Page 102 of Sweet Escape
“Hey, Em!”
She does her adorable grabby hands, and I lift her into my arms, rubbing our noses together. It’s become something of a routine for us. What does it say about me that this three-year-old may actually be my best friend? A few weeks ago, I might've said it was Wilder, but he’s pulling away, and I’m left wondering if I overlooked some red flags along the way.
I carry her over to the highchair at the island and set her down.
“I made stir fry, but there’s also nuggs and mac for Emmy if you prefer.” He uses the end of a spatula to point to the baking rack of dinosaur nuggets already cooling on the counter.
“Stir fry sounds great, thanks. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Would you mind grabbing some plates? It’s almost ready.”
The stilted conversation does nothing to ease my suspicions, and my hands begin to shake as my body’s way of self-soothing.
Sighing, I reach for two of the dinner plates from the set I thrifted last week. They’re vintage porcelain with a scalloped edge and a blue floral pattern. The set was missing a few dishes, so it was heavily discounted. I made a mental note to find replacement pieces, but that note went straight to the ADHD archive in the back of my mind, where my ideas go to die.
I place them both on the island, side by side, then move back to the sink to grab some utensils, bumping into Wilder on the way. “Oof. S-sorry.”Get it together, Olivia.
Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply through my nose, then blow it out through my mouth.
“You okay?” Wilder drops the spatula on the counter with a loud thud and turns to face me. He raises a hand as if to touch me, but he hesitates before lowering it once more. The withdrawal of that gesture is the final blow to any hope I had for us.
“Yeah. Fine.”
I slink back to the island and perch on the stool, my teeth biting into my bottom lip while I wait for this awkward dinner to end.
Wilder scoops some chicken nuggets and macaroni onto Emmy’s divided toddler plate, then sets it on her tray before dishing up some of the stir fry and sliding a fork across the island.
Instead of taking his place beside me, he drags his plate toward him. Tears spring to my eyes at the harsh sting of rejection. He can’t even stand to sit beside me, how the hell am I supposed to stay here?
I move the food around the plate, then stand. “I’m not really feeling well. I’m going to head to bed.”
Wilder’s lips pull into a slight frown, but he doesn’t question me. He doesn’t stop me from walking down the hall to my room, closing my door, and sinking to the floor. The moment I’m alone, every ounce of hurt rises to the surface, drowning me in pools of anguish, my body caving in on itself as I fall apart.
When the tears have dried and the numbness sets in, the little life inside me makes herself known with a sharp kick beneath my belly button. “At least I still have you.”
Wilder
I’m an asshole.
I made a conscious decision to put some distance between us, hoping it would dull this relentless ache, but it’s only grown stronger while we’ve been apart. Now I’ve managed to hurt her in the process.
I’m a broken man; I’m too broken to love her, to love any woman. Olivia deserves someone who can give her the world, and I can’t even give her my heart. I want to. Fuck, do I want to, but part of my heart is buried six feet deep, and the rest is barely beating, if only for Emmy and Gracie.
I have to find a way to fix this if I want a chance at a real family with her, even if love isn’t on the table. Maybe I can give her everything else. Maybe that would be enough—a place to call home, a family, the ranch, the sun and stars, if that’s what she wants.
“I want Livie,” Emmy says as I tuck her blanket around her.
“I think Livie’s asleep, Angel. You’ll see her tomorrow.”
“I want Livienow.” Her bottom lip wobbles, and I lose the battle of wills against my toddler once again. It’s no secret she has me wrapped around her little finger, but this is getting ridiculous.
Kissing her forehead, I whisper. “Stay right here. I’ll see if she’s awake, okay?”
She nods and sinks further under the covers, a slight curve forming on her lips, knowing she’s won.
I rap my knuckles against Olivia’s door, listening for any sign of movement. “Liv. It’s me.”
The bed shifts, and soft footfalls sound on the other side of the door before her tear-stained face comes into view. “Liv… honey…”
