“She was so beautiful and, ha . . . Dustin, she was so loud. She wanted the world to know she’d arrived. She wanted—” I choke and my mouth sours, my words no longer strong and ready. My hands shake as I try to press the cap into a flat piece of plastic and my lips fold down, quivering. “She wanted her daddy to hear her, because . . . because he was so far away.”
Dustin’s bottom lip vibrates as tears slip down his cheeks. Fat droplets run down my chin and land on my hands.
I shake my head but keep my eyes on his. As long as he stays, I stay. If he runs, I follow. I beg and chase.
I will fix this.
“Ten fingers. Ten toes. I counted twice,” I mutter through the most pathetic laughing cry. My chest shudders with a quick breath.
“She had your eyes. She had them the minute they opened and drank in the world, Dustin. She had your eyes, and your chin. And your wild hair and the roundness of your nose. I lay awake for days just staring at her in wonder. How someone could look so much like someone else.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, wringing them of more tears.
“I’m so sorry, Dustin. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so—” I heave out a sob as my head falls back and my eyes open to take in the smooth navy blue cloth that covers the ceiling of the car.
Dustin hasn’t moved. I feel his eyes on me still, even though I’m not looking. I have to find it in me, the courage. It was here but now it’s gone. He’s going to hate me, and that is something I will live with. But he can’t hate Bristol.
“You have to love her, Dustin. You have to because she is you. She is all your best parts.” I breathe in and blow out hard, lowering my chin, shocked to find his gaze waiting.
His jaw ticks, and my eyes dart to the place where his skin shifts with the movement.
“I was ready to tell you. I was, I swear. I had everything written down in case I got nervous, which . . . I probably should have done for right now, but—” I hold out my open palms and the distorted and mangled cap rolls from my grasp to the floor. My lips flap as my shoulders shake once. My muscles no longer feel as if they can hold my body up.
“I was going to tell you,” I repeat, forcing my breath to steady. I’m speaking as the words come to mind, not stopping to work through consequences or strategy. There is too much to say, and I feel my opportunity dwindling. He can’t sit here and simply take it forever. He has questions, and I’m sure the wave of resentment is well on its way.
He has to understand, if he and I have any chance at all. If what we had was ever true, then he has to know it all—the reason. He would have done the same. I have to believe that.
“I found out about two weeks after my move. I took two pregnancy tests, and then I took four more. I threw up . . . a lot.” I laugh pathetically. He doesn’t. I lower my gaze to the center of his chest, to the place where my initials ink his skin, and I wonder if they are still there or if he covered them with something less painful.
In one blink, I meet his gaze again, and find every last ounce of strength in my body. I become the woman who made a choice for her daughter. I live in that moment, the one that had me terrified for the life in my belly.
“Alex was waiting for me to come home. It was the night I was going to call you. I planned to tell Bailey too, and my parents. But you first. You most.”
The straight line of his mouth tilts down and his jaw flexes.
“He scared me, which of course he did. I don’t know how he found me, but he assured me he always could. He said he wanted to thank me for saving him from getting into business with you, and he wanted to make sure I was all right. But Dustin, he wanted to put his thumb on where I was and everything that was important to me and to you.”
His lips part, but his teeth remain clamped tight. His breath grows in pace, his shoulders lifting with every deep draw of air.
“So I made a choice. I created a story, one without you in it. I severed any connection you had to Bristol because it was the only way I knew she would be safe. Dustin, he sent her birthday cards. He sent flowers, and I swear I saw his car outside our house more than once. If not him, someone who works for him. He was everywhere, and while I tried to calm myself with the idea that I had an overactive imagination, I knew in my gut I was right. I know it for certain now. Dustin, Bristol is your daughter. She is your blood and your flesh, and she is made of us. I want you to have the life you deserve with her, but I don’t know how to do that. I tried on my own, and I live with regret for the decision I made, but you have to know, I didn’t know what else to do.”
