Page 85 of My Sweetest Obsession
I need to talk.
I’ve been coming here long enough that almost everyone knows what happened by now—at least those parts I’ve shared, which have given them the basics—and as much as I may not want to discuss all the things I’ve done wrong and ways I’ve hurt everyone around me, it does help.
Sometimes, it’s the only thing that does.
It’s better than sitting alone in my studio, staring at another canvas, struggling to find a way to express all this turmoil while that little voice tries to tell me there are ways to make it go away…
Dale approaches, inclining his head and giving me a look that says how shitty I feel is written all over my face. He settles to my left, leaning back in the metal chair and resting his arms across those on either side. “You good?”
It’s the same question he always asks, and my answer has varied greatly the past several months. There have been nights when he’s come to the studio and sat with me over a carafe of coffee because I didn’t want to call Mom and couldn’t be alone with the thoughts in my head. There have been breakfasts and lunches when I actually felt good and walked away thinking things were going to get better.
And in many ways, they have.
I’m in a much better place than I was that night I almost went back down that very dark path. Even with all the anguish and uncertainty revolving around Ivy, I can at least breathe again most days.
So, even though I may want to hide tonight and wallow, I refuse to give in to it.
Instead, I nod—despite the silence from Ivy weighing down on me like a thousand-pound elephant on my chest.
“You don’t look okay.” His assessing gaze rakes over me, and I know what he sees. My uncut hair that has grown completely out of control. My unshaven face. The bags under my eyes. My shaking hands that keep searching for something to do since the only paintings that have truly felt right recently have been the mural I did of Drew and me and the nursery. “Are you sleeping?”
I shake my head because there’s no denying what must be written all over my face. “Not a lot.”
The only time I seem to be able to close my eyes and actually find any sort of peace is when I’m with Ivy, and every time, I force myself to get up. To get dressed again. To leave her alone in Drew’s bed and walk away.
Because it’s just sex.
It’s just giving her what she physically needs right now.
It’s just being what I can for her in any way I can.
And I don’t have a right to take anything for myself, even a few hours of contented sleep I so desperately need with her in my arms.
I’ve done that selfish thing before and look where it got all of us…
Dale opens his mouth to say something that would no doubt be wise and just as likely something I don’t want to hear, but his eyes widen slightly at something behind me. “I…think you have a guest tonight.”
Mom?
She has offered to come to meetings with me more times than I can count, and I’ve taken her up on it occasionally. But we talked earlier today, and she never mentioned it?—
I turn, expecting to see her waiting.
But a different dark-haired woman fills my gaze instead, the one I’ve longed so hard to see that for a brief moment, I wonder if she’s some sort of mirage.
Ivy stands inside the doors to the meeting room, bundled up in her peacoat that barely closes around her protruding belly, her eyes scanning nervously over the chairs. When they find me, her shoulders stiffen slightly, and she seems to suck in a sharp breath before she slowly walks forward.
Each step she moves closer, my heart beats faster until it’s thundering against my ribs. All the air rushes from my lungs when she reaches me, all the words I’ve been wanting to say suddenly stuck in my throat.
I hear—rather than see—Dale get up and move out of his chair as she stares down at me, her soft brow furrowed.
She chews on her bottom lip, looking around again before returning her uncertain gaze to me. “Hi.”
God, has it really only been a week since I’ve heard her voice?
It feels like an eternity since I held her in my arms in the nursery, and the trepidation in her eyes now crushes me almost as much as that night did.
I swallow thickly, trying to work through the shock and emotion that want to choke me. “Umm, hi. Is everything okay?”
