Not everyone is cut out for motherhood, she told me just a few days after Jackson was born. I chalked it up to pain and exhaustion. It was a red flag of a warning. Several weeks later, I came home from work to find Jackson screaming and crying in his crib and Daisy nowhere to be seen. Judging by how dirty his diaper was, we guessed she’d been gone at least half my shift, having left poor little Jackson alone in his crib.
The raw, painful emotions come back with a vengeance, and I remember it all too well: sitting in this living room, holding my crying baby to my chest and having no idea what the fuck I was going to do. I didn’t know anything about babies. How was I going to raise one alone?
“You left us,” I say slowly. “And now we’ve started a life. A good life. Why do you want to take that away?”
“I don’t, Weston. We were happy once. We can be again.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It can be.” She walks through the living room, going to the photos hanging on the wall. She stops before one of Jackson, and her face pulls down with emotion. “He looks just like you.”
“Luckily.”
She turns, eyes brimming with tears. “Wes,” she pleads.
“Don’t.”
Sniffling, she wipes her eyes and looks back at the photos. “Whose baby is this? One of your brothers’?” She’s looking at a family photo we took over the summer, and Jackson is sitting front and center with Emma on his lap.
“No.”
“Quinn?”
“Yes.”
Daisy turns, eyebrows raised. “Wait…she and Archer?”
“Stop, Daisy. It doesn’t matter. You left us,” I repeat. “All of us.”
“I miss your family.”
I let out a sigh. “They don’t miss you.” She’s been gone for so long but still knows about us. I wish I could take the memories back. I just want her gone.
“I’m really sorry.”
“You already said that.” I rub my forehead. It’s been years, but the same round-and-round arguments are certain to take place. “Look, Daisy…I’m sorry too.” I get up and step around the stairs. “I’m sorry for the way things worked out. But you made your choice and now you have to deal with it. You can’t come back into our lives and expect everyone to just accept you.”
“But a girl can dream, right?” She unzips her coat and lets it slide to the floor. “You’re even more handsome than I remember.” Running her eyes over my body, she advances, wrapping her arms around me and trying to go in for a kiss.
“What the hell?” I push her away.
“Wes,” she cries. “You were the first man I slept with. I want you to be my last.”
“No.” I shake my head, wanting her out of my house. “What don’t you get, Daisy? I. Don’t. Love. You.” I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my wallet, getting out enough cash to cover one night at the local motel. “Here, get a room for the night. This isn’t happening.”
“We were good at it.”
“It was the only thing we were good at.” And it wasn’t all that great, if I’m being honest. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you.” The words sound harsh coming out of my mouth, but she needs to hear them. “I love someone else.”
“That blonde whore?”
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
Daisy laughs. “Like she’s so innocent.”
“She’s perfect just the way she is, and we’re happy. All three of us are happy.”
“Sure you are. How well do you know this woman? Maybe I don’t want her around my son.”
“Then you should have stuck around so you’d be able to make such decisions. It’s late and I want to sleep. It’s time for you to leave.”
“One more thing, Wes, and then I promise I’ll leave.”
“Fine. One more thing.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Scarlet
I pull the blankets tighter around my shoulders, unable to stop shivering. Wes has been gone for nearly an hour now, and I haven’t heard from him. Every minute that passes makes me more anxious.
I’ve shut down, told everyone I was tired and wanted to sit in silence on the couch. Dean went upstairs to sleep, and Quinn and Archer left about half an hour ago. Emma woke up crying, and after nursing her back to sleep, Quinn was able to slip her into her car seat and leave.
Mrs. Dawson walks out from the kitchen to check on me, and I close my eyes and pretend that I’m asleep. I have no idea what will happen. I’m in the middle of nowhere at their farm. While this place feels safe and I trust the Dawsons as if they were my own family—actually I trust them more than my own—I want out of here. Because shit is going to hit the fan at any minute and I don’t think I can stand to see the disappointment in Mrs. Dawson’s eyes.
My phone vibrates in my hand and I shoot up. It’s Weston, and for a split second, I’m scared to answer.
“Hello?” My voice is shaky and thin.
“Hey.” He’s not yelling. Not telling me to fuck off or run away and never return. “She’s finally gone…for now. I’m changing into pajamas and will head back. What do you want me to bring for you?”
Wait, what? He’s not mad. Does he not know? Did I get a Christmas miracle in No-fucking-vember?
“Scarlet?”
“Sorry,” I rush out. “I’m tired. Um, just my toothbrush and some leggings and a sweatshirt or something for the morning. I don’t really care.”
“Any preference?”
“Something black.”
I can hear Weston walking down the hall and into my room. My clothes are still mostly in that closet. “That’s easy. About ninety percent of what you own is black.”
“It’s a flattering color.”
“Anything is flattering on you.”
I close my eyes and lean back, eyes filling with tears. He doesn’t know. I will live to see another day.
“Just pick the first thing you grab and get back here. I miss you.”
“I miss you too.” He zips a bag and moves through the house. “I’ll be there soon. I love you.”
“I love you too.” I hang up, too relieved to realize Mrs. Dawson has come back into the room.
“Is everything okay, dear?” she asks.
“Uh, yeah. I think so.” I pull the blankets up and cast my eyes down, trying to cover up how emotional I am right now. “Wes is coming back. He wants to stay here just in case.”
“I figured he would. I can show you to the guest room upstairs if you’d like.”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” We go upstairs.
“This used to be Quinn’s room, and when she lived in Chicago, she’d come and stay for the weekend. There should be face wash and soap in the bathroom if you need any.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Dawson looks at me and smiles. “And thank you, Scarlet, for making my Weston happy again.”
Don’t thank me yet, lady.