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And being wanted instead of tolerated is so, so foreign to me, I can't help but cling to the feeling for as long as possible.
“Hey.” A hand lands on my shoulder. I tilt my head back, blearily staring up at the man leaning over the back of the sofa. “I put Izzy in a guest room. Made up another one for you two.”
I shake my head as I push to my feet. “That’s okay. I can drive.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“It’s—”
“Sunday.” Cass interrupts. “C’mon. Please just stay. Save me a heart attack.”
My argument dies before it’s really born, slain by soft eyes and a quiet plea. “Okay.”
“Want me to get August?”
I glance at my son, curled up in the fetal position with a cushion cuddled to his chest. “Nah. He’s alright down here.”
Still half-asleep, I let Cass lead me towards the stairs, following his instructions to take the room at the end of the hall while he disappears into the kitchen to procure whatever he thinks I need to survive the night.
When I push open what I think is the right door, I immediately realize I’m wrong. This isn’t a guest bedroom. It’s not a bedroom at all, or at least not the regular kind. Instead of hardwood like the rest of the house, soft carpet covers the floor. A rocking chair sits in the corner. Parts of an unassembled crib lean against a wall covered in small, rectangular stripes of paint, swatches of different colors. There’s an open box labeledAurorathat, when I peek inside, I find full of baby clothes.
“Those were Rory’s.” Leaning against the doorway with his arms folded over his chest, Cass watches me carefully, smiling softly. “She brought them over.”
Stunned and confused and about a dozen other things, I blink rapidly, wondering if maybe I’m still asleep. “This is a nursery.”
“You sound surprised.” He pads towards me, a careful hand settling on my shoulder and squeezing. “We talked about this. You helped me pick stuff out.”
Yeah. I remember. But… I don’t know. I’m not sure I expected him to follow through.
It only takes one sniff before strong arms wrap around me, smothering me with warm comfort. “Tell me what happened?”
Sucking in a deep, Cass-scented breath, I unstick my arms from my side and slip them around his waist. “Not really.”
Rubbing slow, steady circles on my back, he murmurs, “It was his dad, wasn’t it?”
A sad, frustrated noise escapes me.
“I don’t wanna hate him,” I whisper. “But he makes it so fucking hard.”
“John?”
I nod against his chest.
“What happened?”
What always happens. I let myself get sucked in, I give him another chance I swear will be his last, and I fuck myself and my kid over. “We went for dinner. He was a dick.”
The circles move higher, get harder, knuckles kneading right between my shoulder blades and coaxing more confessions out of me. “He wants August to live with him.”
There’s the briefest stutter before his movements continue. “For how long?”
“Until he gets bored of raising a child, probably.” I shift my head so my cheek is to this chest, the thump of his heart soothing me. “For years, he pretended August didn’t exist. He literally told people there was no way he had a son. I get being young and not wanting to be a dad, I really do, but the way he reacted…” I exhale shakily. “He was so fucking awful for so long and now he wants to act like it never happened. He suddenly says he wants to be a dad but nothing has changed,hehasn’t changed. He still treats August like shit.”
“It sounds like he treats you like shit too.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
