Page 64 of Last Love

“Tiny ears, tiny words,” I swiftly hiss his direction.


“Sorry, bumble bee,” my boyfriend softly states to his niece that seems to be playing a song only she understands. “Uncle Ryder will do better.”


“How about he is actually dying so stop being such a selfish little shit and have some sympathy!” Noah roars from the other side of the table.


“Dying?!” Shock, disappointment, outrage, and displeasure all slam into my chest at once. “Your dad is dying, Ry?!”


He reluctantly meets my gaze yet doesn’t reply.


“You didn’t think to tell me that?!”


Still nothing.


“You didn’t think that might be an important thing to share with the woman you love?!”


“No.”


More anger surges up my spine. “No?!”


“No, because it wasn’t important to me and still isn’t important to me; therefore, it isn’t effing important to you.”


There’s barely time for my mouth to crack open.


“Building a relationship with Noah, Shelly, and Shelby matters. Rebuilding something better between us matters. I don’t care that my mother is dating someone our age who owns a lucrative online subscription box service for dogs. I don’t care that my sister is past the honeymoon phase of being married to her French husband who owns a failing French café in effing Kansas. And I damn sure don’t care about the cold-blooded bastard who has ball cancer and an unclear conscience he’d like to scrub clean. I only listen to any of that ish because my big brother – that I do give an eff about – brings it up during dinner.”


“It’s spread to his liver, Ryder,” Noah answers, gathering my gaze but not his brother’s. “And they’re worried the cancerous cells are going to continue to spread until he’s basically just the disease with legs.”


“Not my problem.”


“He’s not responding to the medications or chemo.”


“Even less my problem.”


“Ry,” I unhappily huff from beside him.


Whether it’s my tone or Shelby’s boredom that upsets her is unclear. One second she’s smiling, and the next she’s rubbing her eyes on a whimper.


“It is actually the little bumble bee’s bedtime,” Her mother softly insists. “Perhaps I should give you all a private moment together and go put her down.”


“Can we do it?” Ry eagerly counters.


“You mean so you can physically run away from your problems again?” Noah needlessly bites.


“No, just you.”


“Enough.” Shelly clips with a lifted finger. “I was actually hoping for one family evening that did not go this direction, but apparently that’s just too much as ask.” Her fingers gently push away strands of hair from her face. “Ryder if you and Presley would like to tuck your niece in and have a moment to yourselves, by all means, please do.”


“Thank you,” he says to her before swinging his stare to me. “Tickle Me Auntie. Help me put this little one to bed. Something tells me it’ll go much faster with you.”


In spite of my lingering irritation, I force a smile onto my face and gesture my hand to the side. “Lead the way.”


Ry stands while cooing at Shelby, promising everything will be okay soon, and I reach for a cookie to help me curve my ire on the go.


I silently follow behind them munching on the round – should be sugary – sedative, thoughts spiraling much like the shape of the staircase we’re ascending.


He’s keeping another secret from me?


How many more are there?


How many other things does he consider “unimportant”?


How many more fucking surprises am I going to have to bounce back from, pretending it doesn’t hurt that he says he’s being open with me about shit and then in reality isn’t?


Our arrival in Shelby’s room really only registers to me thanks to the fact I finally can throw the abomination calling itself a cookie away.


Ry catches my action and casually states, “I love my sister-in-law to death, but she cannot bake.”


“Was that supposed to be a cookie? Or a cracker?” I quietly squeak. “And if I can’t tell the difference, doesn’t that totally defeat the point of the food? Was that food or the rehydrated ish they gave to astronauts to make them feel like they’re eating real food?”


My boyfriend lightly laughs while walking over to the luxurious changing area.


In actuality, everything in this room is luxurious.


A bit over the top to be a nursery.


The pinks and whites and gray tones are all somewhat expected as is her name beautifully painted on the wall; however, the lavish curtains and shelves, vanity seats are not. Books and toys are both neatly put away and spread all around the room while all clothes seem to be hanging in the small walk-in closet that’s open or the dresser occupying part of the space. Given that there’s a comfortable gray couch – that probably pulls out into a bed – and a matching chair near the changing area, it’s safe to assume one parent probably sleeps in here more often than necessary.


Which is hard to say.


Could easily be Shelly due to typical new mom fears.


Could be Noah due to working Dad guilt.


“You’re pissed at me,” Ry states the obvious at a lower volume while fighting against a sleepy Shelby who isn’t interested in getting changed.


Replying should be immediate but it isn’t.


Fuck, maybe I shouldn’t have thrown the crunchy circle thing away so soon.


It could be the little lifesaver I need most right now.