Page 44 of Exposed Ink

The second the words are out of my mouth, I instantly regret them. “Fuck, I meant …”

I’m racking my brain, trying to think of a better way to word what I was trying to say, when Kinsley gives me a sad smile and says, “It’s okay. I know what you meant … and didn’t mean. People do it all the time, and I promise that despite being a bit messed up, I’m not that fragile.”

“I’m sorry,” I say anyway. “I can’t even imagine how hard it is for you. If I lost Taylor …” The mere thought of losing my daughter causes my heart to clench in my chest.

I don’t even know how the hell Kinsley gets up every morning and functions after losing not only her daughter, but her husband too. She might not realize it, but she’s so damn strong.

“It’s hard,” she says, “but the truth is, your daughter has helped me more than she knows. She got me reading again, something I hadn’t done since my entire life had changed, and hanging out with you two is the most I’ve gotten out since they died, aside from going to work and the occasional night out forced on me by my family.

“And I’m not saying this like I’m trying to use your daughter … I know I lost my daughter, and she isn’t coming back, and I would never try to replace her. But,” she chokes out, tears filling her eyes, “sometimes, when I’m with Taylor, I imagine what it would have been like if my daughter had survived.

“She’d only be three years old, but …”

She sniffles back a sob, and I pull her down the aisle and into an isolated corner of the store where nobody can see us, not wanting to have this conversation in the open. I’d rather have it in private, but when Kinsley is willing to talk, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I get it,” I murmur once we’re alone. “And trust me when I tell you, when she looks at you, she wonders what it would be like if her mom was capable of being a mom.”

“I don’t want to judge her mom,” she says, “but I don’t know how she can go weeks or even months without seeing that precious girl.”

“I don’t know,” I agree. “I guess for her, it’s out of sight, out of mind.” I shrug. “She’s not a bad person. And in her own way, she loves Taylor. She calls and texts, and they video-chat. When she has time, she visits and brings her stuff from the places she’s been to. But she just wasn’t meant for the full-time mom life.”

Kinsley nods in understanding, then shocks me when she says, “After I lost Brenna and Brandon, I told myself that I would never get married and have any more kids. After all, I had my chance at a family, at being a mom, and I destroyed it. But sometimes, when I’m around Taylor, I think about what it would be like … to carry a baby to term and give birth to her the right way, like I was supposed to with Brenna. Only instead of her being stillborn, she would come out warm and crying. The doctor would lay her on my chest, and I would promise her that I’d do everything I could to be a good mom.”

Kinsley releases a strangled sob, and I reach out to wipe her tears.

“You already are a mom,” I tell her.

She shakes her head, more tears sliding down her face. “No, I’m not.”

I reach up and palm her cheek, and surprisingly, she nuzzles into my hand, accepting the comfort.

“Yes, you are,” I say. “You carried her for months, then gave birth to her. She’s just in heaven now. But I have no doubt that if given the chance, you’d be an amazing mom again. I see it in the way you are with Taylor. One day, you’ll be given a second chance, and you’ll get to hold your baby and tell them all about their sister who’s looking down on all of you.”

“No.” She shakes her head harder. “That’s not going to happen because I’m not having any more babies. The doctor said that due to the placental abruption that occurred when I hit the pole, I might have a harder time conceiving.”

“Might doesn’t mean you can’t,” I point out.

“No, but I don’t want to,” she murmurs. “I was given the most beautiful gift, and I couldn’t keep her safe, and it makes sense that my punishment would be that I not only lose her and my husband, but that my body also has a lower chance of conceiving. It’s like it’s the universe’s way of telling me that I had my chance and I ruined it.”

“Stop,” I say, swiping my thumb under her eye to wipe her falling tears. “It was an accident. Do you think I’m a good dad?”

“You already know you are.” She rolls her eyes.

“Well, what if we got in the car right now and I got into an accident and Taylor died? I hadn’t been drinking or doing drugs. It was raining, and I hit the road the wrong way and?—”

She gasps, covering my mouth with her hand. “How did you … how did you know?”

“What?”

“That’s what happened,” she says. “We were in Miami for our babymoon, and it was raining, and I hit a patch of water and hydroplaned, losing control and hitting a pole.”

“Oh, Kins.” I frame her face with both hands. “I didn’t know. I was just using that as an example. But you didn’t answer me. What if it was me driving? Or hell, Brandon? Would you think I’m a bad dad? Would you be looking down on him from heaven, thinking he was a horrible husband and father?”

“No,” she chokes out. “I know you’re a good dad, and I can’t imagine blaming Brandon, but it’s just so hard. Every time I’m enjoying myself, I feel like I shouldn’t be because they don’t get to. I know it’s absurd because he loved me and would’ve wanted me to be happy, but I was supposed to be happy with him … with our daughter.

“The night at The Black Cat was the first time I let myself go. Drinking and dancing with you … kissing you. But then I got home, and the guilt consumed me.”

“I can’t tell you how to feel,” I say. “But I know that if I were lucky enough to be with you and something happened to me, I would want you to move forward and find happiness. Maybe it’s because as a paramedic, I’m exposed to death more often than most, but it’s made me see how precious life is, and it shouldn’t be wasted. Every day, I wake up and try to live my life as if it’s my last because the fact is, it very well could be.”

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