She begins to cry and plead with me, but it does nothing to soften my heart. It can’t. It’s too broken. In the middle of some sort of begging, I interrupt with, “Goodbye Caroline. I’ll see my daughter in two days.”
Clicking end on the phone call is brutal. I love that woman. She’s been my one true love since I was a kid in college. She’s been my obsession—my fucking oxygen, since I took my first breath and discovered what love felt like. All I’ve wanted since I was twenty-one was to be married to Charlie Collins. Hell, I asked her every single day to be my wife. I’ve dreamt of being a father to our baby. But, and I plan on making this crystal clear, Ainsley is my blood. She’s my daughter. She’s half of me. I will not lose any more time with her. I will not be relegated to a paycheck-earner role in her life. I am her daddy. When she cries, I comfort her. When she’s sad, I cheer her up. When she’s sick, I mop her forehead. She’s just as much mine as she is Charlie’s—that I have no doubt about.
Chapter Sixteen
Charlie
Colin and I are sleeping in the same bed, but we might as well be in separate countries. Our gap makes the Mississippi River look like a babbling brook. He’s hurt. When he’s awake, his face is pulled into a permanent grimace. Even as we pretended everything was perfect for our families on Christmas day, his forehead was drawn in a scowl. He laughed, but it was forced. His eyes are frosty when he does look at me, which isn’t often.
The only time I’ve witnessed any happiness is when he plays with Ainsley. He’s barely let her sleep in her bed since we arrived back in Dallas just in time to celebrate Christmas. He bathes, feeds, gets her up in the morning, and tucks her in at night. Colin is trying to clinch the Daddy of the Year award, making up for lost time, and trying to prove a point to me that he can meet all of her needs. Trust me when I say that I’ve gotten the message, loud and clear.
We managed to get through Christmas faking it, but it didn’t hold a candle to last Christmas day. Then I was pregnant, and we were both so happy. He couldn’t go five minutes without caressing my swollen abdomen. We celebrated Pancho’s first birthday—well, first year with us—with a little doggy party. Both sides of our family just indulged our nonsense. Our laughs were not forced, and after everyone went to bed, Colin unwrapped me like a present and made love to me under the Christmas tree. He said that the best gifts he’d ever been given were lying under him. His wife and his baby.
What a difference a year makes.
I’ve tried to reason with Colin that my dad’s medical practice needs me. Yes, I’ve hired another doctor, but no one has the knowledge about the medical practices that I have. Sure, Carmen can keep the books going, and the doors open, but she doesn’t know the medical protocols that my father had established. She doesn’t know how to manage the young doctors working for us because frankly, she isn’t a doctor.
My father’s medical practice thriving is my way of ensuring his immortality. Yes, Doctor Collins is no longer with us, but what he spent his whole life creating is still making people’s lives better. When Ainsley is old enough, I want to be able to bring her to his practice, and show her what her grandfather built. I want her to feel the same pride that I felt as a kid in what my dad did for a living.
I can’t make Colin understand this. To him, the world is black and white as it’s always been; there are no greys. He doesn’t understand that I’m not playing doctor in Houston, having a gay old time. Okay, I am having a bit of fun, but I’m not leaving him. Brad isn’t trying to take his daughter away from him.
Brad and I are a well-oiled machine. We can interpret each other’s body language. He knows how I like things done, and is also a huge help with Ainsley. Without him, I wouldn’t get to go for my morning runs, which are my lifeline to sanity. Brad pitches in with her when I’m too tired to move, which, lately, has been most days.
I’m miserable. This whole situation is miserable. Colin’s playing for a wildcard spot in the playoffs tomorrow, so I lie very still trying not to wake him when all I want to do is cross the great divide and snuggle into his side.
It’s pathetic to admit, but I want, no, I need my husband to want me again. This Siberian prison that he’s put me in is the worst form of torture. When I try to lay my hands on him he jerks back as if my touch burns. That hurts the most. We’ve spent the last twelve nights together after being a part for almost a month, and the only kiss that I’ve received was a chaste one at midnight on New Year’s Eve. And I’m sure that I only got it because Aiden and Amy were celebrating with us.