Because of Them (Because of Love #2)

Chapter Thirty-Five

AUDREY

A midst the noise I suspect will become my new normal, I miss the rhythmic sounds of the hospital. The scurried footsteps in the hall would be worlds better than the steady thumping of Maisie bouncing her basketball in the backyard. And I’d take beeping monitors and the gentle buzz from the lights over the crying and shushing. Times two.

Because everything is times two.

Henry screams in my arms, and no amount of swaddling or rocking or bouncing or shushing or feeding seems to help. He spits out his dummy, over and over again, and I put it back in, holding it in place, hoping he sucks it.

Over the noise that pulls at my heart and hurts in my bones, I hear Cassidy fighting the same battle down the hall. William crying out, just like his brother. Cassidy’s trim nail tapping against his dummy as she tries to keep it in his mouth. Her sh, sh, shh ing in time with her footsteps.

They weren’t supposed to stay. They might have even had plans. But when they came to drop Maisie off, they found me trapped on the couch. Two crying babies wriggling against my chest, my own tears dripping onto their soft heads.

When they woke, I’d tried to feed William and Henry the bottles that Michael had got ready, but neither of them drank much. I managed to change both their nappies before the screaming really kicked up. Nothing worked. Nothing is working. And if only Michael was here maybe I wouldn’t have fallen apart.

He’s not though. I have no idea where he is because he said he had a ‘meeting’, but he has been gone for hours.

Disappointment began to brew the minute the door clicked shut behind him. Anger mixed in as his car drove off down the length of the driveway. The boys slept soundly in their cots but resentment swirled through me until my head hurt.

How dare he? Have the nerve to just leave as soon as we were settled. It better have been some damn important meeting to have left.

It’s always the leaving, with Michael. There’s always a reason, but he’s always leaving. And I am never afforded the luxury. Imagine, if I just up and left him with the boys without any hint of when I’d return. I couldn’t. And even if I could, I wouldn’t.

“Do you think maybe they want to be close?” Cassidy walks back down the hall, bouncing with each step. She slides right next to me until the boys are close enough to hold hands.

As though they sense each other, an instant calm washes over both of them. Henry starts to suck on his dummy, and with my hand no longer holding it in his mouth, I can shift him in my arms. My stomach aches, the thick scar tissue that slices me in two stretching from all the standing and bouncing and holding.

In Cassidy’s arms, William lets out a tiny whimper, but settles against her chest. One of his tiny arms stretched out to rest on Henry’s head.

“Woah,” Cassidy mutters, the awe in her voice apparent despite her hushed tone. “Should we try to sit?”

“Let’s give them a second, then we’ll try.”

When the boys settle into sleep, we move in tandem to the couch, sitting in sync. My thigh rests against hers as we stay close so that the twins can still reach each other.

“Is this a twin thing?”

I look down at Henry’s near bald head. “Maybe?”

I hope so, but I also hope not. I was blissfully ignorant about how much time I would spend on my own with both boys. I physically can’t carry them both around all the time. The sad truth is that they will have to get used to being apart. Just like I’ll have to get used to being on my own. Again.

I gnaw at the inside of my cheek, hoping to hide the self-loathing that spreads across my skin. It tingles like sunburn that’s ready to peel and I wriggle against the sensation. I should have known. People don’t change. Not the way I wanted Michael to. Not the way I hoped he had. I push him from my thoughts, not ready to face the cold truth anymore.

Cassidy shifts her weight next to me, swapping the hand that rests under William’s bottom. Her new free hand traces tiny circles on his back. With her eyes closed, Cassidy lets out a breath, it hitches in the middle, but she sucks air back with a sniff.

“I’m sorry if this is hard for you.” It would be hard for me, if I’d been dealt Cassidy’s cards.

She shakes her head. “It’s not, which surprises me. It just feels right. To have these boys in my life in this way. I know it must be hard for you, with everything right now. But for me this feels right.”

