Page 200 of Perfect Pitch

I appreciate his understanding. “Thank you for being so wonderful.”

“You know, Austyn.”

“What’s that?”

“You deserve everything you’ve earned for yourself.” Loyalty rings through Trevor’s voice.

Even though his words are meant to soothe, nausea still wells inside of me at what I “earned” as a result of being who I am.

What did I earn but a life of standing on the edge of despair, mourning the loss of my child? I think wildly. Something must show on my face because my mother’s arm slides around my shoulders just before my father lays his strong hand on the ones I’ve been wringing frantically.

After my attempted suicide in the hospital after losing Columbia, there’s no way I could have carried this burden alone. Even though he knows, I feel awful expressing my grief openly in front of Mitch. It wasn’t he who lost our baby—it was me. Only in these moments when he’s out of sight do I give in to the true depth of my despair. I would have loved our child simply because she was ours.

I try to tamper down the agony clawing up my throat, begging for release. My mother quickly yanks my phone from my lap and mutes it. The concern and love on her face are my undoing. She uses her thumb to brush the hot tears from my cheeks. “Can you hold it together long enough to hang up?”

I nod. She hands me back my cell. I unmute the call and interrupt whatever Trevor is saying. “Hey, I have to go. Mama’s tried to buzz in three times.”

“Oh! Sorry. Call me back soon.”

“Yeah, soon. Bye.” I hang up just as he’s in the middle of telling me how much he loves me.

My lower lip juts forward. My teeth grind together with the force of holding back my torment. Just as I begin to tremble, my father yanks me onto his lap and wraps his muscular arms around me. I’m crushed against his chest as the storm of tears begins.

I don’t know how long I weep in his arms with my mother stroking my back, but I smell spaghetti and sauce cooking when I wake up. The sun is low in the sky over the Manhattan skyline.

And my father is standing guard over me.

The first words out of my mouth aren’t about Mitch or the baby. “You have no idea how many times I dreamed of having a father who’d do exactly what you’re doing right now.”

A flash of pain crosses his face. “I’m so sorry, kid.”

I snuggle beneath the blanket. “I’m not saying that to make you feel bad. I’m saying thank you.”

“I wasn’t there when you needed a dad.”

“You’re here when I need one now,” I counter quietly.

My mother comes out of their bedroom wearing lounging pajamas just in time to hear my comment. She drops a kiss on my father’s head before making her way to sit next to me on the couch. God, it feels like I waited my whole life to see her this happy. Why does her happiness have to come at the same moment the gods clawed my soul apart for sport?

I scoot back so she has enough room. Her fingers tangle in my loosened hair, something she must have done while I was sleeping. “How are you feeling physically, Austyn?” Before I can answer, she holds up a hand. “You’ve been asleep for hours and not stirred once.”

I meet her gaze head on, knowing I’m dealing with Dr. Paige Kensington, not my mother. “I’m okay. You know I was cleared by my doctors.”

“I’m afraid of the physical toll this will take on you.” She doesn’t mention the mental one, but it’s between all of us.

I try to reassure her, at least on one front. “I’m still doing my physical therapy. Want to spot me?”

Her eyes narrow. “Don’t mind if I do.”

I push myself into a sitting position and hold out my arm. She wraps hers around me. “You’re well protected here.”

Despite the worry that crosses my father’s face, I reassure my mother, “I promise. Lots of downtime to rest.”

Her brow furrows. “You’re starting to scare me.”

“Because I’m being accommodating?”

“Because you never are.”

---