Page 64 of End Game
“I hear you.”
“I mean it, Branch. She still has a shot at leading a good, normal life but only if you stay the fuck out of it. You can’t be half in, half out with your bullshit. You can’t be fucking everything that walks and paying lip service to my sister on the side. You hear me?”
“I said I hear you.”
He smiles hatefully. “Consider this your last warning. If I ever show up here again, call the police because I’m here to rip you apart.”
The door jerks open and he slams it behind him. Pictures on the wall rattle as I bend down and pick up a piece of the shattered vase.
Holding it in my hands, the edges of the rough glass prickling at my skin, I feel the weight of the world sitting square on my shoulders. And as broad as they are, they threaten to collapse.
CHAPTER 19
LAYLA
Only a few weeks ago, I lay here face down, bare ass up in the air with Branch smacking my cheeks and thrusting his cock inside me. This afternoon, I sit upright, my sanity up in the air and Branch’s words ricocheting through me.
The irony is not lost on me.
Although I’ve only been at the cabin for a few hours, driving up here as soon as Finn left, already I feel the peace settling in my soul. The water laps against the shoreline, the birds singing from the trees smoothes out some of the franticness that was starting to build up.
The ride here gave me a few hours to think without the distraction of life. There’s nothing to do in a car but think, and by the time my car slipped through the gates, I didn’t have a ton of answers, but I had options.
I take a bite of a peanut butter cookie and it breaks in half, the bottom part falling onto my tummy. Brushing it off, my hand flutters against my body and an awareness strikes me for what might actually be the first real time.
Cautiously, like my stomach may not be my own, I place my palm against my belly button. It rises and falls as I breathe. Closing my eyes, I try to imagine a tiny baby just inches inside.
Resting my other hand above the first, a warm, tender feeling trickles over me. Nothing else is front and center in my mind, no distractions picking at me from the outside—just me and the sudden feeling of fullness in a way I haven’t had before.
“Hey.” I say the word aloud and then grin. “I’m not sure if I should talk to you or if you can hear me or anything like that, but if you can . . . I’m your mommy.”
A hiccupped breath leaves my lungs as the taste of the word lingers on my lips. It sounds funny and comical but also . . . nice.
“I haven’t really made a lot of terrific choices for you so far and I’m sorry for that. I’m just getting the hang of this, you know?”
Opening my eyes, I watch a boat come around the tree-line and remember when Finn and I used to beg our dad to take us out there for hours on end.
“I promise I’ll get this mom thing down before you get here. At some point, I’ll stop being a chicken and tell your grandmother about this and she’ll help.” Rubbing a small circle, I wonder how big the baby is. “You’re still growing in there and I’m still growing out here. By the time you get here, I’ll be ready. I promise.”
I get to my feet as the boat turns towards our dock and I see an older women that lives across the lake waving from the bow. She pulls in and gets her boat situated and heads up the walkway towards me.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, climbing the stairs to the patio. She pulls me into a hug. “How are you, Layla?”
“I’m good, Janet. Want to have a seat?”
We sit down and I offer her a drink but she passes. “I’ll be honest. Finn called and asked me to check on you.”
“Ugh,” I groan, resting my head against the cushion.
“Don’t be upset,” she says, patting my arm. “I miss having someone care about me like that. Peter’s been gone three yearsnow and I miss having someone worry about me. Of course, I have my sister, Kate, but it’s not the same.”
“You can have Finn,” I offer, making her laugh. My hand gingerly rests on my stomach again as I look at Janet. Her face has some age spots since I last saw her, her hair showing a bit of silver now too. “Mrs. Brasher, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, honey.”
“Do you ever regret not having children?”
She smiles sweetly, a simple understanding crossing her face. “Not really. Peter was much older than I when we met, and as you know, he didn’t want children. It was something I agreed to before we married. Now, do I wonder what it would be like to have a couple of girls or boys to come visit me? Sure. But do I regret not having that? I can’t say I do. Why do you ask?”
