If we’re too much baggage for him, fine. I’ve got a little boy to take care of. I will not waste an ounce of energy trying to convince a grown man we’re worth his time.
Jeremy stops to shoo away a reporter, and I’m nearly to the door when a bespectacled guy who’s been hovering for hours stops me. “Lucie?” he begins.
“We’re not giving interviews right now,” I say for the tenth time, my jaw tight. “I need to get my son inside.”
“Oh, right. I’m not…I work with Molly. I drove her from the office because she was so frantic, I didn’t trust her behind the wheel.” He gets a soft smile on his face. “To be honest, I’m not sure I ever trust her behind the wheel, but especially not today. Can you just tell her Michael is here? I’ll drive her home whenever she’s ready to leave.”
I stare at him blankly. This can’t be the same Michael, can it? This sweet, quiet guy with his painfully obvious crush on Molly is nothing like the hot, Christian Grey-style billionaire Molly’s been describing for the past two years.
“Michael her boss?”
He blinks in surprise. “I mean…technically, sure. I own the company, though I don’t think anyone tells Molly what to do. How did you know?”
Henry snuggles sleepily against my chest as he looks up at him. “Molly wants to marry you. She talks about it all the time.”
Michael’s eyes widen and before he can hide it, there’s hope there too.
I manage a smile. “It’s true, actually. She does. I’ll tell her you’re waiting.”
Tears spring to my eyes as I walk inside. My fairy tale is ending, but maybe Molly’s will begin in its place.
Henry’s too sleepy to eat more than a bite or two. I rinse him off, and Jeremy and I tuck the twins in—both of us still too shell-shocked for it to seem weird. He’s quiet and respectful and walks downstairs without being told to leave.
“Lucie,” he says, his voice rough as we reach the door, “they can’t keep living here. This isn’t me trying to control you, but my God, I never want to go through a night like this again. I’ll pay for it. I saw a rental over in Idlewild. Nothing fancy but nicer than this. If you’re interested, go take a look. I’ll pay for the next year, and we’ll figure it out after that.”
I nod, trying to hold myself together. “Yeah, okay. I’ll call tomorrow.”
He opens the door. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry about all of this. Let’s try to clean up our shit for them, yeah?”
Under other circumstances, I’d be inclined to say it’s not our shit that needs to be cleaned up, but that inclination of mine to argue all the time probably isn’t helping either. “Yeah, okay.”
He leaves, and I go upstairs and stare at Henry, unable to shake off the terror of the last few hours. Unable to forget every image that carved itself into my head while we waited for news—his body, face down in the lake; him shivering in the woods overnight, or wandering, calling for me, getting more and more lost with each second that passed.
There’s no version of this story where the ultimate blame isn’t on my shoulders: I left him with Abby, and I allowed him to count on someone who told me at the outset he couldn’t be what we needed. I didn’t listen to Caleb because I didn’t want to hear what he said…but I’m listening now.
The twins are sound asleep, and I’m still sitting next to Henry in bed when Caleb texts to say he’s waiting on the back deck.
What happened tonight wasn’t his fault, but I’m too raw for any conversation we are likely to have—one that will probably involve some weak apology on his part accompanied by the reminder that he told me he didn’t have time for this.
I find him outside pacing. His gaze flickers to Jeremy’s sweatshirt, which I never removed. Jesus, as if that could possibly matter right now.
“Is he okay?” he asks, but the question sounds like a formality. Business Caleb asking the polite thing to get it out of the way.
I hug my arms around me. “Yes. He’s fine.”
He swallows, hands in pockets, staring at the deck. “I’m sorry if it bothered Henry that I wasn’t around,” he says stiffly. The words are flat and reluctant—it’s the apology of someone who doesn’t think he should have to offer it.
“Are you?” I ask. “Because you don’t sound sorry.”
His jaw shifts. “Look, I told you when this began that I’m trying to make this merger happen—”