Page 109 of Winning Brynn

“Yes?” I bat my eyelashes.

“We have to talk about it at some point.”

“Do we?”

“Yep.”

“Right now?”

She shrugs. “Now is as good a time as any.”

Raising her head to the gray sky, she closes her eyes with a scrunch of her nose, as if trying to summon strength from the universe to deal with my annoying ass.

“Would it help if I told you I don’t remember it?”

It would, actually.

During the glimpses of reality that have slipped through the gaps of my self-induced delusion that they’ve never been together, I’ve tried so hard to swallow down the jealousy that threatens to make me vomit every time I think about it. Albeit, I was unsuccessful, but I tried, nonetheless.

So, hearing that Issy doesn’t remember the night they spent together, and knowing that Leo has no memory of it either, is incredibly convenient for me.

Not that I say that to Issy.

“I don’t think it’s any of my business,” I offer with a slight shake to my voice. “And it would be selfish to only think about myself in this situation, when it must be ten times more uncomfortable for you.”

“Oh, please.” She makes a batting movement with her hand. “There’s so much I regret about the way things happened, but losing the possibility of being with him isn’t one of them. Even if I hadn't done what I did, I don’t think we would have ended up together. It was a one-night stand induced by a recent breakup and too much alcohol. So, if you’re worried that I still want him, you really don’t need to be.”

My forehead creases in confusion, because how could anyonenotwant Leo?

He’s the kind of man who is naturally gentle but knows when to be rough. He’s observant, thoughtful, and kind, even if he is gruff around the edges. He isn’t perfect, but he doesn’t claim to be, and he’s willing to admit when he’s fucked up, and he goes above and beyond to make up for it. My new very elaborate photography equipment is a prime example of that.

He puts in the work to be better, to learn, to grow and change. How many men out there are willing to do that?

Besides, he looks like he was conceived at a Greek god sex party. And he’s got a fucking British accent, for Christ’s sake. What’s not to like about him?

“Thank you,” I say finally. “But I’m more worried about how you’re coping with everything.”

Her face takes on that same searching, doleful expression she was wearing earlier. The lines in between her eyebrows return, and her bottom lip sucks back between her teeth.

“I don’t know how I’m coping,” she whispers. “It’s just not what I expected.”

My gaze slides to Salem, bundled in a thick coat and knitted hat, with a pair of adorable fluffy boots that I ordered last week online because, apparently, all my money gets spent on baby clothes now.

She’s so happy in the swing. Her eyes are bright and cheeks red from the cold, but her mouth is set into a permanent smile. We’d spend all day at the playground if it were up to her.

“In what way?” I ask Issy.

Her breath shivers with a sigh. “It just doesn’t feel how I thought it would.”

Raising my eyes to hers, I wait in silence for her to clarify her meaning.

“I thought we’d have this great connection, you know? That I’d start spending time with her and she’d just know I’m her mom, and the overwhelming love everyone talks about would be there, but…” She trails off, closing her eyes. “But it doesn’t feel like that. She doesn’t feel like my daughter. She feels like someone else’s.”

My throat clogs as the look she sends my way causes guilt to rush through my bloodstream. Because I know she’s not talking about just anyone. She’s talking about me.

“You know loads of moms feel that way, right?” I say gently, plastering on a reassuring smile. “Like, that rush of love doesn’t happen for everyone at first. Sometimes it takes a while.”

“Yeah, but that’s during the newborn phase, and Salem’s not a newborn.”

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