“When was that?” She hurt herself enough to leave a scar, and I wasn’t there.
“Last year. I kept begging Mom to let me try. We don’t get waves like that here. She finally let me and then I hurt myself. She was pretty upset.”
“I bet.” I can’t imagine how I’d react to seeing my daughter with a head injury. It’s been bad enough watching my nephew hurt himself. The instinct I’ve always had with Ellie—to protect, to save—is already magnified when I look at Haven. “You were okay, though? Just this tiny scar?”
“Yeah, just that.” She flips another page in the book.
Every entry I see is another notch in my aching sadness. After another flip, one of the photos catches my eye. I stall her hand before she can zip past.
“Are you looking at Uncle Isaac?” Haven glances from me back to the photo.
“Yeah.” So many of Isaac’s things I burned in a drug-fueled rage after he died. So stupid. Getting rid of the remembrances didn’t make me miss him any less.
“Does talking about him make you happy-sad like it does my mom?”
“That’s what your mom calls it?”
“Yeah, she says the memories are happy, but it makes her sad she doesn’t get to make any new ones. Talking about you used to make her happy-sad too.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, willing myself not to cry again. “That sounds about right.” The words squeeze out of my tight throat. “I might call mine sad-happy. Sad I missed so much, and happy I won’t ever miss any more.” I tug at the neck of my shirt. It’s hot in here. Shifting the book off my lap, I stand. “I need some air.” I glance around her room for a door or window I can open.
“The air conditioning is on. But there’s a balcony off my mom’s room.” Haven jumps off the bed and leads the way through to the rear of the house.
When we enter Ellie’s bedroom, the space is wrong and right at the same time. It smells like her in here—a weird mixture of flowers and vanilla. The scent stops me in my tracks. The decor is neutral like the rest of the house, and the photos on the wall tell the story of her life with Haven, here in Bermuda. I’m nowhere to be found. Of course I’m not, but the ache in my chest spreads like a virus.
Haven opens one of the French doors and turns to me. “There are a couple chairs out there. I’m getting a drink. Do you want one?”
I shake my head and step outside. With a deep breath, I take my gum out of my pocket. I pop two pieces out of the foil and stuff them into my mouth. The motion of putting them on my tongue is comforting. Better gum than the alternative.
“Back in a minute,” Haven says, retreating into the house.
The ocean is calm again today. Haven is right, there isn’t much of a surf on this side of the island. The humid air penetrates my lungs when I breathe in and out, stilling the chaos inside me. Outside is good. My brain clicks back to a photo I saw in Ellie’s room. On the dresser as we walked through was a photo in a frame. Something pinches my consciousness. Why did it jump out at me? I step into the room and cross to take a closer look.
Ellie, Haven, and some other guy. One big, happy family.
Another surge of anger roils through me. I’m tempted to throw the picture, to smash it on the floor or to drop it from Ellie’s balcony and watch it shatter below. In my pocket, I squeeze my stress ball while staring at the photo.
“What are you doing?” Ellie’s voice comes from the doorway.
I hold up the photo to her without saying a word.
“I dated him for a couple of years. We broke up six months ago. I just haven’t gotten around to putting a new picture in the frame. It’s been ten years. Did you really think I wouldn’t have dated anyone else?”
“That’s not the problem.” I bite down hard on the gum, chewing with force. “The problem is him in the photo looking as though he’s Haven’s dad.”
“He was good to her.” She takes the photo from my hand, tension radiating off her. She opens a drawer and lays it in, facedown.
“I should have had a chance to be good to her.”
“You have a chance now.”
“Yeah, thanks to TMZ. I can’t even believe TMZ made me a father.”
“I’m sorry.” There’s more steel in her voice than there was last time. “I never wanted you to find out that way.” She’s reached the end of her apology rope. Too bad. She needs to make amends for the last ten years. One or two conversations aren’t going to heal those wounds.
