by Julia London
Even when she was smiling and trying as hard as she could—oh, he had no doubt she was really trying—he could see the pain in her eyes, on her face, in the way she held one hand in a tight fist. He could see the way she looked at Mason, as if she were counting every moment. He understood, perhaps better than anyone on this earth, how gallingly unfair the situation was to her. Yet, even having stood in her shoes, he could not summon the right words to help her. Words seemed so trite, so meaningless. He knew from his own experience that there was little anyone could say to ease her pain. So he did what he could. He tried to be there for her when he thought she needed him, and he tried to give her space to confront her feelings.
He tried.
Their lovemaking was still pretty spectacular—for him, anyway—but he noticed a subtle difference in it. It almost seemed to him that Holly was someplace else, losing herself in the moment as she always did, but detaching from him at the same time. He wanted to bring her back, but he didn’t know how to do it any more than he’d known how to bring Macy back to him two years ago.
Holly had been terribly despondent when she returned from Jillian’s offices with the news there was nothing she could do. Wrapped in her father’s barn jacket, she’d walked out onto the porch and stared at the sinking sun until Wyatt finally made her come in. For a few days she hadn’t been able to look at Mason without tearing up.
“You’re not losing him,” Wyatt had reminded her. “You’ll still be part of his life.”
She’d given Wyatt a blank look. “I won’t be there when he wakes up. I won’t be there when he goes to sleep. I won’t be there to see what he learns every day. I won’t be there, Wyatt. He’s given my life a purpose like nothing else ever has, not even music, and I don’t know how to give him up.”
“I’m not there every day for Grace, either, but it doesn’t make me any less a part of her life,” he’d said.
Holly had dipped her head, and her shaggy hair had covered his view of her face. “But it’s different when you’re a mother.”
He couldn’t argue with her. He didn’t want to argue with her. God knew he’d had those feelings about Grace. Sometimes, in the space of a few days, she would seem to grow and change and learn so much. But it was for Holly, as it was for him, a reality that had to be acknowledged.
As he’d privately guessed, Hannah was more than happy to agree to a visitation schedule for Holly and a transition plan for Mason. The attorneys had decided the visits would begin at the Baby Bowl, where Holly and Wyatt took the kids each Thursday, until the parties agreed that Hannah could see Mason for longer periods without Holly hovering over them. No overnight visits would be allowed until Hannah graduated from her stint at the transitional house at the end of February.
The first time Hannah came, she arrived in the company of a big, barrel-chested guy. He shook Wyatt’s hand and introduced himself as Rob Tucker. “I’m her sponsor,” he said.
“Hello,” Wyatt said.
“Thanks for bringing him,” Hannah said when Holly handed Mason to her. Holly avoided her sister’s gaze and kept hers on Mason.
“Bye-bye,” Mason said, waving at Hannah. Wyatt knew he wanted down and inside the little gate so he could play. Grace was already inside, climbing over a big cushy dinosaur.
Holly ran her hand over Mason’s head. “He likes the big blocks,” she said to Hannah. “He likes to put them together and make a train.”
“Okay,” Hannah said, and smiled into the face of her son. “Let’s go make a train, Mason!”
“Train,” Mason said, and Hannah turned away from Holly and took him inside the play area.
Holly sank down onto the edge of a chair, watching.
Rob Tucker grinned at Wyatt. “This is your standard awkward situation, isn’t it?”
Rob Tucker looked to be a talker, and Wyatt had to suppress a sigh of tedium.
“I wish it hadn’t come to this, but I can understand Holly’s concern,” Rob said equably.
Her concern? Was this guy serious? As if Holly were some distant observer who thought perhaps Hannah needed a little more time to be sober. That was a concern. Holly wasn’t concerned; Holly was heartbroken.
“But Hannah, she’s worked really hard,” Rob continued, as if Wyatt had asked for an explanation. He must have given the guy a look, because Rob said, “I’ve known Hannah a long time, and I know where she was and how far she’s come.”
