Page 96 of Wild Devotion
Abby wheeled her way over to us, carefully stopping before she got too close.
“Is the baby ready to come yet?” she asked.
“Doesn’t seem like it,” Zadie answered, frustration still laced through every syllable.
“Darn.” Abby frowned. “Too bad you’re not allowed to skateboard. I bet that would make it happen.”
Zadie laughed. “You’re probably right. It would scare her right out.”
Her.
Every time I heard it, I pictured a cherub-faced, brown-eyed beauty. A miniature Zadie. A little girl who’d have me wrapped around her finger before she took her first breath.
A miracle I was already in love with.
“All right, I’m going to walk more laps,” Zadie sighed. “Keep up the good work, Abby. You’ll be better than Caleb before long.”
She waddled toward Chantel and Melanie, her belly leading the way. More than a week overdue and still moving, still fighting, still refusing to let discomfort win.
“Do you think she’s right?” Abby asked, watching Zadie go. “Do you think I can actually be good at this?”
“This is only your first time. It’ll take a lot of practice. You up for that?”
“Yes. As long as you’re my teacher, I know I can.” This kid was so damn bold. She’d stared down something that tried to kill her and come out the other side with her fire intact.
“Then there’s your answer. Now get back to it.”
She was still too thin, her hair growing in uneven patches, and she wasn’t cleared for anything more than standing on the board and gliding in straight lines. But when she strapped on her helmet and kneepads, she got this excited look in her eyes, like she was hungry for something new. And every time her feet hit the deck, she radiated pure joy.
Maybe she loved skateboarding. Or maybe she was just ecstatic to be alive. To have the chance to do anything at all.
Either way, her expression was all the motivation I needed.
Abby was one of four kids I’d committed to mentoring through their recovery. Skateboarding was the hook, but the real goal was helping them heal by giving them something that belonged to them. Something that had nothing to do with cancer or hospitals or treatment protocols.
Unexpectedly, it had given a lot to me too. The mentoring was only part-time, but I was dedicated and passionate. It was one more step toward the future I was building.
And I’d been taking a lot of steps.
So had Zadie. I watched as she passed by on another lap, one hand on her belly, the other swinging wide while Chantel talked her ear off. She looked so damn uncomfortable on her feet.
Of course, she’d barely been on her feet for the last six weeks. Her doctor had suggested frequent breaks at work, but Chantel took it one step further and forced her to quit.
Now I was working at The Summit, bartending part-time alongside Zane. Jeremy was gone, and I’d slid into the rotation without looking back. Eric had offered me something in the resort’s PR department, but I wanted to earn my way in on my own terms. The bar gig paid my bills and kept me close to the family business without riding on anyone’s coattails.
Abby rolled forward again, steadier this time, arms no longer flailing. Maybe this winter I’d take her snowboarding at the resort, if school didn’t swallow me whole.
I’d enrolled at Georgian College.
The pre-health sciences program started in the fall. It would keep me in Copper Ridge through the baby’s first year, close to Zadie, my family, and the hospital where I volunteered. After that, the plan was Western University in London for medical school. Smaller city than Toronto. Top-notch program. Close enough to Copper Ridge that we wouldn’t lose the roots we’d planted.
Zadie had finished her business diploma in April. Graduated with honors, which surprised exactly no one who’d ever met her. She was already talking about what came next. Not just business, but her art.
She’d started painting again. Really painting. Filling canvases with the kind of raw, red-soaked emotion that made me stop and stare. Chantel had hung three of them in the house without asking. Zadie had pretended to be annoyed.
When the time came to move to London, she’d come with me. We’d already talked about it. She’d find work, keep painting, raise our daughter while I buried myself in textbooks. It wouldn’t be easy, but nothing about us had ever been easy. That was kind of the point.
For now, I’d moved my stuff out of Chantel’s spare room and across the hall into Zadie’s. It was the bigger of the two bedrooms, and the room I’d been sleeping in was already being set up as the nursery. Chantel had opinions about the paint color. Zadie had opinions about Chantel’s opinions. I stayed out of it and assembled the crib.
