I sobbed and sobbed in happiness that Reed is free now.
He’s free of his dad. He has what he wanted. He has his dream.
He chose his dream. He chose the right thing.
That’s where he goes when he leaves for work every day. And that’s where he went today because they called him about some parts that were wrongly delivered.
So I’m happy now.
I have Halo. She’s finally at home and healthy. Reed doesn’t have to work for his dad anymore.
Extremely, excessively happy.
Happy, happy, happy.
So happy that when I hear his bounding footsteps on the porch stairs, I stand up from the cozy couch that I was sitting on and leave the room.
I go to the kitchen and busy myself with something.
Although there’s nothing that needs doing around here. Because the people who were here, my family and friends, cleaned up everything before they left. Because they didn’t want to bother me or stress me out with the new baby at home.
Ugh.
I hate this.
I hate that I have nothing to do and that my heart is spinning and spinning in my chest because he’s now inside the house. He’s just closed the door and he’s probably three seconds away from me.
I almost hope, almost, that he doesn’t come in here.
In the kitchen.
Where I’m hiding away from him.
Although to be very honest, this isn’t a good hiding place. I should’ve probably chosen the bedroom and locked the door. Barred the windows. Not that it would keep him out, but I’m too angry at him right now to do it anyway.
Yes, I’m angry.
I’m so angry that I could…
I spin around when I feel him at the threshold. His tall, big presence overwhelms everything else, and as soon as I see him, the space that was bright turns darker.
So much so that the only thing that shines bright is him in his light-colored t-shirt and dark jeans. There’s a strip of grease on his left bicep and also a smaller spot on his left wrist that makes my stomach clench, my chest heave with longing.
He’s usually super careful about washing up at work before he comes home. Something about not wanting to dirty things up. But sometimes he misses spots and I don’t know what it is about them, but I find them so masculine, so very, very sexy.
And I want them on me, those dirty, greasy, fascinating hands.
I clench my fists because it only makes me angrier.
When I look back at his face, I find that his eyes are taking me in.
They are glowing as he takes in my braid, my daisy-printed white dress.
I chose this dress today because it makes me feel like a fairy — courtesy of the guy I’m mad at — and since I was bringing my Halo home, I wanted to feel like one.
When he’s done, his gaze lingering on my stomach that’s more pouchy than flat for a second too long, and his eyes come back to mine, I blurt out, “Everybody left.”
“I see that.”
Of course he does and of course he’d use a voice, all deep and smooth, that goes down my spine like warm honey.
I clutch my dress and blurt out again, “Halo’s sleeping.”
It’s true.
She is sleeping. I just fed her, changed her and now she’s out. Which won’t last long because she’ll need another feeding soon but for now, my baby’s sleeping and hopefully dreaming of magical things.
Meanwhile I have no idea what I’m doing except that I’m very, very mad at him and if he doesn’t do anything about it soon, I’ll punch him.
I will.
“I know,” he says as if he heard what I was thinking.
“What?”
“That she’s sleeping.”
“How do you know?” I ask uselessly, belligerently.
And a very subtle sparkle of amusement enters his eyes. “Because I know her schedule. Because I’ve known it for the last four weeks.”
I know he knows it.
He knows everything, doesn’t he?
Then how come he doesn’t know that I’m so mad at him right now? That I’ve been slowly getting madder and madder over the past few days?
And maybe I shouldn’t be but I can’t help it.
I inhale sharply and wipe my trembling, sweaty hands over my thighs. “Well then, I’ll go catch some sleep too. Because all the books always say that I should sleep when Halo sleeps.” I nod to emphasize it. “So I’ll leave the kitchen now and —”
“Not so fast.”
My breaths falter then.
My ballerina heart skips a beat because suddenly all his gorgeous features sharpen. His cheekbones become more chiseled and his jaw, stubbled and obviously irritating to him, morphs into a sleeker V.
God, he’s so beautiful like this.
Despite my anger at him, I can’t stop admiring his gorgeous, predatory face. I press my spine against the counter, all thrilled and breathless. “What?”
At my question, he finally steps over the threshold and I swallow.
His long legs prowl toward me with a lazy and yet somehow determined quality and oh my God, is he going to?
Is he going to finally tell me now?
When he reaches me, which doesn’t take more than three seconds anyway, he dips his head and asks in that voice again, “How’s the pain?”
The pain.
He’s asking me about the pain?
To be fair, he asks me every day. He asks me if my stitches hurt, if I’m okay to move around more. If I’m tired more than usual and all that.
But I’ve been getting better and I thought…
I thought he’d do it. He’d finally tell me.
Because it’s been four weeks.
Four weeks, okay?
Since I found out that he loves me after all. That he’s loved me for two years. Since I found out that he still keeps that sweater I made for him in the trunk of his Mustang.
And yes, things have been rocky for us with Halo. Some nights I felt like I would die without her. My body felt so empty and my heart felt so empty too and I’d cry and cry, hugging her little booties and her sweaters that she hadn’t gotten to wear yet.
Reed felt the same way.
He would hold me in bed and I’d burrow my face in his chest and wet his t-shirts with my tears. He’d kiss my forehead, caress my hair, rub my back and I know he never cried but I felt his chest shudder. I felt him swallow and gulp down his emotions with every breath he took.
But for the past week, she’s been on the mend and we could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. We at last knew that the wait was over and we could bring her home.
But the wait isn’t over, is it?
Not when it comes to me and him.
He hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t even hinted at anything. He knows that I’m leaving for Juilliard in a few weeks but again, he hasn’t mentioned it at all. He still lives at the hotel even though he spends all his time at the glass house and in this moment, I realize that maybe it will never be over.
This wait.