Wyatt shrugged. It was pretty clear to him that ol’ Rob had a thing for Hannah. He kept looking at her, smiling a little when he talked about how great she was doing. Wyatt wondered if he himself did that when he talked about Holly. He looked at Holly now; she was worrying a nail, her gaze still locked on Mason and Hannah. Mason was showing his mother some blocks, his face upturned to hers, handing them to her and then watching hopefully as Hannah exclaimed over each one. Gracie was terrorizing some poor child by trying to kiss her. Wyatt half stood, prepared to go and stop his child from spreading her love indiscriminately, but Gracie chose that moment to spin around and run to the wheels and buttons and levers mounted on the wall.
He slowly resumed sitting.
“I know she is going to make it,” Rob Turner continued. “I’ve never known anyone like her, to be honest.” He chuckled. “She’s a perfectionist, if you know what I mean. I was joking around and told her that she even was perfect in being an addict. Went right from zero to sixty. But she’s working really hard at sobriety, and I know she won’t have any trouble staying sober in the long run. The fact that she wants her son back worse than anything is the carrot, you know? But she has to prove to me and everyone else that she’s ready.”
“You?” Wyatt asked curiously. “Why do you get to decide?”
Rob shrugged. “That’s what a court would require of her, if we’re being honest. I guess me because I am her attorney and we are hedging our bets in case her sister decides she wants to make a bigger deal of this than it already is. Hannah could walk into a court today and demonstrate that while she made a mistake, she has done everything reasonably possible to correct it.” Rob smiled proudly, as if he’d done it all himself.
“Just out of curiosity,” Wyatt said, “when you were propping Hannah up to look like a little treatment star, did you think of Holly?”
Rob looked confused by the question.
“Holly. Her sister. Did you ever once think about what she’s been through? What she’s done for that kid?”
“Of course,” Rob said. “I mean, we were going to propose a really generous visitation schedule after Mason is reunited with his mother, but Holly came back with one that we’re going to use. Yes, we thought of Holly.”
“You didn’t think about her, you thought about Hannah,” Wyatt said calmly. “And frankly, Rob, I’m not sure you thought that much about Mason.”
Rob smiled. “Honestly, I’m not the villain. Look, I don’t want that little boy ending up with his dad. Trust me,” he said with a slight roll of his eyes. “I’ve known Loren Drake for a long time, too, and he’s a piece of work. But he’s also an attorney and a damn good one, so I wanted to get this locked down with the sisters and make sure we’ve all got a united front against Loren.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said. “But just so you know, I am not on the Hannah bandwagon.”
Rob looked unsurprised. “Wyatt, I understand this sucks for everyone. But you’re wrong about Hannah. She’s really a good person who made a terrible mistake. It happens.”
He’d left it like that with Rob, letting Rob think he’d convinced him that Hannah had done a complete three-sixty. Wyatt didn’t care if the pope made Hannah a saint tomorrow. He only cared about Holly, and Holly wasn’t dealing with this situation very well.
A few days later, Holly called him while he was working with Jesse and said she wouldn’t be over that night.
Wyatt put down the chain saw he was using to cut brush and walked a good distance from Jesse. “Why not?”
“I have a splitting headache, and Mason’s
kind of fussy. I think maybe he’s got a little cold.”
“I could come and check on you.”
“Oh. Sure.” She didn’t sound that excited by the idea.
“Can I bring you anything?”
“No,” she said quickly. “We’re good. Just … just resting. I’ll talk to you later.”
She hung up before Wyatt could say anything else. He slowly closed his phone and shoved it back in his pocket, then walked back to where he and Jesse were working.
Wyatt rode Troy to Holly’s later that afternoon with Milo loping along. In his saddlebag, he had a cigar box with crayons for Mason, and the biggest chocolate bar he could find for Holly. As he crested the hill, he heard the music.
