Page 91 of The Bartender's Baby

I crawled to the back door and burst out onto the sidewalk, gasping for clean, cool night air.

The cold October wind bit at my skin as I staggered, collapsing against the back wall of the building. With trembling fingers, I dialed.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“My bar’s on fire. Walt’s, the whole—” A violent coughing fit overtook me, making it hard to speak. “The whole roof’s burning up.”

“What’s your address?”

“It’s 523 Pine,” I got out between hacks.

“Is anyone in the building?”

I shook my head even as I knew the operator couldn’t see me, but with the way my vision began to blur and how fuzzy I felt, I didn’t know if I could string enough words together. “No. I… Me…”

In the distance, faint sirens wailed. Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived as I felt myself sinking to the ground. The last thing I saw was the flames licking higher into the night sky, painting everything in an eerie, flickering glow. The last thing I thought of was Tabitha—my Tabby—sitting with George—my son—as she fed him. His tiny hand curled around her starburst necklace and her gazing down adoringly at him.

I thought I smiled.

But I couldn’t be sure.

Because everything went black.

TWENTY-NINE

TABBY

Ihadn’t been able to sleep. I tried. I brushed my teeth, put on my comfiest pajamas and white-noise playlist, but I couldn’t. I even tried a few chapters of my Scottish romance, but when that didn’t help, I gave up and went downstairs, settling on the couch with a blanket and the monitor next to me as I mindlessly watchedPlanet Earthwith Lucy at my feet.

I checked the time once again. Almost three a.m. and still no word from Nate.

My stomach churned with guilt and worry. Our fight earlier tonight kept replaying in my head. I hated leaving things so raw and unfinished between us. Especially after he’d confessed how much it hurt him that I wouldn’t yet say “I love you” back.

I understood where he was coming from. I’d felt his love through his actions for months now. The nursery he’d meticulously decorated. The foot rubs and back massages when I could barely walk because of my gigantic belly. He never even blinked when it came to diaper changes. Or, hell, helpingmechange in those days after I delivered George.

He showed me he loved me in all the ways I needed, and he told me over and over because that’s what he needed—words.

But my hesitation to say them wasn’t about him. It was the barricade around my heart, cracked but still standing from my past. I wanted to tear it down brick by brick. I was trying. But old wounds didn’t heal easily or in a straight line.

I sighed, shifting positions on the couch again, too restless to get comfortable. Where was he? I needed him here so I could explain. So I could wrap my arms around his sturdy frame and whisper “I love you” into his neck. The words were there, waiting to be released. I just needed him to come home so I could set them free.

My phone lit up, buzzing on the coffee table. I grabbed it quickly, heart leaping when I saw the hospital’s name on the screen.

“Hello?” I answered urgently.

“Tabitha?” a woman’s voice replied. “This is Salma from Memorial Hospital. I called because you’re listed as Nathan Kozlowski’s emergency contact.”

The phone slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor, and I fumbled to pick it up, my hands trembling. When I put it back to my ear, the woman was mid-sentence.

“I’m sorry, could you—could you repeat that?”

“I’m calling to inform you Nathan’s been brought in by an ambulance. He’s in?—”

My hand flew to my mouth. “Is he okay?”

“He is currently being tended to by the medical staff, but if you’re able, you should make your way here to?—”

“I’ll be right there. As soon as I can. I’ll be there.” I hung up and raced upstairs, my mind reeling with possibilities and none of them good.

---