Scared that this baby would die like her first one. Scared that it was something in my genetic makeup that had caused Matias to get sick—even though everyone told me it wasn’t my fault.
“Rome,” Tyler growled impatiently.
I swallowed past the lump that was now a constant fixture in my throat since she’d left me and continued to push my way outside.
“What do you want?” I snarled, losing my temper.
I’d been doing that a lot, lately, too.
My mood was horrific, everybody said so.
But that was what happened when your heart was ripped out of your chest, and your worst fears were realized.
I hadn’t realized how much I would miss her until she was gone. I hadn’t realized just how much her presence in my life kept me sane.
I had taken so many things about her for granted, and I hadn’t realized it until she was gone.
Like the way I missed the smell of her freshly shampooed hair on my pillowcase or the way she’d clean my house, leaving a little white flower on the stove for me to see when I got home.
Or the lunches she packed for me for work with cute little notes inside telling me to have a good day.
Then there were the nights… they were even harder than the days.
I’d lay awake for hours wishing her soft body was there, pressing against mine. While I laid there missing her, I’d wonder what in God’s name I was doing.
A baby wasn’t a death sentence. It was a blessing.
Then I’d remember my son’s face as they closed the casket, and I’d remember why I couldn’t do it.
He’d been so small in that bed of white. His tiny face, sunken and sallow from the toxic chemicals they’d forced into his tiny body, had finally been at peace.
It was hard knowing he was in a better place—somewhere that wasn’t right there with me.
A father should be able to protect his son, and I hadn’t been able to do that.
What business did I have taking care of another child?
I was oh and one when it came to keeping children alive.
I didn’t deserve to have another one.
“Jesus Christ, Rome,” Tyler growled. “Swear to God, I didn’t call you to listen to you breathe. Are you even listening to me?”
I set my bag down by my bike and paused. “Yeah.”
“She went to the doctor today. Reagan went with her. Do you want to know about the scans they did?” he asked.
No, no I didn’t.
But I couldn’t make my mouth form the words.
“Baby is doing well. Reagan said that Izzy didn’t want to know what the gender was, even though that was possible. She said that she didn’t want to know until the baby was born, because you couldn’t know either. She asks about you all the time. Wants to know how you’re doing. You ask about her… why are you doing this?” Tyler said.
Something akin to euphoria flitted through me at hearing that the baby was doing well and that Izzy asked about me.
Why was I doing this?
Because you’re a scared little shit who refuses to see what’s right in front of his face.
“Thanks, Tyler,” I murmured.
Tyler heaved a long sigh. “Anything new on Rodrigo that I should know about?”
That I could actually talk about.
“Keeping an eye on him. He’s being careful. He stays close to his house these days, and I haven’t seen him around town in quite a while. Wade tells me they’re building a solid case against him. Although, the young girl that was living with him, one of the star witnesses, ran away. Therefore, they’re having to do double the work because she’s not there to testify against him,” I murmured quietly.
“Ran away?” he asked.
I grunted. “Yeah, ran away. She was living with him, but the mother moved out of Rodrigo’s house the same day that she found out what he was doing to her kid. They both have restraining orders against him.”
“Piece of shit,” Tyler murmured. “I hope they find her. Will they want Izzy to come back to testify?”
I hoped not.
I’d begged Wade not to bring her in unless it was absolutely necessary, which he promised to do.
“Maybe.” I shrugged even though he couldn’t see me. “I gotta go, Tyler. I have a game I’m about to go play.”
Tyler cursed. “Don’t get hurt, moron. I know that you’re not watching out for yourself. You’re just asking for it.”
I was.
Everything hurt after I got done playing, because over the last couple of weeks, I’d returned to the game I’d once loved. At least partially.
The coach liked me, and since I was still a really good player, he let me scrimmage with the practice squad as if I were still on the team.
But I wasn’t actually looking to go back to playing. I was looking to feel something other than an empty black hole.