My cheeks burn and my face is soaked with tears. My eyes feel puffy and they hunger to close. I want to sleep, right here and now. I want to find a dream that looks to the future and makes all of this go away. I want the paradise, the picture in my head where Dustin and I snuggle our little girl in bed on a Sunday morning and make love all night.
Dustin shifts in his seat, his hands grabbing the steering wheel as his eyes widen and glare out on the empty road. Only one truck has passed us in all the time we’ve sat here. Its shape is a dot in the distance, blurred by the rays of the sun sinking below the mountains to the west. It will be dark out here soon. I won’t be able to see into his eyes to read them, not that I can for certain now. But I see the trouble. I feel it in my bones. I’ve wrecked him. Just as he did me.
Without warning, Dustin smacks the butt of his hands against the top of the wheel, pounding it over and over while his mouth grits and growls.
“Fuck!” he finally shouts, kicking open his door and flying from his seat. He takes long strides down the center of the highway, heading toward the sun. Eventually, he breaks into a run. I push open my door and step outside, holding my weight up with the frame of the door, not sure my legs will carry me anywhere. He’s a hundred yards away from me, maybe more, before he stops and turns to face me. I can barely make out his profile against the setting sun, but I can tell he’s bending over. A second later, he’s crouching, his head held in his hands.
“Fuck!” he screams, cursing anyone who will listen. Cursing me, I’m sure.
Dustin cries and screams at the universe until the sun finally falls below the horizon and the sky shifts from pink to a dusty blue. He walks back to the car as the deeper hues take over and the stars appear. I stand outside the car while he sits in his seat, chewing on his knuckles and staring out his window at what might be the vision I denied him the experience of. That’s how I imagine it, anyhow.
I shiver and reach in for my sweatshirt, but before I can pull it out to slip on my body, Dustin grabs the other side and tugs lightly. I dip my head enough to meet his eyes. His long lashes obscure my view of the hazel I love with my entire heart. His focus is on his fist, where it wraps around the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I feel as if he’s deciding whether to pull harder or let go.
“Let’s go home,” he finally says. His voice is deep and gravelly, his throat wrecked from screaming and the salty tears he swallowed.
“Okay,” I croak, slipping inside the car. He lets go of my sweatshirt the second my door closes, and before I finish buckling, we’re jetting down the road at sixty, eighty, one hundred—more.
We’ll be home soon. His home. I don’t know where I belong anymore. All I know is that if the same script played out for me again, I would choose Dustin. For two years, I thought I would do everything the same. But that’s not true. I would trust us. It took an entire day of seeing a child rebuild stolen memories with their parent for me to understand that the world is full of bad guys, but sometimes, you luck into superheroes.
12
I’m a father.
Bristol is mine.
Hannah, Bristol, and I are a family.
Like my dreams.
We are so fucking broken.
I took my pain out on the road. I pushed the Supra and Hannah let me. She and I share the same medicine when life hurts us. We ride to danger and touch the edge. We drove a hundred miles in silence. Nothing but the roar of the road, the rumble of
the straight pipe, the wind seeping through the small cracks in the chassis and the windows.
How can I blame her when I am the reason Alex Offerman exists in our lives?
How could she keep this from me?
I want to hate her.
I want to kiss her.
I want to save her.
It’s evening by the time I roll up the Judge family driveway, and my heart is too heavy to do much more than shift into park. The motor hums as Hannah and I sit in silence. I’m sure Tommy is at our place by now, or he’s down the street, with Bailey.
“Am I the last to know?”
It’s the first thing I’ve uttered besides my screams of pain and fury out on that road. I didn’t even think my voice would work. The sound of it surprises me.
My chest is heavy, as though the steering wheel is driving through it, cracking my ribs and deflating my lungs, emptying my body of oxygen. I’m lifeless.
“No. I haven’t said the actual words to anyone yet, but Jorge . . . he figured it out. I’m sure my mom’s confirmed her suspicion. And Bailey. I had a bit of a breakdown.”
“Jorge figured it out.” I laugh out air, the sound faint and almost like a final breath.
