Page 27 of Falling for You (Balsam Cliffs #2)

Emma and I have been sitting in silence for the last half hour, slowly finishing our food, and not knowing what to say to each other. I get the feeling she doesn’t want to talk, she just wants to sit.

I haven’t let go of her hand, forcing both of us to eat one handed. Her need for the physical touch isn’t lost on me. She’s afraid I’m going to slip away, the same as I am for her.

As we finish our food, the entire Keaton clan walks through the front door, taking their usual table in the opposite corner of the room, closer to where Esther and Franklin were with Margaret. Emma stiffens in her seat as she watches her family walk across the brewery.

“Can we go? Like right now?”

Her eyes dart between the table where they are, and the hallway that leads to our escape.

I don’t answer her, I just act. I stand from the table, blocking their view of her with my back as she slides out in front of me.

“Keep going to the truck.” I hand her my keys. “I’m going to grab our dessert from the cooler. We can eat it at home and binge that cult doc you’ve been watching.”

I don’t think she listens to me after I say keep going. She just runs to the truck.

I spot Clark at the grill. “Hey, we’re out.”

He waves at me as I pass by with the bag I packed earlier full of Emma’s favorite dessert.

I slip out the side door unseen and meet Emma at the truck. She’s staring straight ahead with a blank expression on her face. She isn’t my Sunshine right now, and I want my Sunshine back.

We drive back to the cabin wordlessly. I rest my hand on her thigh, and she holds my hand.

I don’t know how to fix this beyond just holding her.

Beyond waiting for tomorrow to call the lawyer.

Should I not wait? Is there an emergency lawyer line for custody issues?

Probably not. Even if there was, I don’t think a judge would hear the case tonight.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks out on a sob. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

A tear splashes on my forearm.

“What? Sorry for what? Not one thing is your fault. And stop thinking that way.”

“I should have known. I should have seen it coming.” She quietly stares out the window, sniffing intermittently, letting me know the tears are still falling, only silently this time.

I pull into the driveway, shutting off the engine. I barely get the truck in park before I hop out and run over to her side, pulling her into me.

Her arms wrap around my waist as we awkwardly hug, with her half in and half out of the truck.

“Sunshine, look at me.”

She shakes her head.

“Look. At. Me.” Using my finger and thumb, I pull her chin to make her face me. “You did nothing wrong. Nothing. I will not stand to hear otherwise.”

My phone rings in my pocket, breaking the silence.

I ignore it, holding eye contact with Emma.

She doesn’t break it either, not until my phone rings again.

“Fuck!” I pull the damn thing out of my pocket and swipe at the screen to answer it. “What do you need?”

“Fight at the bar,” Jasmine says simply. “Need to know what you want me to do.”

“How bad?”

“Five guys. Two groups, over the baseball game. There might be blood.”

“Blood on my fucking bar?”

“Clark is already on it. We moved everyone to a table. He’s got the cleaner out already.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Do you want us to just separate them and let them stay?”

“Fuck no!”

I hear glass shatter followed by more screaming.

“Was that glass?”

“Uh yeah.”

“Fucking christ. Call the damn cops! Then call me back.”

I run my hand through my hair. I hate drunk guys who peaked in high school sports and have differing views on who to root for.

Especially when it involves broken glasses and blood on my floor.

“I’m so sorry. I’m going to be a minute with this. But I’ll heat everything up, you go snuggle in on the couch and pull up the show.”

She nods, and I reach out to take her hand in mine.

When I place the bag on the counter, pulling out the small dishes to heat up the cake, my phone rings again.

I give Emma an apologetic smile as I swipe accept on the call showcasing the number for Rebels.

“Yeah?”

Emma walks into the living room, away from the stress of my phone call with Jasmine.

“Cops are on their way.”

“Who are the guys?” I turn on the oven to preheat it, and then walk over to my slider to let Fi out. She’s moping around too, picking up on our mood and missing her girl.

“I’ve seen ‘em a few times, I think they’re from a few towns over.”

“I want them trespassed.” Fuck this. I don’t do people who destroy my bar. “And charge them for the glasses they broke, and a round of drinks for anyone that had to move.”

I’ve found that monetary punishment and being cut off from their source of alcohol usually pisses them off enough that they learn to behave and can usually come back knowing my rules.

“You sure? That is…” I can hear Jasmine mumble count the number of people they owe drinks too. “A lot of drinks.”

“Don’t care. Maybe they’ll learn to not be fucking idiots in my brewery.”

