Page 2 of Worth the Wait

I didn’t want pity or sorrow from anyone. The ache in my body wasn’t something I had any control over, but the love that I still felt was. I chose to continue loving Addi with my whole heart. It was an active decision that I made day in and day out.

I could have gotten over her—or at least tried—but I was never going to do that. Had no desire to fill the void she’d left with some warm body that meant nothing to me. I’d love that woman until the day I died. And no one needed to feel sorry for me over it. If it wasn’t Addison Whitman, then it was no one for me.

“Just drop it. I don’t think she’s coming back anyway.” I walked away, ending the conversation, while also giving Brooklyn the answer to what she’d been asking. I headed into the massive chef’s kitchen that I’d also built for Addi, where the rest of my family was waiting.

“Uncle Patrick.” My niece, Clara, smiled at me as soon as I placed one of the unopened bottles of wine on top of the kitchen table where my brothers and dad all sat. “I love you,” she said, and I was so damn grateful for her.

Every single one of us would do anything for that little girl. And we’d almost lost her. She’d wandered off a couple of weeks back and gotten lost in a storm. My dog, Jasper, found her before it was too late.

Best. Dog. Ever.

None of us would have survived losing her. We’d all collectively lost so much already. Clara was the thread that kept us all together. We would have unraveled in an instant if things had gone badly.

“I love you too.” I grinned as I pulled out a chair next to her and sat.

“What about me? Why don’t you love me?” my younger brother, Matthew, whined and made a face at our niece. He was desperate to be her favorite uncle, but it was never going to happen.

Clara loved me the most, and we all knew it.

“I do love you, Uncle. Sheesh. So needy,” she said, sounding exasperated, and we all started laughing.

There were times when she seemed much older than only eight.

I watched as my dad opened a bottle and filled his and Brooklyn’s glasses before swirling it around like he was some master wine sommelier. He breathed the stuff in before taking a tentative sip.

“Damn. This is good stuff, Patrick,” he said.

I shook my head, running a hand through my hair. It was getting long. “If you say so.”

“Did Addison pick it out?” He brought her up so casually, like her name didn’t send me into an emotional spiral and make my breath catch in my throat.

“Dad,” Thomas warned, his tone stern.

“What? Addison taught me everything I know about wine. I just miss that girl, is all.” He continued speaking about her like it was no big deal, like talking about her was something we did all the time. Like she might walk through the door at any second when we all knew she wouldn’t and most likely never would again.

“I miss Miss Addi’s starfish mac and cheese,” Clara said as she took a big forkful of spaghetti and tried to fit it all in her mouth.

What the hell? What was it called when your family tried to destroy you instead of help you? Whatever the opposite of an intervention was, that was what was happening here. They weren’t trying to help me through my pain. They were trying to drown me in it.

“Have you heard from her?” Matthew asked.

He was always fucking asking me that.

So. Nosy.

“No,” I said forcefully, trying to end this painful topic of conversation.

My dad’s eyes shot to mine and held them in a stare. He’d given me and Thomas both his shade of blue. Matthew’s were a little deeper than the rest, and knowing him, he’d probably started a social media fan page for them.

“You haven’t talked to her lately?” my dad asked as he inhaled a piece of garlic bread in one bite.

“I haven’t heard from her in forever. We don’t talk. Okay?” I looked around at everyone, making sure they got the message.

Clara put a hand on my arm, her big brown eyes blinking up at me. “I know you miss her, Uncle Patrick. I bet she misses you too. I would. And she doesn’t even know about Jasper!”

Jesus.

This dinner was going to be the death of me.

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