He pulled up, listening to the tune. Holly wasn’t resting. She was working. And the song she was writing was heavy and dark, the chords as gray as a winter day.
He sent Troy down the hill.
Mason was standing at the door when he’d tethered Troy to a tree and walked up onto the porch. “Doggie!” he cried.
Holly opened the door a moment later and Milo dashed through, toppling Mason in his haste. Mason laughed and got up, waddling after Milo.
“Hey,” Holly said, and pushed her hair back from her face. She smiled.
Wyatt kissed her. “What was the song I heard?”
“Oh, that,” she said, and shifted her gaze away. “That’s the song I wrote for you. ‘A Light at Winter’s End.’ I decided to change the melody. What did you think?”
“I think it sounded kind of sad.”
“Really? I didn’t think so. It’s a love song.”
“A sad love song, then.”
She sort of laughed and walked back into the living area. “Do love songs need to be cheerful?”
“I always thought love was happy,” he said. “Unless it’s gone south.”
Holly looked at him then, her gaze resting lightly on his face. “I think love is more complicated than that.”
“Do you?”
“Don’t you?”
“I love you, Holly,” he said. “There’s nothing complicated about it.”
She smiled and looked down. “That’s really sweet, Wyatt.”
“I didn’t say it to be sweet—”
Holly waved a hand at him. “I don’t mean to cut you off, really, but I … I am not feeling well and I don’t think I can have this conversation right now.”
What conversation?
“Listen, could you do me a favor? I’ve been cooped up in here all day. Would you mind watching Mason for a few minutes so I can take a little walk? I need to clear my head and my lungs.”
What conversation? If Wyatt wasn’t so afraid of hearing exactly what conversation, he would have asked her, but he stood there paralyzed with dread, a cigar box full of crayons in one hand and a big chocolate bar in the other. “Sure,” he said, and put the things on the console near the door. “Take all the time you need.”
He walked across the room and picked up Mason. “Little Buckaroo, how are you today?” he asked, and when he turned around again, Holly already had a jacket on.
“I’ll be right back,” she promised.
“Lala,” Mason said, and pushed against Wyatt’s chest. “Down,” he said.
Wyatt obliged him as Holly walked out the door. “Lala!” Mason cried, and ran to the door after her, then stood at the screen, staring out. Milo wandered over and sat beside him.
Wyatt reluctantly followed and stood behind them, watching Holly’s arms swing as she marched down the long drive, away from the three of them.
It was only a walk, but he could feel her slipping through his fingers like so much sand, and he could not stop it. “Come on, bucko,” he said to Mason, and picked him up, shooed Milo out of the way with his foot, and closed the door. “Let’s go drown our sorrows with some juice.”
Chapter Twenty-two
It was fascinating to Holly on some remote level that she could fall in love with someone one day and not know what to do with him the next.
She knew she was hurting Wyatt. That was heartbreaking to her—she would sooner hurt herself than him. The weird thing about it was that she needed his comfort and support, yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself from floating away from him. It was as if the tether of her little balloon had snapped, and no matter how hard she tried to get back to earth, the force was greater than she was and was carrying her off.
She had never, in all her life, faced such a deeply personal crisis.
She’d begun to accept that she was losing Mason. Even she could see that Mason’s affections were turning back to Hannah. She’d watched it happen as the weeks had unfolded and he’d spent more time with his mother, and she’d marveled at the strength of the bond between mother and child. That it could sustain such turmoil and still be as strong was remarkable to her. She wasn’t certain she could ever forge as deep a bond with him, even if she had him for the rest of his life. It seemed to be something that was bigger than her love for him, something so primal and instinctual that she couldn’t touch it.