Jorge’s cryptic speech before he climbed into that shuttle this morning, hours ago—a lifetime ago—they weren’t about meeting my mom and talking with her. It was about Hannah. About Bristol.
About this terrible, wonderful, amazing secret.
A wound.
A gift.
Whatever you two talk about today, whatever you may feel, be sure you listen and take it in before you react. If people’s stories were only a page long, there wouldn’t be books to read. Take in the entire arc. Understand the journey. It will be worth it, I swear.
I do understand. I see our story. At times, I’ve been the villain. Other times, it was Hannah. Never has it been Bristol. She’s the innocent.
“Can I see her?”
“Of course!” Hannah breathes out. I feel her eyes on me but I can’t look at her. I wish I could. I wish I could skip every step on the way to forgiveness. I wish I knew for certain that is where our story ends. I don’t.
“She’s probably asleep, so we’ll need to be quiet.” Hannah shifts in her seat and presses the latch on her safety belt. My eyes flit her direction enough to see it slide across her body. I immediately return my gaze to the windshield and the glare from her dad’s ugly light display.
“Okay. I want to see her through my open eyes. I need to.”
“Yes. I know,” she utters quickly.
How could you know? My inner voice rages. I keep it quiet. I choke it off.
My pulse races as my hand touches the door handle, and it only races more as I climb out of the car and follow Hannah toward the house.
The door isn’t locked as she enters, and I mentally chastise her parents for being so careless. Alex could come to this house. His men could walk right in. This door needs to be locked. Always.
“You’re back,” her mom whispers, rounding the couch and moving toward us. Tom cranes his neck as his wife slows her steps as her eyes meet mine.
Hannah was right. Her mom knows. And her dad does, too. What’s more is they see I know, too. I’m wearing the pain like a wet coat. I can’t help it. It smothers me.
“He wants to see Bristol. Say good night.” Hannah tucks her bottom lip under her top and I look away before she catches my gaze.
“Sure,” her mom whispers. “I just put her down. She had a full day with Grandpa. She insisted they buy more lights.”
I force a smile and Hannah huffs out a quiet laugh. I’m not sure why everything new I find out about my daughter hurts so much, but it does. She had an entire day that I was not a part of. She played with twinkle lights and made something uglier with Tom, and I missed it.
“We’ll be quiet,” Hannah says, leaning in to kiss her mom on the cheek. Her mom’s eyes meet mine, and for a brief second, my pain eases. Her soft smile as they part acts as a salve on my soul.
I’m here now. The journey will be worth it.
I follow Hannah up the stairs I’ve climbed a million times, tiptoeing to the bedroom I slept in for more than half my life. Somewhere along the way, my palm finds my mouth, covering it out of nerves and partly to help me remain quiet as a ghost.
The room is lit with a soft light from a tiny plastic pirate ship plugged into the wall, no doubt something Tom has kept in his garage for years. In the corner by Tommy’s window hangs the chimes I made for Hannah. It spins under the soft air blowing from the heat vent, catching the glimmer of the nightlight along its jagged edges. Hannah cleaned it up and now it shines, like copper and gold.
I glance to her and meet her eyes. It burns, and I can’t look into them for long, but I give her a soft nod, letting her know I noticed. This is why she wanted to have my ugly metal sculpture so badly. She wanted a piece of me near our daughter.
I step close to the bed, Bristol bundled in the same blanket I used to lay out on Tommy’s floor. His full-sized bed swallows her up. She’s a speck amid the crumpled sheets and pillows. She’s perfect. She’s precious. She’s a living and breathing part of me.
Slowly, I get to my knees, inching forward until my arms rest on the mattress. Hannah remains by the door, giving me this space and time.
“Hi,” I whisper, my voice soft enough that I doubt it will wake her. Maybe she’ll hear me in her dreams. I can’t wait until morning, until I can talk to her for real. I’m terrified as much as I’m elated.
Her dark brown hair swirls around her head, just like her mother’s. I move my fingers toward one of the strands and weave it around my knuckle, amazed at how soft and sleek it is against my rough skin. The wave of hair slips through my grasp and I find another, letting it do the same thing.