“I’ve been here for days. I’m not convinced you were ever planning to tell me about Haven while I was capable of understanding what it meant.”
“I wanted to make sure you were clean and sober,” she says. “Haven can’t be thrown into our old life.”
“My old life hasn’t existed for a couple of years.”
“Yeah, I’m sure with Anna around there’re no drugs or violence or shady people.”
“That’s not me. I’m not doing those things.”
“You’re a party to them. You’re playing with fire. And honestly, I’m not comfortable with Haven being in a house with Anna when she’s doped up and unpredictable.”
“You know how I feel about my sister.” My anger rushes out of me like water through a crumbling dam. I don’t even want that lifestyle for my nephew, but there isn’t much I can do other than be there.
“You love her. Consider yourself responsible. I understand. But you have a daughter now. You have to protect her. Even when that means you’re protecting her from Anna.”
“Who’s Anna?” Haven is in the doorway, sipping from her cup.
“I’m sorry, honey.” Ellie flushes when she realizes Haven heard her. “I shouldn’t be talking to your dad about this stuff right now.”
“Who is she, Dad?” She cocks her head.
“Anna’s my sister.” Watching her try to best her mother is a little amusing. Ellie shakes her head and gives me an annoyed look. “She was going to find out at some point. I think there have probably been enough secrets, don’t you?”
“Anna has the same sickness as your dad.”
“Except worse,” I chime in.
“Wyatt,” she hisses a warning. “She’s nine. She doesn’t need all the honest details.”
“I get to make some of those decisions now, right?”
Ellie’s eyes widen, and there’s a chance she might start levitating. Haven recognizes her mood.
“I’m going to talk to Aunt Nikki for a minute. When you’re done fighting, Dad, do you want to go swimming?”
“Sure.” Her careless use of the word Dad echoes in the room. My anger has subsided for now, and I’m sort of enjoying winding Ellie up.
“No. No swimming.” Ellie slashes her hand through the air. “There will be people taking photos.”
“Let them take photos. They might as well use their lenses and get shots from far away than pursue us when we try to leave.”
“It’s never an either-or situation. It’ll be both.”
Haven is gone from the doorway. She got Ellie’s sense of what’s appropriate. I would have stayed for this conversation as a kid. My parents’ verbal fireworks made them seem as though they cared about something.
Parents. We’re her parents. I’m the one Haven is looking at and wondering about.
“This isn’t going to work. We need to present a united front on things.” Ellie sighs.
“I won’t cave to whatever you think is best. I get a say now.” She won’t railroad me into towing an invisible, arbitrary line she’s created. “You can’t pretend I don’t.”
“A say is fine.” She searches my face, frustration and sadness mingling. “But she’s impressionable. She’s looking at us to make good choices and decisions. What’s easy isn’t always what’s best.”
“Sometimes they’re the same. Why do you think hiding out is what’s best? The storm is at the door. It’s out there. We control the spin. This is PR 101. Haven and I go swimming. Hell, you can come
too, if you want. We appear to be a happy, functional unit. If there doesn’t appear to be drama, there’s less drama. They get their photos and their made-up stories.”
She crosses her arms.
“She won’t even know they’re taking the photos. We understand what the crush of the press is like.” Even though I’m pissed at her, my unwavering desire to shield her from anything bad keeps my anger in check. Sadness coats her, and I want to figure out how to fix it, even if she caused her own misery.
“I never wanted this level of attention for her. It’s why we live here.”
“Come outside with Haven and me. Let them get their photos. Maybe they’ll think their scoop isn’t a scoop at all. Maybe they’ll think they were the ones who were duped for ten years.”
“Wyatt, I’m—”
“Get changed, Ellie. Let’s go put on a show. We need to protect our daughter, and this is the best way I know how.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ellie
Nine Years Ago
Staring down at my three-month-old daughter, I wish her awake. I like her best when her eyes are open, when I find hints of Wyatt in her features. The swell, the rush of love people say happens when you first lay eyes on your child, hasn’t happened.