Holly couldn’t compete with Hannah. It didn’t matter that Mason had now lived five months under her care, or that she had to interpret much of what he said for Hannah because Hannah didn’t understand him, or that she had to tell Hannah that Mason hated peas but he liked green beans, and that he loved Thomas the Tank Engine but was indifferent to Barney. It didn’t matter because Mason called Hannah Mommy and Holly Lala. He smiled brightly when he saw his mommy coming and giggled when she kissed him. His mother had been physically absent from Mason, but she’d been there all along in his little heart.
Holly could see all that, but that did not dampen her feelings for him. She’d done something she hadn’t known she was capable of doing—in fact, she would have argued with anyone that she was incapable of doing it. But she had taken in a child, a baby, and she’d loved him, and she didn’t want to give up, no matter how many signs were pointing to Mason and Hannah. She did not want to give up.
Holly studied Hannah for any signs of drug use, anything that indicated she was less than perfect in her trek back from addiction. Holly desperately wanted to find something, a fissure, anything she could wedge a stake into and widen. But there was nothing. As in all things she did, Hannah excelled at recovery. She went to twelve-step meetings. She told Wyatt she was mentoring a young woman at the transitional house, and they were using the buddy system to stay clean and sober. She’d started running, apparently, for she was late one afternoon and breathlessly reported she’d been delayed training for the Capitol 10K race at the end of March.
Holly and Hannah didn’t really talk much. The tension between them was thick and hard; no knife could cut it, no blowtorch could make a dent. Frankly, Holly had no idea what to say to her sister. She didn’t hate Hannah, but she couldn’t bear her just now.
Nevertheless, Holly was struggling to accept the inevitable, that Mason was going home to his mother. She knew that she had to think beyond that, to how she would pick up the pieces of her life and move forward. The ticket to Nashville burned a hole in her thoughts. All these years she’d been afraid to take a step like that, convinced that her family was right, that her passion for songwriting would lead nowhere. Now, suddenly, it seemed like not only the logical thing to do but the only thing she could do for the sake of her sanity.
Once she was certain Mason was settled and didn’t need her, she’d just get out. Just get out of here so she didn’t have to watch Mason growing up with Hannah.
Holly was acutely aware that she did not know what to do with Wyatt. Her heart hurt for him. He was trying so hard to be all things to her, but God help her if Holly knew what she needed him to be. She’d tried to explain it to him. “I fell like I am living in a bad dream, pretending at being a mother, but then being asked to give a child I love over to someone who is just back from the land of using drugs.”
Wyatt had nodded but not said anything.
“It’s not fair,” Holly had said.
“I know,” Wyatt had agreed patiently.
“There’s a but with that, isn’t there?”
He’d smiled a little and touched her hand. “I guess the but is that I understand Hannah, too.”
Holly had been shocked that he’d said it aloud.
“Not the drug use,” he’d been quick to amend. “I will never get that. I know it’s a disease and all, but I … I don’t understand that.”
“Then what?” Holly had pressed.
“I understand how she feels about Mason. I see her side of it.” He had sat up on the couch, leaning forward, as if they were about to have a very serious conversation. “I don’t know her, and I don’t know what all she’s done, but I do know that you could convict me of mass murder and I’d still do everything in my power to keep Grace with me. That’s something I would fight to the death for, and I think Hannah … I think she’s fighting to the death.”
“Yeah,” Holly had said solemnly. “That’s part of my bad dream.”
Holly didn’t disagree with him, but she was surprisingly hurt. She’d wanted Wyatt to be at least as ambivalent about Hannah as she was. She’d wanted … things she couldn’t even put into words. Holly could not bring herself to admit to him that, in a way, he was part of her bad dream. All of it—the homestead, the happy little family they’d formed, the whole thing—it had all been a lie. She’d allowed herself to play make believe, to avoid reality as she was so famous for doing, and now it had all blown back in her face.
“Do you understand what I am saying?” she’d asked Wyatt carefully. I am saying I can’t do this anymore. I have to get out.
He’d looked at her for a long moment, his gaze studious. “I hear what you are saying, but I am not sure I understand it. It hasn’t all been a bad dream.”