Page 88 of Beautifully Reckless

Before me, is a man so fierce... so brave... yet completely broken.

I shouldn’t be here.

Spinning, I turn to leave, which of course is when I step on a twig, the snap of it loud under my foot, making me freeze in place.

“Come here, Angel.”

His voice is rough, thick with emotion, and even if he’d told me to go away, I wouldn’t have been able to leave.

He’s suffering right now, and he needs someone to drown in his pain with.

Hesitating only for a moment, I spin and move to him, closing the distance to stop beside him, my gaze flicking to the small headstone… too small.

Slowly, Ringo lifts his gaze up to mine before reaching out.

“Come and meet Hope.”

As overwhelming grief slams into me, I slip my trembling fingers into his big palm, feeling his heat around them as he tugs me down to kneel beside him.

Taking in a steadying breath, I finally let my gaze fall to the headstone.

Hope Angel Musgrove

Never walked on Earth

But will forever fly in our heavens

I have no control over my tears at this point. Between the two of us is so much unimaginable pain that I can barely stand it, yet know I don’t want to share it with anyone other than him.

I can’t help but picture the day he buried her here.

Did he dig up the soil himself? Lower her tiny casket into the earth and bury it here for her eternal resting place? Did he etch the words into the stone himself?

I can’t bear to ask him, and there’s no need to take him back to that day.

Still, to think that Cam’s little baby girl’s remains are buried right here under this soil… It’s too unbearable to comprehend.

“I know I never knew her,” the gravel in Ringo’s voice breaks as he speaks, “but I do know she would have loved you.”

I don’t even know what to say. This pain is too much. Too brutal.

What if this weremybaby? I don’t know what I’d do if something were to happen to him or her.

How does Ringo get through everyday knowing that his little girl died?

How does he face every day with the images he likely still has in his head of little Hope, probably not even fully developed lying in the dirt next to her horrid mother?

“I d-didn’t mean to d-disturb you,” I stammer, hating the tremor in my voice.

“You’re not disturbing me, Angel.”

Angel.

I didn’t know that was Hope’s middle name. Not until now. Not until seeing it carved into stone.

“Why do you call me that?” I whisper, glancing up at him.

His gaze meets mine before flicking to my lips where they linger a little too long, before shifting back to my eyes again.

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