Page 2 of Unlikely

“I’m fine,” I lie. “I’m just moving a little slower.”

“Let me help you,” he says. “Sit down. We can start with washing your hair.”

I glance down at the towel covering my body, disoriented and confused. “This towel’s going to get wet,” I say.

“Nothing a wash can’t fix,” he says, turning on the tap and adjusting the temperature. “I’m going to go get a cup from the kitchen. Will you be okay until I get back?”

I manage to nod.

Raising my hand, I reach for my hair and, for the first time, I realize the wet, matted bird’s nest that it’s become.

I hear Jesse come back in, closing the door behind him. He sits on the edge of the bathtub and begins to wash my hair—wetting the knotted mass, lathering up the shampoo, and rinsing. Once. Twice.

He adds the conditioner, and before I know it, he’s running a comb through the locks, detangling them.

Grateful he can’t see my face, the tears return and I swallow down a sob, not wanting to break down in front of Jesse.

New cracks form in my heart, and older ones deepen, as I think of the man who’s expertly brushing my hair, a skill he was so determined to learn as a girl dad.

A skill he absolutely would’ve used with Lola.

“There,” he says as he rinses the last bit of conditioner out. “I can braid it when you finish your shower. Keep it out of your face and stop it from knotting up.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “Do you want me to help you shower?”

Do I need his help? Probably. Am I going to ask for it? Absolutely not.

I shake my head. “I’ll manage. Just tell Raine not to worry. I won’t be long.”

He doesn’t get up immediately, and I don’t know if he’s lingering because he’s concerned or because he has something to say.

I try to wait him out, but the silence stretches, neither one of us having the energy to muster an actual conversation.

Eventually, he speaks. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, and I don’t give him one, but when I hear the snick of the door being closed, my body loses some of its tension.

I can’t be this broken mess. I can’t afford to be. Not if it’s scaring Raine enough to call her father. Because he’s an amazing man and an even better father, and he will come running for her, every time.

Sighing, I stand up and let the towel drop to my feet. I turn the water back on and dig deep within myself to find any morsel of strength to wash my body and leave this bathroom. I do my best not to focus on the pain, literal and metaphorical, and robotically go through the motions.

Finally dressed in sweats and an oversized tee, I make my way to the living room and see Jesse standing in my kitchen, cooking with Raine.

They’re both silent, moving around each other like a well-oiled machine.

Raine notices me first, and I can’t help but wince at the way she anxiously chews at her bottom lip. I know without even asking, she’s waiting for me to be angry at her for calling Jesse.

I want to be angry at her, but that doesn’t help either of us, and quite frankly, it isn’t fair. I’m raising a beautiful, smart woman, who is worried about her mother, despite losing her sister three days ago.

My shame and embarrassment and inability to deal with my feelings is not her responsibility.

Needing to reassure her, I make my way to both of them. Standing behind her, I wrap my arms around her, squeeze her to me, and kiss the back of her head.

“I love you.”

She places her hand over mine. “I love you too.”

I turn to face Jesse, who’s frying some ground beef. “I can finish this,” I tell him. “You go home to Leo.”

He shakes his head. “Go sit on the couch. I’ll finish this up and then I’ll leave.”

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