Brogan (Carolina Reapers 9)

She smiled and nodded. “And I’m happy to give it, starting tonight, since you guys have a game. I’ll be at your house at four.” She left no room for argument, and I nodded in response.

An hour later, I carried Skye into the house. It was barely noon and not quite time for her nap, so I set her in her jumping contraption and started making us lunch.

I opened the fridge and reached past Fiona’s apple juice for the yogurt Skye liked.

Fiona.

No wonder the house felt so…cold. It was missing Fiona’s warmth, the joy she brought to it with her laughter and love.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered, putting the food on the counter. “I don’t love you because of Skye,” I said to no one, declaring my decent into insanity. “I love you because you make me laugh. Because you make me feel. Because you make me see the world through a different point of view. I love you because you are scared to death of commitment, but you’re trying your hardest. I love you because you’re smart, and funny, and kiss me like I’m a meal and you’re starving.” I slammed my hands down on the cold granite. “Why the fuck couldn’t I just say that?”

Why had my tongue tied when she’d asked me? Why hadn’t she given me just a fucking minute to get my words in order? Why had she coaxed me from my emotional stagnation just to turn her back on me when I stumbled?

I rubbed at my chest. Missing her fucking hurt, and it had nothing to do with Skye. Did I think that she was the perfect mom for my daughter? Absolutely, but that was just one of many reasons that I loved her. Maybe I’d pushed her too far too fast, but damn it, I hadn’t meant to propose. Not yet.

And she’d run at the first fucking opportunity.

Anger. Hurt. Heartbreak. Frustration. Longing. Every emotion took its turn battering me, beating my heart to a pulp as I fed Skye and got her down for her nap.

It hit me as I was cleaning up the kitchen: I’d been forced to evolve, forced to let go of my past and open up because Skye had been left at my door. I’d been jolted into action, into change. I wasn’t the same person that I’d been in August.

But Fiona hadn’t been thrust into parenthood—into change. She still had to make a choice to get over her own shit and the damage her mother had done by playing years of musical marriage. It wouldn’t matter if I apologized until I was blue in the face. She hadn’t let go of her issues the way I’d had to. Not yet. Even if we made up, we’d end up in the same exact situation eventually—with her running away, and that was if I managed to keep my foot out of my mouth in the future.

If she’d been ready to talk to me, ready to work us out, she would have called me back. Guess she still needed some of that time she’d requested, but I didn’t have a lot of—or any— experience with relationships to even guestimate how much time she needed. I just knew that I needed to be ready when she was, which meant finding a way to show her that I wasn’t with her as some kind of “convenience,” like she’d accused. But would I even get the chance?

It wasn’t like she wasn’t keeping tabs on Skye through Evie. That much was obvious. She also hadn’t cleared out her drawers. She’d be back, even if it was just to get her stuff.

And I’d be waiting.

If I wanted Fiona, then I was going to have to do the one thing I sucked at.

Wait.

18

Fiona

“Thank you,” I said as Maddie put another pancake on my plate before sitting down the skillet and taking the seat across from me. I dug into the sugary goodness, my eyes aching from crying all night.

Again. That’s all I did it seemed.

“Did you sleep at all?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

I swallowed the massive bite in my mouth. “Not really.”

She flashed me a supportive look. “You didn’t watch that interview again, did you?” she asked, and I shook my head.

I’d come straight to her house the night everything happened, and she’d welcomed me without hesitation. I’d needed to vent, and she’d listened to every word as I cried. She’d even watched the interview on her own, hissing as she did. And then I just…couldn’t leave. I needed the support of my friends too much, and I was lucky as hell to have a safe place to land.

“That’s something,” she said. “At least.”

I shrugged. “Kind of burned into my brain,” I said. “Don’t really need it on repeat on my phone. Plus, what keeps me up nights isn’t just what he said, but who I saw.”