Page 104 of My Sweetest Obsession
Ivy’s eyes meet mine over Mom’s shoulder, and I don’t bother trying to fight the tear that slips down my cheek.
She’s naming her after Drew…
Nothing else would have felt right the way this does.
When Mom finally releases her, I step in and tug Ivy up against me. At this point, I don’t care if Mom sees us and the questions start coming.
I can’t not touch her, hold her, after she revealed that.
Ivy stares up at me with an uncertain smile and searching eyes. “What do you think of the name?”
“I think it’s absolutely perfect.”
Just like the baby will be.
The perfect mix of Ivy and Drew.
I take her face between my hands and angle it up so I can ghost my lips across hers. “She will never want for anything. That promise I made you applies to your daughter, too.”
She clings to me, her warm hands pressed directly over my thundering heart. Her eyes fill with tears, and she opens and closes her mouth a few times, searching for whatever she wants to say. “I’m so sorry about everything…”
“No.” I shake my head. “Never apologize to me for anything you did or said. The apologies are all mine to give. Forever, if that’s what it takes.”
This woman has always been my obsession, my addiction, the one thing capable of making me do equally terrible or beautiful things, and now that we’ve finally reached this place, I will do whatever it takes to keep us like this.
“Forever…” The word comes out barely a whisper, then she smiles. “I thought my agony after losing Drew would last that long, but you’ve proven to me that the only way to move forward is one second, one minute, one hour, one day at a time. That isn’t so scary anymore”—one of her hands slides up my arm and she twines her fingers with mine against her cheek—“because I have you by my side. And together, we can withstand any storm.”
EPILOGUE
CAM
NINE MONTHS LATER
Stepping into the Philadelphia Art Museum usually calms me.
The familiar smell of all the old paintings, the worn floors from the constant foot traffic, the hushed conversations and the tour guides walking past, describing all the masterpieces to everyone gawking at them and snapping photos.
It’s comfortable.
But today, I’m tense, anxiety coiling around my spine and stiffening it the moment we enter.
Ivy rifles through the bag hanging on the back of the stroller, falling behind me slightly.
I stop walking and turn toward her. “What are you looking for?”
She glances up, frustration in the little huff that puffs from her lips. “Her pacifier in case she wakes up.”
Her nervous rustling around, searching for it makes me grin, and I peek down at Drea sleeping soundly in my arms, snuggled against my chest. “I don’t think we have to worry about that. She’s out cold.”
Ivy sighs. “Of course she is, because you’re holding her. You know she’ll have to get used to sleeping in the stroller or her own crib—not in your arms—eventually.”
“Well, that day isn’t today.”
I adjust my hold on Drea to keep her head up, and Ivy rolls her eyes slightly at the same argument we’ve been having for the past six months. Her belief that my constant need to hold Drea is going to somehow make it impossible for her to sleep as she grows older, doesn’t worry me. And even if it did, the feeling I get when I have her snuggled against my chest is well worth any frustration her sleeping patterns might cause later.
Because this grounds me.
Knowing she’s here, that she’s safe, the feel of her pressed against me, being able to look down and see Drew’s face and that mop of curly hair, holding this tiny piece of him who is growing and thriving and is so loved by everyone around her, it helps me get through the hard days. The days when the guilt and the anger over how everything played out still get to me. When I have to rely on Ivy, Mom, and Dale to keep me from listening to the voices in my head that still love to try to seduce me to that place I never want to go again.
