I nod quickly, too quickly. “Of course. It’s just frustrating.”
He doesn’t realize what it means. It means that their decision could take my job, dismantle the outreach program I built from scratch. No one has said it outright, but I can see the writing on the wall as clearly as if it were printed across my budget sheet.
I tell myself it’s kinder not to burden him yet. He has enough weight on his shoulders without mine. So I swallow the fear and offer him a smile that surely looks steadier than I am.
“Anyway,” I say lightly, “let's get out of here.”
Later, after Beckett is tucked in and the house has gone quiet, Warren and I settle on the porch. The night air is cool, cicadas humming in the distance, a half-empty bottle of wine between us.
For the first time all day, with him beside me, I can finally relax.
I lean into him, letting the silence stretch before I whisper, “Do you ever think about what’s next? For us?”
His chest stills under my cheek, breath caught before he lets it out slowly.
“I’m here every day for our son. I’m not fit to promise you anything until I can promise it without resenting you. I need to work through that, or I’ll break this before it even begins. Can you give me time?”
He kisses my forehead, soft lips against skin, words anything but. “Let’s just enjoy being together, the three of us.”
The wall goes up, invisible but solid. I stay with my head on his shoulder, clinging to his warmth while the emptiness of his answer gnaws.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I guess you’re right.”
But my fingers twist around a string that is loose on the hem of my shirt. I wrap it so tight around my finger it stings, the blood flow choking off like the words I can’t bring myself to say.
The small porch lamp in the corner hums. Moonlight paints silver stripes across the ceiling, and I count them, over and over. The task gives my mind something to focus on other than my frustration and fear.
“Are you cold?” Warren’s voice is gentle.
“No.” I shift, take a sip of wine to keep from crying. The glass trembles anyway, and I know he notices.
He watches me. I force a smile. “It's been a long day. I finally got some stuff to Pope, but I still have more work to do on that.”
"You're amazing."
He nods, like saying that is enough. It's the other stuff he isn't saying that I need right now.
He doesn’t see the Bransons’ polite smiles in my mind, or hear Gemma’s warning echoing in my ears.
“You want to go to bed?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah. Will you hold me?”
“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” He presses another kiss to my hair, then stands and offers his hand.
It’s moments like this, when he’s tender, thoughtful, that make me question if I’m the one making problems where there aren’t any. Maybe he just needs more time. It's only been just over a week since we decided to cross this line, after all.
Maybe we’re fine. If I stop pushing, we will naturally figure out how and when to do more.
But as he leads me inside, dread coils tight beneath my ribs. Because time is the one thing I may not have.
And if the walls close in, if my job is cut, and if thisbubble bursts, I don’t know if whatever this is will stretch wide enough to keep us together.
I want to believe it will. I want to believe in us. But belief doesn’t buy us more time.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Warren