I had to fight for West. I had to fall for West. I had to bleed for West.
So I could have my real happily ever after.
Forty-Nine
GRAY
The morning of the baby shower, I knocked on Lottie’s door, pushing it open when she didn’t answer.
Something had felt off for a few months now, and some of that came from my relationship with Lottie. I’d been trying to ignore it, but that only made it worse.
If I wanted to be different—better—then like Snitch had said, I had to be better.
Lottie was on the floor in her white pajamas, sun hitting her in slashes and lighting up her pajamas into white gold.
The dress she and my mother had demanded she wear hung in the window, seeming to glow from within.
Lottie stared at it.
“Lottie?”
She jerked to me, eyes growing into saucers, as if I were a ghost.
“Where is your girl?” I asked, looking around the room.
She settled back against the couch with a sigh. “I sent her away.”
I came to her, bending down on the soles of my feet. “Let me help you off the floor.”
“I prefer it down here.”
She kept staring at the dress.
I sat down opposite her, just next to the dress.
“I know you gave Story the password,” I said.
Her eyes slowly found mine. “Did it help? Did I fix it?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I hope so.”
She sighed, looking back at the dress.
“I broke it
too, Lottie. We all did.”
Tears started to fall silently, wetting her cheeks; still, she stared at the dress.
“I’m not going to abandon you, Lottie. Or the child. We’ll make it work.”
Her face crumpled and she sniffed. She looked away, embarrassed.
My chest caved, and once again, I felt like garbage. What had I put her through these past couple of months? Every day she must have wondered if I was going to treat her like Josephine, treat our child like the triplets.
I moved forward, grabbing her hands. “We’re not our parents. They don’t have to compete. I know I’ve been horrible—”
She ripped her hands free.