But his did.
“I can’t, babe. I can’t do this.”
Then he left.
• • •
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Pete asked as Fallon sat down in one of the many empty barstools at the bar.
“I need something hard and something strong.”
His brows furrowed as he leaned his forearms onto the bar. “You wanna talk ’bout it?”
She smiled. Pete didn’t comfort; he poured. Which was exactly why she was there. How could she possibly talk about something she didn’t even understand? Rafe was a complicated contradiction who’d barreled through her well-contrived world and shattered every barrier she relied on.
“No. Thanks, though.” She winked. “Hard and strong.” She was beginning to realize the appeal of finding your distraction at the bottom of a bottle. Quick and easy. A few shots and she’d be numb again.
“No cherries tonight, sweetheart?”
She met Pete’s worried eyes and forced a smile onto her face. “Nope. No cherries.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The pain wasn’t what surprised me; it was the fear. I didn’t realize I would be so afraid. But I was alone. I had no one to depend on to get through this but myself. But then again, that’s all I needed.
Climbing out of bed, I grabbed my bag that had been packed for a few nights now. It didn’t contain much; I didn’t own much.
The room was full of sleeping women and children, and I tried desperately not to wake anyone as I padded across the cold linoleum floor. Sleep was a rarity in this place. It wasn’t always quiet, it was usually never comfortable, and it was always lonely. But that was just my opinion. I knew there were plenty of women who loved and appreciated the shelter. It was better than the streets—hell, even I could appreciate that. But the erratic flow of people in and out kept me on edge, and the lack of privacy was draining.
As I reached the steps that led downstairs, I held on tightly to the railing as another wave of pain clamped down inside me, knocking the air from my lungs and pricking tears at the back of my eyes. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. When the pain started to subside, I slowly continued my way down to the bottom level of the house. It was so quiet tonight.
I knocked on the house mother’s door and sighed with relief when Rachel appeared on the other side. Out of all the women who volunteered at the shelter, I liked Rachel the best. She didn’t ask a lot of questions. She just let me be. I was grateful for that.
Rachel’s sleep-deprived eyes widened slightly when she looked at me, but without saying a single word she spun around, slipped on her thick green robe and shoes, and grabbed her purse off her dresser.
The car ride was bittersweet. It was almost over. I could try to get back to normal; I could try to move on and start my life over again. Maybe I could even start dancing again. But at the same time . . . it was almost over. And deep down, I knew I could never go back to normal, and I didn’t know how I would ever move on from this.
• • •
Six hours later, the pain I felt was gone and the memory of the pain I’d endured was like a dream you couldn’t remember. All I could feel was every single emotion that I’d been trying so hard to keep submerged somewhere I wouldn’t have to feel them, somewhere I could ignore them. Where I could be numb. But they were at the surface now. Anger, pain, hate, sorrow, guilt, fear, hope, joy . . . they were all floating around in a tight pocket of air that was suffocating me. I couldn’t breathe. All I could do was feel.
But one feeling was so strong, it was like oxygen to my burning lungs . . . It was unconditional love. It was a feeling I’d never seen, never felt, never known. But as I held my baby girl in my arms and looked down at her beautiful, perfect little face and held her tiny little hand, the feeling overwhelmed me.
I’d never known anything to feel so wonderful and so unbelievable, and to hurt so excruciatingly. And it was beautiful.
This tiny life loved me. She’d been in this world for only minutes, but my daughter loved me. She was born knowing nothing other than the feel of my heartbeat and the sound of my voice—and she loved me. She didn’t know anything other than that. And I loved her back with a ferocity that claimed my entire being.
As I ran the back of my finger down the side of her flushed cheek, I finally knew how love was supposed to feel. For the first time that I could remember, I understood what loving someone felt like. In that small amount of time that my daughter was in this world, I knew without question that I would do anything for her. I knew I would always love her.
The muffled, animated voices from out in the hall became louder and I forced my eyes to look at the clock that hung on the wall opposite my bed. Another hour had gone by and a soft knock on the hospital door confirmed my fears—it was time.