Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

4

My laptop screen glows in the darkness from its perch on the arm of our small couch.

My textbook is spread out on the coffee table, my binder of notes lies open in my lap, and I press my fingers to my temples, willing myself to get one more hour of Pharmacology in before I have to crash. If only I could sleep on my books and transfer the knowledge via osmosis.

It was after eleven by the time I got Jude and June to bed, which means getting them up and out the door tomorrow morning is going to be fun. June hates going to school these days—something I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with until at least junior high—and Jude is a bear if he gets less than nine hours of sleep. Add in the fact that my patience for the week is already almost depleted, and tomorrow is going to be one hell of a Monday.

I scrub my hand over my face and take a deep breath.

I almost passed out when Patrick called me today and told me he was at the hospital with Jude. My mind immediately shot to the last time, the last call, and ice-cold dread blanketed my body.

Calm the fuck down, Lyn, Patrick had scolded. He just fell from the counter. He’s fucking fine. You don’t need to freak out.

I left work early and rushed to the hospital anyway.

I wanted to be there for Jude. I couldn’t stop picturing him scared and in pain. I thought he would feel better if both of his parents were there for him, but I should have known better. Patrick cut out as soon as I stepped foot in the hospital room. The boys and beers have always taken precedence over his family. I shouldn’t be surprised.

I look at the clock on my laptop screen. It’s pushing two in the morning, and I’ve got an eight-hour shift tomorrow, plus an assignment due Tuesday. And I’ve accomplished next to nothing this evening.

It was already late by the time we left the hospital with Jude in his cast, so I grabbed some burgers from a drive-thru and made quick work of their bath and bedtime routines. Then it was laundry, dishes, and a quick, lukewarm shower for myself (because I’d already used up all the hot water) before I could even consider studying. Just thinking about the coming week coats my bones in cement. I’m reaching new levels of exhaustion every day.

You knew this wouldn’t be easy,I tell myself. But it will be worth it.

I hope.

I stack my study materials on the table, then power down my laptop. I stand and stretch, then make my way toward the stairs in our three-bedroom townhouse. I pad my way up the carpeted stairs quietly, stopping first at Jude’s room when I reach the landing.

I pick my way through the toys scattered on the floor of the room, grateful for the glow from his Spider-Man nightlight. He’s kicked off his favorite purple blanket and he’s sprawled out so that his casted arm and half his upper body hangs off the side of the bed. Even in his sleep, he doesn’t stop moving. I maneuver him so that he’s back on the bed, then cover his body with the blanket, taking care to lay the arm with the lime green cast on top. I study his little face, chubby cheeks and long eyelashes. I run my fingers through his sandy blond hair, the same shade as his father’s, and he purses his lips and swats at me. I have to stifle a laugh, so I don’t wake him.

So much about this boy is like Patrick. His impulsive nature. His fearlessness. His curiosity. Unlike June, who is in every way my mini, the only things Jude got from me are his big green eyes and his determination. I’m grateful for that. I’d like to think he got the best of both of us, but only time will tell for sure.

I press a kiss to his forehead, dodging yet another swat, and head toward June’s room.

The kids were so excited when we moved in here. The apartment where we’d stayed after the initial separation wasn’t big enough for them to have their own rooms. Though this townhouse is smaller than the place we shared with their father, it’s a veritable palace compared to the apartment. It’s brighter and cleaner too. Quieter.

I was nervous about moving onto this street, but except for the one party the neighbors threw, it’s been peaceful. It has been a blessing, which is why I keep waiting for the plot twist.

I push open June’s door and take a few steps toward the bed, when I hear sniffling and a rustle of sheets. I tiptoe closer and she lets out a quiet sob.

“June Bug,” I whisper, dropping to my knees by her bed and pulling her to me. Her cheeks are wet with tears, and she buries her head into my shoulder while her tiny arms wrap around me. “Junie, what’s wrong, sweetie?”

“It’s nothing.” She hiccups into my hair, and her grip around me tightens. “Just a bad dream.”

“Oh, baby,” I whisper, and run my hand down her hair.

These tears are my fault. I should have seen this coming. After everything that happened today—the hospital room, the doctors. I should have known it would cause this. I was so caught up in making sure Jude’s injury was taken care of that I didn’t think about how the whole ordeal would affect June.

“I’m so sorry, June,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think...”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m fine.”