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That I’d just said goodbye to the woman that I loved.
But this was for the better.
It was time to make things right.
Saying goodbye was never easy, and the fact that I’d been careless about putting my daughter in a position to have her heart broken was a reminder that it was time to wake the fuck up.
I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
* * *
The next few days were brutal. The weather was gray and rainy, and my daughter was not herself. No matter what the fuck I did, she was… sad. I’d slept on her bedroom floor every night since the accident. She’d cried herself to sleep, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave her. She cried for Presley every day and asked if we could call her. But I knew time would heal her heart, so I thought it best if we let a few weeks pass. Otherwise, this would just keep being an issue.
She was clearly disappointed in me for taking Maxine back home, but she was so sad about Presley that she just wasn’t speaking much at all right now.
I’d let her miss two days of school, and I’d canceled my appointments at work to stay home with her. After one night at my parents’ house, we returned home.
Even Bob Picklepants was a sad sack. I hadn’t known the bastard could appear so miserable because he was rarely awake long enough to display any real emotion. But he’d just stayed in bed the last few days, and he’d barely eaten.
I was losing control of my home.
My family.
And I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. I’d lie awake listening to the sound of Gracie breathing, and I felt completely empty inside.
Like I’d lost my capacity for joy.
I’d broken my daughter’s heart by introducing her to a woman she’d grown attached to.
And I wasn’t ready to deal with the fact that I was grieving the loss of Presley Duncan all over again.
And it hurt like hell.
twenty-seven
Presley
It had beentwo weeks since I’d returned to the city. Wes had emptied the penthouse of his personal belongings and left everything else. But nothing about it felt like home anymore. I’d never realized how sterile and cold the apartment was.
I’d stared at the artwork last night and wondered why I’d had that hanging in my home. It was dark and kind of creepy. I’d taken all the paintings down and stacked them near the door. I was having them delivered to Wes because he loved them, and he should have them.
I’d taped Gracie’s paintings to my living room wall until the frames I ordered arrived. They comforted me and made me feel close to them.
But my body ached. Physically ached.
I was hardly eating or sleeping. My communication with Cage was minimal. I’d sent a daily text asking how he and Gracie were feeling. His responses were short and to the point.
How’s Gracie doing?
Cage
She’s hanging in there.
How about you?
Cage
Same. You?
