The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,136

not. But this is what I need. It would hurt to walk away after all this, or to be left behind, but if he can’t move on from his past . . . then we have to say goodbye.

And it has to be now.

THIRTY-THREE

Andrew hasn’t blinked in what feels like minutes. I’ve hit him with an unfair ultimatum—let me all the way in or let me go. It would be easier to take it back and trust we’d get there in time, but I can’t. I’m not prepared to endure what I went through with Reggie, who I don’t think I ever loved absolutely, with Andrew, who I think I could.

“We’ve always been able to be honest with each other,” I say. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says right away.

“I’m not asking for the world, but if you want me to stay, I need more.”

With a swallow, he nods. “I know. I didn’t even realize I was . . . keeping you out. It wasn’t on purpose.”

I replace the self-help book on grief on the shelf and go to him, rounding the couch. “I don’t blame you—we had a deal. But now we have a new one.”

After a few tense seconds, one corner of his mouth lifts. “We do? What would that be?”

“We’re allowed to fall in love.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And?”

“That’s it. We take it day by day. We stay honest with each other.” I chew my bottom lip. “Or, we walk away like we originally planned. But I know I’ll always wonder what could’ve been if . . .” I’m out on the ledge alone. I’m tempted to look at my hands, but I hold onto a thread of courage. This is new for both of us, and he deserves my patience.

“If what, Amelia?”

“If I had let myself love you.”

His expression sobers. “I would wonder too. Always.” He sits on the couch. Taking my hand in his, he tugs me down next to him. “She made us my favorite dinner that night. Back then, I didn’t cook. I didn’t clean or do much of anything around the house, honestly. I was just trying to get the garage going, and that took up a lot of my time.”

“You sound like you regret that,” I say.

He nods. “Part of what I struggle with is the fact that I wasn’t a good boyfriend. I thought I made up for that by being a good dad, but Shana didn’t see it that way.”

I bring our laced hands to my lips and kiss his knuckles. “You blame yourself.”

“Sometimes.” He pulls my legs over his lap, and I settle back against the opposite arm so I can see him. “We all went to bed that night. When I woke up, Bell was crying in her crib. Shana was nowhere to be found, but she didn’t have a job or anywhere she had to be at six in the morning. Once I’d calmed Bell down, I went into my closet. Most of her things were gone. I panicked and called the police, but they knew better. When I admitted her things were missing, they told me to wait a couple days.”

He leans forward and picks up his drink before passing me mine. “So, she was gone. I called her mom, who said Shana was safe but that was all she could tell me. I would’ve gone to her parents’, but they lived hours away, and I was saddled with Bell and work. Plus—I was fucking bitter. I wasn’t about to go banging on her door, begging her to come back. Eventually, when I was ready to face her, her parents said she was no longer there.”

“Where was she?”

He shakes his head. “Either they didn’t know, or they wouldn’t tell me. Her mom wanted to come visit, but I held Bell like ransom. It was a way of punishing Shana, not letting her parents see Bell.”

“Didn’t they fight you?” I ask. “They’re her grandparents.”

“Not hard enough.” He clears his throat. “All of this happened right before Bell’s third birthday. I would’ve been happy to crawl into a hole and drink myself stupid, but I couldn’t. We had friends and family coming over. I spent the party explaining Shana’s absence and getting a sickening amount of pity. At one point, I actually went into the bathroom and puked.”

“God,” I say, covering my heart. “That’s awful.”

“I was fucked. Because I worked a lot, Shana had handled almost everything when it came to