Come Home to Me. Brenda Novak
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if it’s me—my fault? You wouldn’t resent it someday?”
“Of course not.”
“Because it’s got to be me,” he said. “You’ve never done anything physically damaging.”
“You think fighting might’ve hurt your...equipment?”
“If I had a dollar for every time I got kicked in the nuts...”
He’d started in MMA when his father, grief-stricken after losing his children’s mother, stabbed a man in a bar and went to prison. Dylan had had to do something to augment what he could earn from the family’s auto body shop, which wasn’t exactly a success back then. Without the money he made fighting, his younger brothers would’ve been split up and placed in foster care.
“If that’s the way it is...we’ll accept it,” she said.
“Accept less, you mean.”
“Accept reality.”
His troubled eyes met hers. “I should get checked out.”
She’d wanted him to see a doctor—until she’d gone to a doctor herself and learned that it wasn’t her. “No.”
He reared back. “Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t matter.” She laced her fingers through his. “We’ll keep trying. You like that part, anyway,” she teased, but he didn’t let her levity distract him. He didn’t even smile; he was too intent on the conversation.
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“We’ll adopt.”
“But thanks to your mother—or, rather, Anita— you’ve missed out on so much already. I want you to have your own baby. I want you to experience pregnancy and childbirth and see yourself in the child you’re raising. And I want your real mother, now that you’ve found each other, to see her family grow.”
“We don’t always get what we want,” she told him.
“That’s just it. You’ve had to settle for most of your life. I can’t bear the thought that you might have to settle now because of me.”
“Dylan, I can love an adopted child just as much. Anyway, even if we never get a baby, I’d give up anything for you.”
He stared at her as if trying to decide whether she meant it. Then he kissed her deeply, tenderly, and led her into the bedroom, where he made love to her as though everything was fine and they’d get beyond this. But she could tell when she started to doze on his chest afterward that he was wide-awake and staring at the ceiling.
3
Presley couldn’t sleep. And she knew why. But she refused to obsess over running into Aaron at the bookstore. She also refused to toss and turn all night.
Kicking off the covers, she got up, threw on a pair of holey jeans and a sweatshirt and lifted her baby from his crib. Wyatt stirred but didn’t wake when she put him in his stroller. She almost hoped he would wake up—otherwise, he’d be ready to play when she needed rest. A single mother had to sleep when her baby did or go without.
But he didn’t make a peep as she hurried down the street to her studio. There was so much work that needed to be done. She figured she might as well get started, take advantage of this time.
Once she let herself in and stowed Wyatt in what she planned to use as her massage room, where it was dark and quiet, she walked through the place, studying it with a skeptical eye. How could she make the studio more appealing on such a limited budget?
The little she’d had in savings had dwindled fast, and she was concerned that she wouldn’t be able to pay her rent. If she didn’t get enough appointments, she’d have no hope....
“What-ifs” churned like acid in her stomach, but over the course of her life she’d been through much worse than financial uncertainty. She could remember as a girl rummaging through Dumpsters, hoping to find a cast-off burrito or hamburger that might be edible. Her mother had taken off whenever it suited her, leaving Presley and Cheyenne on their own, often for days, without heat or even food if they were in the car.
Fortunately, those years were behind them. Pancreatic cancer had taken Anita, releasing those closest to her from the obligation of caring for her. Presley was taking a leap of faith by opening her own business, and fear sometimes threatened to paralyze her. But she could make it work. She could overcome anything as long as Wyatt remained healthy and happy.
At least here in Whiskey Creek she didn’t have to worry about his day-care provider hurting him. She hated that she was the one who’d left him vulnerable to that. But it wasn’t as if she’d left him to go off with some strange man so she could trade sex for money as Anita so often had. She’d had a legitimate job, and she’d kept him with her whenever she could. She’d do the same here. Otherwise, Cheyenne or a girl named Alexa, the fourteen-year-old daughter of Ted Dixon’s fiancée, would help out. Alexa wasn’t someone Presley knew well, but she seemed very sweet. Cheyenne was confident that she’d be nothing but kind to Wyatt.
A knock on the glass made her jump. It was after midnight, and she wasn’t expecting company.
It could only be Cheyenne coming to check on her, she thought. Cheyenne was trying so hard to be supportive. But when Presley turned, she saw Riley Stinson, Cheyenne’s friend whom she’d spoken to at the book signing, standing on the sidewalk in front of her store.
He waved. Then he blew on his hands to keep them warm as she walked over to let him in.
“Riley! What are you doing out and about at this hour?”
“I was on my way home from Ted’s and saw your light. Figured maybe I’d catch you working.”
“You did. Well, I haven’t really begun yet. But I intend to.” She glanced toward the street, where he’d parked. “Where’s Jacob tonight?”
Riley had a fifteen-year-old son he was raising, with a little help from his parents. Jacob’s mother wasn’t in the picture. She’d been sentenced to twenty years in prison for running down his next love interest with an old Buick just before they all graduated from high school. The last thing Presley had heard about Phoenix Fuller was that she was due to be released around the same time as Aaron’s father.
Presley wondered how Riley felt about his ex-girlfriend coming home at last, but she didn’t know him well enough to ask such a personal question.
“Jacob’s staying at a friend’s.” He whistled as he took in their surroundings. “So this is the new studio, huh?”
She felt herself flush. It wasn’t much to look at. But it was more than she’d ever had. “So far. There’s still a lot to do.”
“What do you have planned?”
“Repairing the drywall and painting, to begin with.” She folded her arms against the chill, wishing she’d brought a coat. Until Wyatt was up and no longer under a blanket, she was hesitant to turn on the heat, since she, and not her landlord, had to pay the utility bill. “After that I’ll create a reception area where I can book my appointments and clients can check in.”
She indicated the door leading to where Wyatt was sleeping. “That will be the massage room.” She also showed him the larger area on the other side. “This will be the yoga studio.”
“Nice.”
He seemed to approve, and that made her less critical. “There’s even a small kitchen in back,” she said, feeling some of the excitement she’d experienced in Fresno when she’d lain awake so many nights, dreaming and planning for her future.
“This space has everything you’ll need.”
“It’s a bit run-down,” she admitted. The shop had once been an antiques co-op. The individual co-op members rented booths in