I let Fiona in, already done exploring outside. Usually she takes forever, exploring all the new smells up to the cliffs.

“Okay, cops are here. I’ll text you. Go take care of that girl.”

“I was trying to do just that until someone interrupted.” The oven beeps that it’s preheated and I toss in the small bakeware.

“Ha. Ha. Sorry to interrupt you with blood and broken glassware.”

“Text me.” I hang up, not waiting for her to answer.

I set the timer for five minutes and divided the ice cream into two different bowls for us, making a hole in the middle for the lava cake. I place the small bowl of peanut butter sauce into the microwave to get it hot and melty just how Emma loves it.

The timer goes off for the oven, and I pull the cakes out to put them into their bowls. Gathering a tray, I place both bowls on it and head into the living room but I don’t see Emma. The television isn’t even on for her documentary.

“Ems?”

No response. I place the tray on the ottoman.

I walk up the stairs, maybe she’s changing?”

“Ems?” I yell out once more.

I hear soft sobs coming from Olivia’s room. When I turn the corner, I see Emma sitting in the middle of the room on the small unicorn rug, with her face buried in Olivia’s pink blanket that we use when we rock her and Fi at her side.

“What do I do, Rome? What am I supposed to do ?”

I sit down on the floor next to her and pull her into my lap. She wraps her arms around my neck, the blanket covers my shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll get through this, and we’ll get our girl back. I’ve never known you to back down without a fight from something you want.”

“This is different.” She sucks in multiple shallow breaths as she tries to catch her breath from crying.

There is nothing I can say, nothing that will bring our babies back and soothe her pain.

I lift her in my arms and stand from the floor. Fiona is standing in the doorway with her head cocked to the side, trying to figure it all out. She’s always been able to pick up on her human’s moods.

I walk past her to go into the bedroom, depositing Emma into the bed and covering her up. I pat the bed at Emma’s feet for Fiona to jump up and join us. She ignores me, and plops herself right next to Emma, in her arms. She can apparently sense what she needs more than I can.

I slide into bed behind her, pulling the duo closer to me.

“Sunshine, I need you to talk to me. I need to know what you’re feeling and thinking because I’m getting worried about you.”

“I lost our baby, it was my fault, and now I’ve lost Olivia for us. Why can’t I keep our babies safe? Fuck, Olivia isn’t even mine!” She continues to wail into Fiona’s fur.

“Why do you think that the miscarriage was your fault?” I need to understand more, I need to understand so I know how to help her move forward. Or defer to someone else who can.

“I was drinking, Rome! I was drinking so much as an excuse to be at the brewery, and I didn’t know I was pregnant! How fucking dumb can I be?”

I pull her closer to me. “That is not your fault, how could you know? Did the doctor say that was the reason?”

She hiccups, her sobs lessening. “No. She said that it could be any number of reasons. That it’s common and sometimes we don’t know why.”

“Then you can’t keep holding yourself accountable.

This is not your fault at all. You are amazing, and take care of your body.

Please, stop blaming yourself.” She nods slowly in my arms, but I can tell this will take some more prodding.

“Now let’s move on to Livvy girl. Why are you blaming yourself? ”

“Why aren’t you? I should have known. I should have known after losing our baby what Diane was feeling. I can’t imagine having my child for as long as she did and to lose her so suddenly? Why would she willingly give up the one piece that could tie her to her daughter?”

Ah. That’s why.

With abundant clarity I see the connection between her reaction and Olivia. She thinks that she should have seen the Ryans for what it was. That she should have never gone out—drinking again—and let Olivia go.

With all the dots connected, I spin her in my arms. Fiona grunts as she’s rolled the opposite direction from Emma’s arms. I grasp her face in my hands.

“Emma Keaton, you are going to listen to me right now. Are you listening to me?” She nods.

“ You are not to blame. And we’re done blaming ourselves.

No matter what grief we were experiencing, neither one of us would do what the Ryans did.

To keep a baby from her father is a choice they are making.

Not you. A miscarriage, is not your fault.

You did nothing to make that happen. It’s tragic and brings a lot of grief, but you didn’t do it. ”

I pull her to me, crashing her into my chest. Her sobs get desperate again as she claws at me, trying to get closer to me.

Like no contact is enough for her. My heart is breaking for her.

My poor sweet Fi, picks up on what Emma needs and lays down behind her, pushing her into me and squeezing her between us.

“I love you, Sunshine.”

She doesn’t answer, her tears soaking through my shirt is the only response I get.