Page 79 of What We Broke

“Hey, Rain-e girl. Hey.” I rush into the room and scoop her up in my arms as I sit on the edge of the bed. “I got you. Breathe in.” I inhale loudly, hoping the feel of my chest rising and falling against her somehow helps calm her down. “Now breathe out. Can you do that again for me? In and out.”

We inhale and exhale together until I feel the tension in Raine’s body slowly but surely loosen. I rub my hand up and down her back until I feel her shoulders shake in my hold.

“It’s okay,” I soothe. “Just let it all out.”

My eyes sting and my chest aches at the sound and feel of her sobs, but I’m determined to be her solid ground right now. Her rock. Her shoulder. Her father.

I press my lips to her head as I slowly rock her in my arms. “I love you, Rain-e girl. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

I catch movement in my periphery and see Zara standing in the doorway, bathrobe on, hair tied in her usual messy bun, and the sadness I feel in the marrow of my bones written all over her face. She places a palm over the center of her chest, and a single tear runs down her cheek. I feel her heart shatter for Raine, even more than I feel my own.

Zara closes the door, and I’m both humbled by the trust she has in me to comfort Raine and completely terrified at how ill equipped I really feel.

It takes another ten solid minutes for Raine’s breathing to even out, and I’m convinced she’s fallen asleep, completely depleted after all the tears, when her wet, croaky voice breaks the silence.

“What are you doing here?”

The question doesn’t hold any accusation, but it’s full of concern and curiosity. She pulls herself out of my hold and tilts her head up to look at me, her eyes red rimmed, swollen, and expectant. She wants answers.

“Are you okay?” I try to broach her outburst delicately, knowing my presence is the trigger and wanting so desperately to try and rectify that. “Do you want me to go get you a glass of water, maybe?”

“No.” She shakes her head and climbs her way off her bed, wiping at her tear-streaked face and putting some distance between us. “I just want to know why you’re here.”

“I came to apologize,” I admit. “I came to maybe talk about all the things I’ve done wrong by you since Lola died.”

I catch the smallest flinch at the mention of her sister. “I didn’t do right by you or your dad and your mom, and I’m trying to rectify that.”

She remains silent as I speak, but she’s back to sitting on the edge of the bed and I take her proximity to me as somewhat of a win.

“Did you know I asked your Dad for a divorce?” This probably isn’t the best way to start this conversation, but honesty is the only tool in my arsenal right now.

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “Your dad said that he would give me a divorce, but we had to go to therapy first. And I thought I had it in the bag,” I admit to her. “We were going to see this therapist. I was going to show up a few times and then I would be able to say to him, ‘I did it, now let me go.’ It didn’t go that way.”

Trying to act nonchalant, I manage to kick my shoes off, and I scoot myself far enough up her bed that my back is resting on the headboard. “Turns out you learn a few things in therapy. One of those things is how badly I have let you down this last year.” I can’t hide the crack in my voice. “I have been very selfish. I have depended on your mom and dad to step up every time I failed, and that wasn’t fair to them. And it was extremely unfair to you.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off the tears. “And I’m worried that I made you feel—” A sob escapes my throat. “Unloved and like you weren’t enough. And I will never forgive myself for doing that to you.”

I tilt my head back and release a shuddering breath, trying to get a handle on my emotions. I do not want to run the risk of Raine feeling like she needs to be the caretaker in this situation.

When I manage to drop my gaze back to her, her eyes are filled with unshed tears she’s determined not to let fall.

She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Are you getting a divorce?”

It’s not what I expect her to say, but I’ll take any question if it means she’s talking to me.

“I don’t want to,” I confess. “I haven’t told your dad that yet, though. And truthfully, he might want one now, and I’ll have to deal with that.”

“Why do you think he’ll want one?”

“Because sometimes we hurt the ones we love, and sorry just doesn’t cut it.”

“But did you apologize?”

I think back to us the other day, standing at Lola’s grave. “I’m trying. I’m trying with all of you,” I add. “I want to make things right. Especially with you.”

“Do you love Lola more than me?”

Her question is a slap to the face. Her eyes bore into mine as she waits for my answer, and I am in awe of her courage and strength.

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