“She’s better, but the doctor wants to keep her overnight. Heath’s staying with her.”
I check my phone, but there’s no message from him.
“Do you get along with Dawn?” I dare to ask, since she doesn’t seem concerned.
“We haven’t met yet.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Lysander told Cas to keep me away from her.” She shrugs as if saying, I don’t get it, but we follow his wise advice. “It’s sad, though. I want the little one to be close to her grandparents—the three of them. However, the more I see how she behaves, the more I think this distance between her and me is for the best.”
For the sake of her little one, I hope she stays away from Dawn’s toxicity. Since I don’t want to discuss her vicious mother-in-law, I ask, “How are you feeling?”
“We’re doing well. Sixteen weeks and going strong. My last visit to the doctor is next week.”
I frown, not liking the sound of it. “Last visit. Why?”
“Since we have to go back to Portland full-time, I’m switching doctors. The hockey preseason begins soon.”
Now I want to pout because she’s one of my closest friends. “I’m going to miss you.”
“You’ll come and visit me, won’t you?”
“Of course, and when the baby is born, I’ll be there to spoil her rotten.”
“We don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl yet.”
“But picture this, a big hockey player with a little girl skating by the pond.”
She sighs and chews her bottom lip. “I know. If Cas looks adorable with our pups, can you imagine him with a baby?”
Usually, I don’t get jealous, but right now, I wish I could have a family with Heath. That’s never going to happen. Knowing he needs me, I text him.
Atzi: How is she?
Heath: Better.
Atzi: Do you need me there?
Heath: No, it’s best if you don’t show. Maybe leave the penthouse today. I’m bringing her home tomorrow. Someone has to look after her. If you want, I can set up your grandparents in a hotel room.
Atzi: No need. They already left, pretty upset at me.
Heath: I’m not surprised. Lies tend to always find a way to…
Atzi: Your mother was vicious.
Heath: She’s hurting. I understand now why she doesn’t like you.
Atzi: I’m not my aunt.
Heath: Take care, Atzi. I’ll have someone pack all your stuff and send it to your studio soon.
Atzi: Are you kicking me out of your place?
Heath: Mom is coming over. I need you to leave immediately.
Atzi: Am I going to see you before New York?
Heath: Probably not. I wish you the best.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Atzi
After the text exchange with Heath, I make an excuse to leave the penthouse. Rys doesn’t have to know my heart is shattering or that my person is gone.
Rys and I hug, promising to call each other soon, and I leave.
I run out of the building fast.
I’m escaping from the pain, from an explosion, from my life.
I run so fast my muscles burn.
I welcome the pain, hoping it’ll erase the agony eating my insides.
Nothing works.
Nothing.
The ache is there, branded in my soul.
I arrive at my studio drenched in sweat and tears—endless tears.
How am I supposed to continue?
My grandparents don’t want to see me again. Heath said goodbye forever. And with losing him, I’ve lost his entire family.
What am I supposed to do now?
I allow myself to cry for a few minutes, or maybe hours. I don’t know since I lose track of time. After that, I go to the studio. Not the kitchen, but the one next to it. The one I barely use that has the material to create different kinds of art.
I’m sad, angry, and just terrified I will end up alone. Life is unfair. I’d give up my fortune and my talent to have a family and love. But that’s not how this works, is it? We don’t get what we want.
I put on my gear and pick up a piece of steel and the torch. Welding is mind-numbing. I have to put all my focus and energy into it. It’s also incredible but time-consuming, which is why I ignore it. I can melt metal and beat the shit out of it a million times until I mold it the way I want it to be. That’s why I love creating things. I pour my feelings into it while making something I can control.
My mind runs through the different scenarios of how I could’ve prevented what happened to Dawn. It was my fault, and Heath will never forgive me. One white lie. That’s all it was at the beginning. One harmless little white lie.
But isn’t that what I’ve done since my parents died? I lie about everything. Mostly my feelings. I play the part of the happy orphan. Everyone prefers to deal with cheerful people. I pretend life is perfect, and I’ve got my shit together. Most times, while everyone swears I’m filled with joy, I’m crumbling inside, missing my parents and wondering why I’m still around.
When I delve into my dark places, I wish and hope that something happens to me, so I can go back to them. Life was so much better when Mom and Dad were around. I try to keep going. God knows I do because everyone who knows me has always told me they’d want me to do it.
I keep hammering, torching, and twisting metal for hours. It’s not until my leg begins to hurt so much that I’m almost falling, I stop. Going to my studio isn’t an option, and the other place where I usually like to hide is now forbidden.
After taking off my helmet, gloves, and suit, I sit on the floor, staring at the tree trunk and wondering how long it’ll take me to create the branches. If I keep going, I might be able to finish over the weekend. The leaves will take me a few more days.
There’s a knock on the door, the handle wiggles, and whoever is behind pushes it open.
“You’re a hard person to find,” Aunt Cécile says.
“It’s Friday. What are you doing here?”
She frowns. “It’s Sunday, mon petit chou.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid it is. I got on an earlier flight. I arrived last night, and I’ve been looking for you ever since. I called Heath, who said that if you weren’t at home, you’d be here.”
“Oh.”
She squats in front of me, her blue eyes staring with disbelief. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
I shake my head. “Nothing really. Everything is fine.”
“I heard what happened. I just want to hear your side of the story,” she says, sitting next to me.
I close my eyes, leaning my head on her shoulder. “From whom?”
“Your grandmother called to yell at me for raising you poorly,” she answers. “It seems like you almost destroyed poor, delicate Dawn Spearman.”