I don’t force out any unnecessary words, instead falling into a silence that’s broken only by soft whimpers from the boys and heavy sighs from me.

“Did Michael say when he would be home?”

I purse my lips. “No.”

Cassidy shifts to turn her body towards mine. William wriggles in her lap and we hold our breaths, waiting to see if the movement has broken the spell. It hasn’t, because he settles back into place, sucking at his dummy.

“I still think he has changed. This was a massive error in judgement, but Noah says he is determined to make the hotel build a success. He’s desperate to prove himself. To his dad, and to you.”

Before I can answer, the sound of a car coming up the driveway echoes through the hall. Maisie runs into the house. She stops in her tracks when she sees us on the couch. Creeping over, she pats each of her brothers tenderly on the head before turning to the front of the house.

“Michael!” She stage whispers before running to open the front door for him.

Callum follows Maisie into the house, detouring into the kitchen.

Beside me, Cassidy stands awkwardly, inching the boys apart. Neither of them protest, so she stalks off through the house. I hear hushed words, the shuffling of fabric, and eventually three very different sets of footsteps coming through the house.

“Maisie, why don’t you practise some of your new ballet positions in your room. Do you have the book we got you?” Cassidy directs Maisie into her bedroom.

Michael stands at the end of the hallway, William on his chest and a bunch of lilies hanging by his side. His chin is low as he shuffles his feet. He searches the room for me, but drops his gaze down to his feet when he sees me on the couch. If it wasn’t for Henry, now fast asleep on my chest, it would look like I hadn’t moved in the hours Michael has been gone. And from the look on his face, I’d say he knows it.

Pulling Callum around the kitchen bench, Cassidy opens the back door to let Baxter out and turns to look at me. She rolls her eyes towards Michael, dropping them low to the flowers that hang by his side. Her eyebrows jump and she tilts her head to the side.

“We’ll get going. Thank you for letting us help Audrey.” I go to brush off her thanks, but she holds a hand up to stop me. “I mean it. Thank you.”

With Callum dragging behind her, she skitters out of the house.

Tension hangs thick in the air as the door clicks behind them. It turns to lead as the grumble of their car on the gravel dies down.

“I’m sorry,” Michael finally says. He drops the flowers on the table and joins me on the couch, but the gap between us is blinding. Cassidy and I were leg to leg the whole time, but Michael sits right up against the arm rest. He turns his body to face mine, one knee propping up on the cushions. I dare him to make himself comfier. To lean back or close his eyes. Thankfully for him, he doesn’t.

I don’t respond to his apology. I can’t say it’s okay when it’s not.

“I shouldn’t have left today, and I knew that as soon as I had. I did everything I could to get back as soon as possible, but I know that means nothing to you.”

He adjusts William in his arms to free a hand, and uses it to pull the band out of his hair. It falls down over his shoulders and he brushes it back from his face with his fingers. A stray piece falls across his cheeks and I want to reach out and tuck it away. I want to run my fingers over his cheek and okay maybe I want to kiss him. But I also want to slap him and fuck, hormones are annoying.

“Can I tell you where I was?” he asks.

I slump back into the cushions behind me and tipping my head to face the ceiling. A flicker of heat trickles down my neck, remembering the last time I was in the position. But the ice in my head and in my heart douses the flame before it has a chance to catch. We were different then. I was naive, drunk in lust and hope.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Go do you, it’s fine.” It’s not. In fact, it’s far from it. But resentment swells until baseless, emotionless remarks are all I can manage. “The boys will wake up soon. I just want to enjoy the peace before it’s over.”

He shifts, one hand on William’s back as he sits up. With his free hand, Michael wraps his large arm around Henry’s tiny frame, rolling him off my chest. With the boys snuggled into his chest, Michael makes my ovaries explode. If I hadn’t just been pregnant I— No . I cut the thought off and snap my eyes shut. Never again.

