Page 137 of Endgame
Baby number three yawns in my arms, the soft sound pulling me back to the present moment, to the hospital.
I’m such a hopeless idiot, obsessing over Everett and my fucked-up marriage when I’m watching over her.
This newborn girl, whose name I refuse to learn, is tiny and calm. At peace. I have to cuddle her. Make sure she’s safe, which she is.
At least I can cuddle her without losing my shit.
I don’t cry before I come here anymore. I can lend these babies genuine warmth, even if my heart has been deserted in a metaphorical storm. Soaked and cold and lonely. So fucking lonely.
Regardless, I focus on the task at hand. I’ve been determined to get better at this, if not for myself, then for the newborns here.
Knowing that I’ve managed to pull it together somehow puts a smile on my face.
Gina talks to me about a movie she saw yesterday evening, and I try to listen to her.
Except my mind reverts to my husband. To whatwewere up to last weekend. What we haven’t been up to, to be exact.
Sex. We’ve done none of that. Even though he hadn’t gone to work, Everett still avoided me. He avoided me other than sharing meals or sleeping in the same bed.
He wouldn’t give us a chance.
He might have feelings for me, but maybe he’s better off without them.
Maybe he’s better off without having to deal with me.
My eyes are hot. My vision gets a little blurry. Then I blink, and two tears trickle down my cheeks. Landing on my black blouse.
“Are you okay?” Gina’s hand is warm on my shoulder.
I’ve come to learn that the woman is touchy-feely in a non-invasive way. She’s made an art out of her profession. When her hand is on me, my heart slows. The tightness in my chest eases.
I clear my throat. “I’m fine.”
No more tears. Cormac is watching and will report to Everett. Plus, I have a green-eyed orphan to cuddle.
But my stupid thoughts won’t go away.
Maybe I’m not too much. A strong man like Everett can tackle any project he puts his mind to.
That still doesn’t explain why he’s changed after last week.
Must be something else then.
A sigh rushes past my lips. I hug the small baby girl closer to me, shushing her. Shushing myself.
“What do we have here?” Gina sees through the defenses I’ve built around me. Her arms are outstretched; her look is one of conspiracy. I’ve been here long enough to recognize the dippedchin and wide eyes for what they are. “It smells like someone needs a diaper change.”
Our secret code forLet’s trick Cormac and give you a break.
At her sneakiness, a plan begins to form in my head.
Earlier this morning, determined to fix things between Everett and me, I snuck out of our bedroom while he was in the shower and stole one of Jane Doe’s photos, shoving it into my pocket. I also took a couple of twenties from the drawer in his bedside table.
Honestly, I had no idea what I’d do with either.
Until now.
I’m going to use the photo and the money to get to my childhood home and finally have my answers.
