Page 25 of Surrender

“Are you okay?”

Yes. No. I don’t freaking know.

“I’m going to talk, and for however long it takes me to get it all out, I need you to keep quiet and do your best not to judge me.”

She scoffs. “As if I ever would.”

“Let’s see. I’m currently riding out a blizzard at the house belonging to the owner of the motel I was staying at because Bennett cried so much last night the other guests thought I was abusing him, so they called the cops on me, and I just went outside and told that man, the same one I had a crush on in high school, that he doesn’t have to make the treacherous drive back to the motel and he can stay here. With us. In his house. With him. During a massive blizzard.”

“Shit, Whitney, that’s a lot to unpack.”

“Why am I like this?” I moan and run my hand over my eyes.

“What? Brave? Kind? Understanding?”

“I feel a whole lot of selfish.”

“Selfish would be making him drive back when it’s unsafe to do so just so you don’t have to feel uncomfortable. Is he trustworthy?”

My thumbnail tears between my teeth. “I mean, I doubt he’s a serial killer.”

“Is he hot?”

Now, it’s my turn to scoff. “Didn’t you hear my story? I haven’t had the time to even consider his looks.”

“So he’s hot.” She laughs. “It’s okay to find another man attractive, Whitney. It’s not like Devon will rise from the dead and be mad about it.”

Alice’s warped sense of humor makes me smile a little, but I suspect she refuses to acknowledge the deep wounds she hides beneath her exterior.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s one night, and he’ll be out of here tomorrow once the roads are plowed.”

The door to the garage swings open.

“I have to go. I’ll call you soon.”

“Sleep well.”

A well-timed yawn stretches my voice. “I will. Bye.”

I end the call and shove my phone in my pocket.

“Is Bennett asleep? I just need to grab a change of clothes, and I’ll get out of the way.”

My hand flutters between us. “No, it’s fine. I wasn’t sure if you needed anything so I haven’t put them to bed.”

He jerks his head at the hall. “Come on.”

I follow instinctually without placing any consideration on his demand. Happy baby sounds come from the portable crib when we enter the bedroom. Sure, now Bennett’s content. Where was this version of my son last night when he was screaming the motel down?

Jack crosses the room to the dresser and yanks out a pair of gray sweatpants and a navy-blue tee shirt. The clothes remain in the crook of his elbow as he rounds the bed to the nightstand and picks up a remote.

“This one here, click the light bulb if you need a little extra light at night.” He demonstrates. A yellow glow emits from beneath the king-sized bed. “It should be enough if you need to change a diaper or give Bennett a bottle. I used it a lot when my niece was over this last weekend.”

“How old is your niece?”

“She’s about four weeks old.”

“Oh wow, a little one.”

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