Page 194 of Perfect Pitch

“I can think of a million reasons not to take her and only one why Austyn would demand to go there before you all fly back. Are you sure you’re up to it, kid?”

She replies to her father, “I have to say goodbye.”

“To whom?” I ask. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Austyn gripping the flowers frantically.

“You’ll see,” Beckett says ambiguously. Then he hangs up.

For long moments the humid summer air creeps in the nooks and crannies of the car, filling the spaces where the oppressive silence doesn’t. Finally, Austyn says, “Galileo’s is located on the corner of Main and Columbia Streets—about a half mile down the road.”

I put the car in drive without saying another word. Instead of relaxing, Austyn becomes more tense as we pull up to the location she’s been determined to get to.

After I park the car, I slide out and hold the door for Austyn. She’s still strapped in, eyes glued forward. She hasn’t moved an inch. I crouch down and lay my hand on top of hers. “Austyn?”

“I have to say goodbye to her,” she repeats woodenly.

“To who?” I prod softly.

“To Columbia.”

“Who’s that, Beats?”

Her hand shifts from the flowers to press against her lower abdomen. “There’s a tradition in my family that you name the first-born girl after the location where the mother gave birth.”

“You were born in Austin,” I conclude.

A ghost of a smile crosses her face. “Mama wasn’t naming me Kensington Kensington. Austyn, it was.”

“There’s a Paige, Texas?”

“There is.”

I swallow hard putting Austyn’s attire, her reluctance to get out of the car, and the name of the street we’re parked on together. “The baby was a girl.”

“I was told after the surgery.” Austyn’s blue eyes liquefy.

I can’t not hold her. I pull her gently into my arms. Her head falls forward, tears wetting my neck while her words shake my soul. “Sh-she n-never breathed on her own. Th-the doctor said she likely was gone before we reached the hospital.”

My arms slide up and down her back as tears run unchecked down my own cheeks.

Austyn pulls back and sniffles, swiping her fingers beneath her nose. “But she’ll always be Columbia Kensington to me.”

I gently correct her, “Columbia Kensington Clifton.”

Austyn’s lip trembles. I tuck a long lock of her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry is hardly adequate, Austyn, but I am. I never would have hurt you that way. I was only trying to protect your family by eliminating the threat. I never—never!—thought I’d incite them more.”

I cup the side of her face. For a moment she leans into it. Then she takes my hand and presses it against her now flat stomach. “You hurt me, Mitch, but I would have tried again to have told you about your child.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I have no doubt you’d have made a good father.”

After everything I told her about my own parents, she still believes that. I swallow hard. It’s difficult to know I had every possibility of love within reach only to have it stolen. I push to my feet and hold out a hand for her. She accepts it to get out of the car. I don’t let go when she does. Instead, I press her palm against my chest so she can feel the even rhythm of my heart. “I wish you had told me.”

“I tried...”

I turn my head and press a kiss to the center of her palm, startling a gasp from her lips. “I meant when you were alone in the hospital. I’d have walked off the damn job to be with you, Austyn.”

I can tell that idea never crossed her mind, that the only vision she retained of us was when I shoved her away out of my crazy fears Zandra was going to shank her in the middle of Redemption. Voice shaking, I vow, “I’m in this for the long haul, Austyn. I know you’re afraid of being hurt again—particularly by me. But my love for you isn’t going anywhere.”

She steps back, causing a shaft of pain to lance through me. Bending back into the car, she plucks out the bouquet. “There’s only one thing I can focus on right now and it can’t be us.” Her throat works up and down. “Not here.”

Seeing the flowers reminds me I’m trying to run an emotional sprint to get back to where we were while Austyn’s barely able to crawl. “Right.”

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