Page 24 of Afterglow

“That’s me,” she says. “Though Bryce is the only one who calls me Becca. I’m Rebecca to everyone else. Anyway, Leanne, have him give you my number and you call me if you need anything. I mean it, day or night. I’m here.”

“Thank you, Dr. Davenport.”

“Rebecca. You can call me Rebecca,” she says, and there’s a softness in her voice, something kind but almost sad. I look up at Bryce’s face and it’s softer too.

I swallow thickly and say, “Thank you, Rebecca.”

Bryce and I hold eye contact until after I hang up, and even when he reaches for his phone, he doesn’t look away.

“Can I—” He moves a step closer and I know what he wants, but moving to hug him now feels like a bridge too far, even if inside I’m screaming that I want to. He’s going to have to ask—and he does. “Can I hug you?”

My body feels tightly wound and stiff, but I nod and let him engulf me in his warmth. He smells good, like cedar and fresh air and something spicy. I probably smell like vomit and sweat, but in his arms, I don’t care.

I know it’s a bad idea, but I twine my arms around his back. My fingertips find the muscles that line his spine, splaying over them, the same way they did that night in the tent. I wanted to memorize the planes of his skin, but there wasn’t enough time. I doubt there will ever be a time for that now.

I don’t know what we are to each other, what we’ll ever be to each other, what this means for us. Is there even an us? But he’s here—he called a doctor for me—so what does that mean? Anything? Nothing?

Instead of asking like I normally would, I sink into his kindness and wonder how we got here, and where we go now.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bryce

Iinhale the crisp fall air and study the changing colors in the trees. It’s late September, and with how quickly the temperature drops in the mountains, fall arrives earlier than in other parts of the state. The monarch butterflies that have been my constant companions these past few months—the namesake for the ranch—are beginning to disappear too. I miss them when they go, but I always look forward to their return each summer. I know I can count on the seasons to be consistent, each one coming and going in the same way it did the year before, even if everything else in my life feels completely off-kilter.

It’s been three days since my visit to Leanne’s. Since I went to the store to pick up all the things Becca said she needed—as well as a whole bunch of things she didn’t.

I encouraged her to take a shower while I was gone. Encouraged might be a gentler word than the ones she’d have used, considering she called me a bossy asshole. But hey, she agreed, and that’s what mattered.

I’d hoped we could talk more, but she was fast asleep on the couch when I walked back in the door, and I couldn’t bring myself to wake her. She didn’t even twitch as I guessed my way around her kitchen, putting everything where I hoped it went.

I contemplated sitting there and waiting for her to wake up, but that felt a bit too familiar, like too much of an invasion. So instead, I left her a note with Becca’s number and asked her to call me.

Three days later and she still hasn’t.

I want to give her space to process—hell, I’m processing too—but I want to process this together. I want us to talk and figure out what happens next—together.

I can only assume her wanting to set up an appointment with Becca’s practice means she intends to keep the pregnancy, but we didn’t cover that in any specific terms. If she was trying to get pregnant with her asshole ex for so long, I can’t imagine she’d want to terminate.

But why didn’t I ask?

I sure as hell don’t want that, but maybe I should’ve made it clear to her. I scrub a hand over my beard in agitation. I just want to fucking talk to her about all of this.

I’m glad she’ll be seeing Becca. If I can trust anyone to take care of Leanne and this baby, it’s her. And honestly, with our shared past, I know Becca will do everything in her power to ensure they are both okay—as demonstrated when she offered her personal line unprompted.

I have to keep reminding myself that everything will be okay. This isn’t the same as last time. It’ll be different. It has to be.

But I’m very aware of how little power I have to make that true. I’m not in a relationship with Leanne—she won’t even call me—so my ability to create order in this chaos is nonexistent. Just as nonexistent as the power I have over whether she’s safe or if this baby is delivered safely.

My hands shake as I pace the front porch of my cabin. I haven’t felt anxiety like this in years. I don’t know if it’s been this bad since I was a teenager with raging hormones and a life that had been turned completely upside down. I was never anxious about Sarah or her pregnancy. I blindly believed everything would turn out perfect, as did she, and after the accident, I was too distraught and numb to be anxious.

But now I’m terrified.

A red SUV turns onto the drive of the ranch and I stop in my tracks. It’s Becca’s car.

Is she here to visit her parents, or me?

My question is answered a moment later when she pulls up in front of my house and pops out of the driver’s side. She’s in her standard lavender scrubs layered under a grey fleece jacket, her brown ponytail bobbing.