Page 42 of The Billionaire and the Nanny: Part 2

Bailey

I almost forgotwhat home was like. And coming home at six in the morning doesn’t help either. I hardly recognize Perrysburg. Riding home in Dad’s car, I stare out the window at our snowed-in town square and small shops on Main Street still asleep to the town. To think this place felt big at one point. Now it seems like a molecule next to the beehive that is New YorkCity.

Leaving Olivia was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I know I could’ve waited, but it hurt too much to stay. Even one more night would’ve driven me crazy, and I know it would’ve ended in a screaming match.

I entered her room before sunrise this morning, lowered the crib rail, and pressed a kiss against her soft baby cheek. “It was my honor caring for you, chunky monkey,” I said, fighting back tears. “Begood.”

Luckily, she was asleep, or else I can’t imagine how much worse it would’vebeen.

Six hours later, here I am. My dad knows something is wrong but won’t pry. He just keeps talking about random things to keep me distracted.

“Joe sold one of his dressers yesterday,” he says. Joe is his brother who works with him building beautiful hand-crafted furniture in our garage. Considering few people pass through Perrysburg, Joe selling a whole dresser is a bigdeal.

“That’s awesome. Tell him I say congrats,” I mutter, forcing a smile.

I just need sleep. My bed, if my mom hasn’t claimed my room for anything. When I left Perrysburg six months ago to rent a room in Queens, I was determined never to come home with my tail between my legs. And I’m fairly certain it would’ve worked if I hadn’t been stupid enough to fall in love with myboss.

Hindsight is a super-sharp 20/20.

It was a bad idea from the very start. Bad, badidea.

Now comes the worst part of all—admitting to my mother that she was right.

Dad pulls into our little house on Haven Street, and it strikes me just how appropriate that name is. You can barely even see our house on a Google satellite image. We’re hidden by trees all the way in the back of a long road and cul de sac. Seeing my house again makes my heart ache. My mom waits at the door, and her eyes light up when she sees me, though her smile is crooked and sympathetic.

Carrying my bag over my shoulder, I trundle through the snow, up the steps and into her warm arms. When I smell her familiar scent, I fall apart at the seams. Mom hugs me and pats my back. Thankfully, she has nothing to say. Now, anyway.

“Is that the only bag you brought, Bale?” Dad asks from the trunk of thecar.

“Yes. The rest of my stuff will get shipped.” My clothes, my shoes, my toiletries, all the stuff I didn’t take when I left. I wonder if Zayden will send me my new bedroom things. Hope not. I don’t think I can bear to see them again knowing he gave them tome.

I shuffle down the warm hallway into my room to see it exactly the way I left it. My soul feels heavy but grateful to see its familiar resting space. Clonking down on my fluffy bedspread that smells like home, Mom leaves me to go make breakfast, even though I told her five times I don’t want to eat anything. Regardless, coffee is brewing and something is cooking on the stovetop.

Dad and Mom mumble quietly. I know they’re talking about me and my sudden call from the airport telling them I’d be coming home in a few hours. I know they’re trying to figure out what to make of me, but the fact is, they don’t have to do anything. I’m just going to lay here like a bloated seal on the wharf for hours, maybe days, possibly weeks. They don’t have to cook or clean for me, they don’t even have to talk tome.

Just being here is enough. There’s nothing like coming home when wounded.

This is what happens when you fall in love despite your brain warning you not to, despite your mom telling you not to. Now I have to deal with the aftermath of my stupidity. It’s going to take a while, because I fell pretty damnhard.

Not just with Zayden but with Olivia, too.

* * *

Over the next few weeks,I’m in a fog. I wander around wondering why I walked into a certain room. I’m almost sure I went in because the baby called me, but lo and behold, there’s no baby, no bottles to warm, no diapers to restock, no floor toys to play with. There’s only my mother talking endlessly about football, my grandmother bringing a different flavor pie every day, and my dad quietly nodding at everything being said while staring into his newiPad.

At least he’s moved on from a newspaper. I’m proud ofhim.

Me, I’m practically a mute zombie. Other than the standard no’s and yes’s to the zillions of questions asked about what I want, what I would like, to eat, to drink, to watch on TV, to do, I barely speak. The term “depression” comes up a lot behind closed doors. I know I’m depressed, but there’s nothing I can do about it now except wait it out. Because it will end one day. Hopefully. I know it will. I’ve never been this wracked. I know I’ll snap out of it one day, because one thing I’ve never been is beaten.

Bailey Rainville may go down for the count, but she always, always gets backup.

For now, the only thing on my schedule is: paying the price of my stupidity.

Dad comes into my room as I’m looking for another good book to read on my tablet. I’ve already gone through five short horror novels. I can’t read aboutlove.

“Hey, princess.”

“Dad, I’m not a princess,” I mumble without looking up from my screen.

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