“She’s perfect,” I whisper, knowing Hannah is still here and listening.
“She is,” she answers.
Her tiny nostrils wiggle with each breath and I swear I can feel her heartbeat through the mattress. Her lips pucker, forming a tiny O. Her skin is pale and her tiny fingernails are dotted with bright pink polish. I take one of her fingers in my hand, unable to keep myself from touching her.
“My mom did that,” Hannah whispers over my shoulder. “We’re lucky she hasn’t pierced her ears yet.”
I laugh silently, and tears prick my eyes. I’ve never cried so much in my life, and never for so many different reasons. I’m caught in a storm that has flung my heart from joy to sorrow and back again, tumbling it around like a sand dollar caught in the ocean’s undertow.
“I’ll give you a minute. I’ll be in my room,” Hannah says, her fingers brushing my shoulder. I barely feel her touch. Every ounce of my heart currently beats for the baby girl sleeping in front of me.
I wait until I no longer hear her steps behind me before I allow my hand to graze along her face. I’m gentle, and when she stirs, I pull my hand away and fall back on my shins. I hold my breath until I’m sure she’s fast asleep.
“Tomorrow is going to be a big day for both of us,” I whisper. Her lips pucker with a breath.
“I hope you’re okay with the news. I’ve been told I’m an acquired taste.” I chuckle silently as I let my mind wander through a future filled with trouble—me teaching Bristol how to barrel down a hill in the snow up north, she and I practicing shifting on her first car, the two of us lying on our backs and waiting for falling stars to light up the sky during a meteor shower. I see it all.
“I’ll be the best father to you. I promise. You won’t even know we missed the start. I’ll make up for it all. And I won’t miss a thing in your life. We’ll see movies and stay up late and build forts out of pillows and sheets. I’m not sure how it’s going to work yet. Your mom and I, we have a lot to figure out. We’re going to need some time. But that’s our baggage; that’s not yours. You won’t miss out on the good stuff because of it. I promise. And nobody is ever going to hurt you. Sweet dreams, baby girl. You’re safe for alway
s and forever. I’ll make sure of it. You can keep my heart for collateral.”
I push up enough for my lips to reach the top of her head, and I dust her with a soft kiss before pulling the blanket up to cover her arms. She doesn’t stir at all as I float back toward the door. I hold my breath the entire way, and I don’t exhale until I’m safely in the hallway, halfway between Tommy’s old room and Hannah’s.
The faint light from her room cuts a line across the hallway, and for a moment, I consider crossing it and heading downstairs to talk to her parents, or maybe to sleep in my car. That’s not what I want, though. That’s the move of anger. That’s hostile resentment and unfair judgement. It’s what has ruined us for years.
No. Now is the time to do the hard stuff. I won’t make the same mistakes Colt Bridges made. I won’t become cold and callous. I’ll never be mean. And when something holds the promise of love, I’ll see it through. I’ll fight for it. One hard step at a time.
I push open Hannah’s door and stare at the place where her feet, still bundled in her shoes, hit the floor at the end of her bed. My eyes move up to find her hands on her knees, her back straight and her eyes focused on me. She was probably waiting for me to appear.
My mouth forms a faint smile, one mirrored on Hannah’s lips. Her mood is directly tied to mine right now, and I understand why. I respect it, and it’s the reason I’m guarded and careful with my words. We could fight. I’m sure we will. But using words as weapons to lash out won’t make a damn thing better.
So I choose the hard way. I move to her bed and sit a few feet from her, pushing my shoes from my feet with my toes until I’m in my socks. I rest my weight on my left arm and shift to my side, moving until my head rests on her shoulder. I stay there for a breath until her hand reaches up and her fingers sink into my hair, massaging my scalp and urging my body lower until I’m lying in her lap.
“Tell me the story again. About how our daughter was born. And don’t skip a single thing.”
Burn: The Fuel Series Book 3 Page 10