And I knew why.
“Why does every man who’s supposed to love me, leave me?”
If Neil’s expression was a reflection of my own pain, I must have looked like shit.
“I didn’t leave you. And I never will. I’ll never try to, again,” he promised, his arms tightening around me. “I don’t know why he didn’t want you in his life. But I’m not him, Sophie. I’m furious that he had the opportunity to have his daughter in his life, and he threw it away. Now, more than ever, I’m angry about that. But I’m not him, and I’m not going to hurt you, again.”
We sat that way for a long time, Neil shifting to sit cross-legged on the hard floor while he held me in total silence.
“This is, by far, the worst sub drop I’ve ever had,” I whispered.
“Do you want me to get you something?” he asked, kissing the top of my head.
I nodded. “Kleenex and ibuprofen and some pajamas.”
“Okay.” He eased me to my feet, and I gave him a hand up. His legs were probably dead asleep. “Get in bed. I’ll be right back.”
It didn’t take him long to return with everything I’d asked for, as well as some cranberry juice and a prote
in bar. “Here. Just in case.”
He helped me into the pajamas, my favorite pair of lavender flannel. Heavy for July, but they would protect me from the air conditioning. I took the pills and drank the juice, and blew my nose for what seemed like a thousand times. My head hurt from crying and constantly sniffing back tears and snot.
“I love you,” he said, sitting beside me as I very unsexily emptied my head of mucus.
I laughed. “Well, if you can say that right now, I guess I have to believe you, because…”
The gorgeous half-smile I loved appeared. “Thank you for still being here. After all of this.”
I tossed what was probably the last tissue in the box aside. “Thank you for staying here after all of this.”
This was us. No guilt, no anger, no lingering shame for our past actions. In that moment, we were whole again. And not a single doubt could enter my mind.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Blow out the candle!”
We’d practiced this with Olivia, prepping her for her confrontation with her very first birthday candle. Valerie had decided against candles at the small birthday celebration for Olivia in London, since Emma had burned her hand on her first birthday. Year number two was on our turf, and Neil had overruled safety concerns.
The colorful wax numeral two had started melting fast after we’d lit it during the song. Now, as we all waited expectantly, Olivia looked doubtful.
Then, she started to cry.
“Oh, poor baby!” Valerie swooped in and lifted Olivia from my arms. “Did that scare you?”
My right eye twitched. I looked across the table at Neil, who gave me a supportive, but warning, closed-mouth smile.
I got along with Valerie way better than I had in the past, but we still had our moments.
Especially leading up to this birthday party. The sun shone overhead, and the light breeze made the spring day perfect for long sleeves or cardigans, but Valerie had complained that the outdoor setting—on the beautiful terrace overlooking the freaking ocean—would be too cold or uncomfortable. She’d also arrived just in time to complain about how unsafe our swimming pool was.
My mom stepped up behind me and put her hand on my rock-hard tense shoulder. “How about we cut the cake?”
“Good idea,” I agreed. Mom’s gaze canted toward Valerie fussing over Olivia, then back to me, her eyes narrowing.
It was always good to have someone on my side.
“Babies should have a label on them or something,” Rudy said, lazily sipping his glass of lemonade. “Keep away from open flame.”