Numb. That’s what I feel. And exhausted. So exhausted.
This absence of emotional connection is my punishment for keeping Wyatt out of her life. He can’t connect with her and neither can I. A good mother loves her baby.
There’s a gentle knock on the doorframe, and Calshae is in the entryway to Haven’s bedroom, concerned etched on her face. “Ellie, are you okay?”
I turn back to Haven’s sleeping form.
“You’re crying again.” She scans me up and down, assessing. “You’ve lost more weight too.”
“I’m fine. I still have lots of baby weight to lose.” I brush past her to exit the room. If Haven doesn’t get her nap, she’ll cry. No more wailing. I can’t take the noise. “You just let yourself in?”
“I knocked and called your name. I was worried.”
Her help isn’t needed today or any day. She’s been a broken record since she found out I was pregnant, urging me to tell Wyatt the truth.
“Do you want me to stay and you can get some rest?” Calshae’s tone is even, like I’m the problem, like I’m being difficult.
“No, I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“There’s no shame in needing help.”
“Women raise babies all the time. I’ll figure it out.” I enter the galley kitchen with her following behind. Buying this house is one of the few things I’ve done right since coming back to Bermuda. The place suits me. Ocean views. Not too much house to look after for one person. Privacy.
Calshae takes a deep breath and jams her hands into the pockets of her miniskirt. “Is how you’re behaving about Wyatt? You can go see him. You can tell him. Whether he’s with that other girl or not.”
“Katrina. You mean Katrina.” Her name is bitter on my tongue. Didn’t take him long to move someone else into the house, into his bed.
“From what I’ve seen, he doesn’t look at her like he looked at you.”
“How would I even know if he was in LA?” I grab a mug from the cupboard and fill it with old, bitter coffee. “I don’t know his schedule anymore.”
“No one in his circle would tell you?”
“I left him because he wouldn’t get sober.”
“You’re miserable. How much worse could being with him be?”
I stare at her, turning over her words. Maybe being with Wyatt would help. She’s right that I’m not sure I could feel worse. I’m watching myself spin, spin, spin away into nothing.
“Maybe Wyatt would be able to help you. Maybe he’d want to help you.” Calshae gives me a hopeful look.
I brush away more tears, and I sip my coffee, but the tears keep coming. Sometimes I don’t even know I’m crying. “I’ll think about it.” I gulp the bitter coffee, and I pour myself another one, even though it’s cold and sharp at the back of my throat.
“He deserves to know.”
“Oh, I’m aware of what you think. Trust me. I’m sure lots of people think they know better than me. But they don’t get to decide. I do. I decide. You cannot comprehend what he’s like when he’s using. Until you’ve seen him in person, until you’re the one trying to explain his behavior to someone else, you don’t get a say.”
“I’m gonna go.” She walks around the island to the side entrance. “Call me if you need help, someone to talk to, whatever.”
The click of the door echoes through the kitchen, and I make it to my room before I collapse on the bed, sobbing. Something is wrong with me. Maybe that is Wyatt or Wyatt’s absence from my life. If I tell him, maybe I can snap out of this freefall.
Before I can change my mind, I dial the number for Yasmeen, Wyatt’s travel agent, from memory. She confirms Wyatt is in LA, and she offers to book me a flight, but I decline. The idea of seeing him has my heart racing, swirling its way into my throat.
Once I hang up, I sit and cradle the phone in my hands. Haven can’t come. I dial Nikki’s number. “Can you watch Haven?” I don’t bother with a hello.
“Uh,” Nikki says. “I guess? You getting groceries or something?”
“Or something. When can you get here?”
“I’ll be over soon.” There’s a beat of hesitation before she continues. “Are you okay? You sound weird.”
“Fine.” I grab a duffel bag out of my closet and throw clothes in it. I hang up and call the
airport for the next direct flight. There’s a coach seat left on a plane leaving in four hours. That’s good enough for me. By the time Nikki arrives, I’ve packed my bag but done little else.
