lands on the pink teddy bear in the corner of the crib. Brady gave it to me two days after we found out our baby was a girl. Suddenly exhausted, I sink to the floor, my fight all but gone. I clutch the bear to my chest, glancing up at the door. Brady watches me from the doorway, his expression enough to bring on a new round of tears, but they don’t come. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
He shrugs before walking over and sitting on the floor next to me. “I thought you might need to get it out.”
The tears are trying to come, but instead all I can do is retch. Maybe I’m out of tears. I should be. “I’m so sorry.”
His hands slide under my jaw, pulling me forward. He kisses my forehead before bringing me to his chest. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It wasn’t yours, either.” My voice is a whisper as I peer up at him. “What happens now?”
