“Sounds like maybe she already has one.”
He wasn’t wrong. I didn’t know how Steele had known about her, or what information he had. But pulling her back in would ensure that she would be used against me. Stone was still out there, somewhere. My actions could put her life at risk.
“How is she?” he asked carefully.
“Beautiful, successful—” I paused before continuing, “Sad. She’s so fucking sad, Justin. I saw her today with her friends, and she laughed and talked. They don’t fucking see her pain. They don’t fucking see her.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want them to. Maybe, like you, she’s doing the best she can to hide her pain.”
I didn’t comment. What could I say? That he was wrong? That I wasn’t hiding my pain? That I didn’t have any pain? It would all be lies. Lies that didn’t hide shit.
“I’ve been here a week; I’m leaving in the morning.”
“You didn’t talk to her, did you?”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and glared at it. Was he fucking serious?
“Of course I didn’t fucking talk to her. She thinks I’m dead. Knowing I’m alive would only hurt her more.”
“Or maybe, knowing you’re alive would make her hurt less.”
I couldn’t think that way. If I did, I would walk back to that café and stand in front of my wife and beg her to forgive me. Beg her to come home with me. Beg her to love me again.
“I’ll call you when I get back.”
I disconnected the call before he could say anything else. One last night in Rosewood. Since my presence was no longer a secret, there was no reason I couldn’t hit up the bar in town.
Chapter Seven
Morgan
I took a deep breath before I entered Beth’s coffee shop. This was how I got through; I played a part. I became a different person. Morgan Delany, the fun friend. The wild friend.
At home, when I was alone, that was when I was Morgan Peterson.
The grieving widow.
The grieving mother.
I walked up to the counter and said hello to Beth. I placed my order, and she offered to bring it to the table. When I turned, my heart stopped in my chest. I wondered if it would ever get easier.
Bailey, Skylar, and Henley sat at the table with their toddlers. They were all born close together and were about two years old now. Claudia and Sugar both had strollers containing their one-year-olds. And Phoebe sat in the corner, protected, as she held her newborn son, Tad.
Phoebe looked up at me with a sad smile. I wondered if she knew something. The Malpas sisters, whom Scribe referred to as the three witches, always seemed to know things they shouldn’t, and long before anyone else knew.
I wondered if Phoebe had picked up on my feelings more than once. She’d experienced something worse than I had. She and Priest had been married for a decade, only no one knew. They’d split up after the loss of their son.
Phoebe had been halfway through her pregnancy. She’d felt the kicks; she’d heard his little heartbeat. And then she had himripped away from her in a traumatic attack. She’d also lost her uterus and any chance of having another baby.
Until Sarah, Gunner’s wife, had offered to be a surrogate for her. Now she was here today with her son, who was only a few weeks old.
I hadn’t lost my uterus like Phoebe had. I’d lost my heart. I’d lost any chance of having another child when I lost Jude.
I smiled at her and sat at the opposite end of the table. I wasn’t ready to hold her baby. Not now. Not so close to the anniversary of the loss of my own.
It was why I hadn’t been to see Devlyn. She had three babies, and it wasn’t fair. I didn’t hold it against Devlyn; she hadn’t planned on getting pregnant, the same way Jude and I hadn’t planned it.
And I was happy for her, I was. I wanted my best friend to be happy. To live a full life. I just wasn’t ready to be a part of it.