“Where are you going?” Nikki eyes my overnight bag.
She scans the messy house and frowns. There are toys, blankets, empty bottles, diapers, wipes, and dishes littering every room. It’s hard to believe a baby can create such chaos. The thought of picking up even one thing makes my head spin.
“I think you might need some help. This place is a disaster,” Nikki says.
“No, I’m fine. Quick trip to LA.” I wave off her concern.
“Audition?” Nikki plops onto the couch. “I didn’t know you were going back to work. What’ll you do with Haven?”
“Not work,” I say, impatient. “Wyatt.”
“He called you?” She turns wide eyes to me.
“No, no. I just . . .” I shake my head.
“You’re going to tell him? That’s a bad idea. Such a bad idea. He can’t help you. He can’t even help himself lately. Have you been paying attention to anything?” She narrows her eyes.
“You don’t get a say.”
“You’re going to shower, right?” Nikki sighs, and she scans my face.
“I’ll be staying at a hotel, so I’ll glam myself up before I go over.” I pick up my bag and give her a dirty look.
“If people see you . . .”
“I used to live there. Getting in and out without being seen is easy. I’ll be fine.” My idea is good. She should stop trying to drag me down.
“How long?” Nikki stands and goes to the kitchen. The fridge door opens. “Did you leave bottles? Breastmilk? Formula? Whatever else I need to look after a baby?”
“Call Mom if you need help.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing?” Nikki stares at me around the door of the fridge.
“I’m fine!” I shout. “Why does everyone think I’m not fine? Everything is fine. Once I get Wyatt back, once I tell him, everything will be more than fine.”
“He’s sober? Clean? Doesn’t seem like he’s anywhere close, from what I’ve seen.”
“I don’t care anymore.” I open the side door to exit the house. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”
“Ellie.” Nikki follows me to the door. “I think you might need some help.”
&
nbsp; “I’m going,” I say. “I’m going to tell him, to get him back.”
She leans against the island. “I start my real estate course in three days. You need to be home by then.”
“Of course, of course.” I give her a little wave as I close the door behind me.
The next morning, I text Kyle when I get to the side entrance of Wyatt’s property. Kyle appears within minutes, and he grins, unlocking the gate and swinging it wide. “You coming back?” He scans me from head to toe. “Wyatt’s been a mess.”
I ignore his comment and try to keep focused on why I’m here. “I wanted to talk to him for a minute. I’m guessing he’s home?” He was never a morning person, and I doubt that’s changed in the last year. More of a mid- to late-afternoon kind of guy.
“Yeah.” Kyle’s enthusiasm fades. “Are you okay? You look tired. Don’t seem like yourself.”
“I’m fine.” I give a slight laugh. “Long flight.”
“Uh.” Kyle sucks in a breath as we walk to the main door. He scratches the back of his head. “Wyatt’s been having some parties and . . .”
“I got it.” His warning could mean so many things. But I don’t want to discuss Wyatt with Kyle. Seeing Wyatt, talking to him, that’s my priority.
“Okay, I didn’t want you going in there unaware.”
I don’t want to ask, to speak her name, but if he’s still living with someone else, I need to brace myself. “Katrina . . .”
“Is gone. She moved out a few months ago.”
“Oh.” Some of my anxiety eases.
“It was never what people thought anyway.” Kyle glances at me before we part ways. “My gut tells me it’ll always be you, Ellie. I probably shouldn’t say that. I don’t know what happened between you two.”
I wish I didn’t know either. Talking to Kyle again, thinking about Wyatt, makes me want a different outcome. “It’s okay,” I say to Kyle. “I’ll come say goodbye whenever I leave.” Maybe I won’t leave. Maybe I’ll stay.
He nods and wanders to the security hut at the main entrance where he often goes when Wyatt needs or wants more privacy in the house.
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