Page 88 of Afterglow

I can’t look at the anguish that’s clearly wrecking him—I never wanted to hurt him either. But I can’t stay here where that’s all we’ll continue to do to each other. I need to breathe and I can’t do that in this room, in this house, even on this ranch. I just can’t.

I clumsily move to stand, and his wet eyes follow my movements. There’s a new emotion splashed across his face. Heart-stopping fear.

“Don’t leave. Please, Leanne. I am begging you. Please.” His voice is broken, and shards of his pain slice through me, causing fresh waves of it in my own heart… because we’re connected, he and I. And that’s exactly why I need to leave.

“I have to go. I can’t stay here right now,” I say, voice cracking. He shakes his head in protest, tears falling down his cheeks. Once I’m standing, I let my fingers find the side of his face, then rake them through his hair one last time. “I need some space. We need some space.”

He shakes his head, like that is the last thing he wants right now, and his shoulders follow suit, quaking with sobs.

I don’t know where the strength comes from, but somehow, I force myself to leave the room… to leave the house… to leave the man I love and go home.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Bryce

Istep back from the wall, moving my hands to my hips—careful not to drag the end of the paintbrush over my jeans—and take in my handiwork.

Painting the nursery, adding the pop of color Leanne chose, was something I’d been looking forward to for weeks, but now I barely see the stunning hue covering the wall. Everything around me has faded into shades of grey and I’ve gone numb.

It’s a feeling I’m uncomfortably familiar with, and it’s like being back in those weeks following Sarah and Sam’s deaths, except it’s only been hours since I ruined everything and Leanne left.

She said she needed space.

What does that mean? For how long? Can I fix this, or did my fear of telling her bring about the exact thing I was so afraid of?

I seal the lid of the paint can, leaving the brush in the tray—not caring that it will be ruined if I don’t wash it out—and head for the shower. I don’t even bother to strip my clothes off before I walk in and turn on the spray, hoping the warmth of the water will thaw the numbness and help me figure out what to do.

Alex finds me in the nursery the next morning, surrounded by piles of baby clothes sorted by size and ready to go into the wash.

In his arms are just a few of the gifts from yesterday’s baby shower. Was it really only yesterday that I was so happy and everything was perfect?

He can see, clear as day, that I’m not alright. He knows me too well.

“Come on, son, help me get this stuff unloaded.”

And without a word, I stand and help him bring in the rest of the gifts, including the heavy box holding the pieces of the crib.

He doesn’t talk. He knows I’ll tell him what’s going on when I’m ready. Instead, he picks up the dried paintbrush and can of paint and heads out of the room. He comes back with the smell of paint-thinner on his hands and starts opening the large box we left in the middle of the room.

I take up the spot beside him and in silence we begin pulling everything out.

An hour later, we shift the crib to its place of honor in front of the orange wall I painted last night. The dark walnut perfectly complements the pop of color behind it.

I wish Leanne were here to see it.

At the thought, pain lances through me and I remember why numbness is easier. It hurts less.

My voice is hoarse from lack of use and last night’s tears when I finally speak. “She heard us in the kitchen—talking about Sarah and—” I break off, take a beat. Inhale. “And Sam.” I slump to the floor, resting my back against the wall, and stare unseeing into the chaos around me.

Alex sits beside me, close enough so I feel the support.

I clear my throat and keep talking. “I hurt her—by not telling her. It’s exactly what I was afraid of. She doesn’t believe I’m not trying to replace them. She doesn’t believe I love her.”

He nods in my periphery, and I can see him working out what he wants to say.

“But you do love her. Whether she wants to believe it right now or not. You love her. It’s clear as day to every person who sees you two together. And she loves you too.”

I shake my head, as afraid to hear those words as she was yesterday. Afraid to believe them.