Page 98 of Broken Halo

For Ellie.

His tone is heavy. “I’ll be over soon. Miss my girl and grandbaby.”

I cross my arms. “Open door for you, Kipp.”

And with that, he’s gone—the man who will inevitably be my father-in-law, sooner than later if my sperm has anything to say about it. For Ellie, it was easy to forgive.

My phone vibrates on the counter and I pick it up. “Angel. You’ll never guess who just left—”

“Trig.” My gut clenches when I hear my name spill through the phone in a desperation so deep, it cuts into me like a nightmare. “Come home. Now.”

* * *

She wouldn’t tell me over the phone—she couldn’t. She was too upset, begging me to get to her as fast as I could.

I left the movers and told them to pull the door shut behind them. There’s nothing left we want and it’s not like the neighborhood isn’t gated anyway.

Breaking every traffic law to get to her, I rush through the garage door to find her sitting on the floor, legs crossed, with boxes littered all around her—papers, books, more of my mother’s shit that we’ve been going through for weeks.

“Baby,” I breathe, looking around the kitchen, great room, and sunroom. “Where’s Griffin?”

She doesn’t move and stays sitting there in her cutoff jean shorts and tank with no bra. Makeup free and hair a mess, she hardly looks a day older than she did when I kissed her for the first time in the far pasture of her family’s property.

She wipes a tear from her fair cheek. “He’s napping.”

“Ellie,” I demand. “What the hell’s going on?”

She looks down at what I can tell is one of my mother’s journals sitting open on her lap. “I, ah …” she stutters and looks back up at me. I frown because I don’t know what’s in her head but I can tell it’s either stunned or traumatized her. “I was cleaning out the second closet in your mom’s room so you could move the rest of your stuff in. It was filled with boxes and … I don’t know, stuff. I finally got it all out and found this wooden one. It was locked. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it mattered since we’ve been going through everything together.”

I look at the box sitting beside her and the wood is splintered and broken.

“You know me.” She bites her lip. “I had to know what was inside, so I took a hammer to it. There were some journals and other paperwork. Trig, you have to read this.”

I move to her and stoop, running a hand down her fair cheek before looking to the journal in her lap. She grabs my hand and pulls me next to her. I take the book of memories from where she has it open and look down at it and read the date. “Twenty-three years ago?”

She shrugs and tips her head, scooting closer to me and I’m not sure what sets me off more—her or what I now dread in this journal.

“Read,” she coaxes softly as she presses up close like she does when she needs me, but I have a feeling this time it’s the opposite and I brace.

August 27th—

What have I done?

It happened so fast. It’s no excuse, I know. But he was supposed to be home any minute.

Okay, so he was supposed to be home in fifteen minutes, but the way my heart raced when I read the note, I knew. I KNEW I couldn’t let history repeat itself. I might be able to protect Easton—protect his heart from hardening like the man who gave him life, the man I’m stuck with and can’t seem to find a way for Easton and me to get away from. Easton is mine.

But another child who isn’t?

There’s no way Ray would let me stake my claim and stand in front of this baby like I do with Easton. He’d throw it in my face that it was another woman’s. He does it all the time when he stumbles in smelling like his cheap whores.

But when I came home from cleaning today and found a crying newborn wrapped and left on the stoop, I didn’t even have to read the note.

I knew.

There was no way I was going to let another living soul be affected by Ray Barrett. I don’t care who the mother is. If there’s even a miniscule chance this baby is Ray’s, he’ll never know, not as long as I’m breathing.

And I have no doubt she’s Ray’s. The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew. She looks just like my Easton when he was born. A full head of dark hair and her beautiful eyes might’ve been petrified and hungry, but they’re a blue so light and bright I know they’ll never turn. They’ll be the color of my boy’s someday. She’s no doubt his sister.

---