“Before the boys, you said you needed a grown up. Not another child. That’s what I’m trying to be. I just know that I’m shit at it. I made a promise to myself that I would be the man you deserve, the man all three of you deserve—four if you count Maisie, which we should. I said I would step up and make something of myself. That’s what I’m trying to do. I made a commitment to my dad to manage Noah’s project and prove that I am capable. Not just of a job, but of eventually running his business. I should never have prioritised that over being here with you today. I fucked up, and I’m sorry.”

My neck begins to ache from the stretch. I roll it to the side, facing Michael but keeping my eyes closed so I don’t get distracted by all the soft masculinity he’s displaying. “Thank you for acknowledging it.”

“There’s something else.” He continues and there it is. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, I hold my breath as I prepare for the blow.

He nudges me with his knee. “You don’t just deserve a man who has his shit together. You also deserve to do what you love, every day. And you deserve the space to do it, properly, not crammed in next to Maisie’s toys.”

“Kids take up space.”

“Right, so it’s a good thing I have plenty of space to give you.”

My heart sinks to my stomach and my throat closes. My lip quivers and I want to tell him to stop, that I don’t need to hear it.

“That came out wrong. I had land,” he rushes out. “I’m building you a house.”

A house? I open my eyes, my lip no longer quivering but instead hanging so low my chin hits my shoulder. He did not just say what I think he did. Did he?

Because I swear I thought I heard him say he was building me a whole damn house, after what, one—maybe two—comments about this one being too small. All so I can have room to paint again. Regardless of the fact I don’t have time to paint again right now. The two half-finished commission canvases sit on easels in the now crowded sunroom, along with the promise to get them done as soon as possible and the reassurance that the women understand and I should take my time.

Time. I start to spiral, counting up the minutes and the hours and the sheer effort required to move into a new house. Never mind the two time thieves currently cuddled up on Michael’s chest. I’ll have to feed them soon, and the cycle will begin all over again.

“I don’t have time.”

Michael shushes Henry, who has started wriggling and whimpering, as if on cue. Although, it may be William. Without being able to see the little dab of blue nail polish on Henry’s big toenail, and especially without being able to see the extra puffiness of his cheeks, I can’t be certain.

“You don’t need to do anything Audrey, I promise. It’s nearly done. I’ll handle the final walk through. I’ll organise landscaping before you move in and I’ll help with everything on moving day, and leading up to it.”

“Fine.”

There’s a small, tiny—miniscule really—piece of me that’s excited. Hell, I might even have swooned a little in an alternate universe. He’s doing what he can, in the way that he can. This is his grand gesture, in a very Michael way, to show me he will do anything for me and the boys. I can hear the love and good intentions in his voice. I can appreciate the effort he is going to and how he just wants me to have everything he thinks I deserve. And that he is the man who can give it all to me. Plus, I do genuinely think this house is too small and we need a bigger backyard for Baxter. The poor dog is currently trapped in a tiny courtyard of an outdoor area.

But I’m still mad. Moving house is a big deal, and Michael has come in and made all the decisions for me.

“I should have told you.”

“You should have asked me,” I snap. I jump up, and am halfway to the kitchen before Michael tries to respond. I cut him off, “I don’t want to talk about this right now. Build your house, go to your meetings, I have enough to worry about without adding more.”

Bottles slam against the counter under my fingers. I spill a scoop of formula, cursing at the loss because that shit is expensive. I force myself to slow down, to breathe, as I carefully measure out the water and drop the bottles into the warmer.

“They’ll need a feed soon,” I say, turning on my heel and pushing my shoulders back. The rushed movement and forced posture pulls at my scar until I’m forced to hunch over a little. “I’m having a shower.”

I don’t let him answer, instead stalking to the bathroom and slamming the door shut.

I make quick work of turning the shower as hot as it will go, stripping down, and stepping into the steady stream. Scorching water rushes over me, burning away the worst of the rage. A tiny sliver of anger is left when I’m done, softened by the hint of appreciation that tries to push through.

I can be angry and thankful at the same time, right?