Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,444

her lower lip quivering.

The old Carla never cried. She didn’t get sad. She got angry. Closing her eyes, she draws in a deep breath to compose herself. When she opens them, there’s a glint within, moisture pooling in the corners.

“My biggest regret is abandoning you and those girls. We weren’t right for each other. We both knew that. At the time, all I cared about was myself. The only reason I even liked being pregnant was the attention I got at games because I was carrying Andrew Brinks’ baby. In my mind, it made not being able to drink worth it. Nothing I say can ever make up for what I did.”

“Six…years,” I interrupt, an ache in my throat, in my chest, in my heart. “Six fucking years, Carla, without a single word. Six birthdays. Six Christmases. Six Easters. Nothing. Not even a goddamn card.” My nostrils flare as I breathe in and out through my nose. Tears form in my eyes. Not at what I’ve had to endure because of her selfishness, but at what my girls did, although they don’t know it. I’ve made sure of that. “At least they were both too young to remember you. At first, Alyssa would say ‘Mama’ every time I walked into her room to get her up from her crib. Thankfully, after a while, she stopped.”

“I’ve wanted to reach out the past few years…once I got my life together. My sponsor at AA suggested I do that, but I didn’t know how, had no idea what to say. When I became a mother again, the guilt grew even more. I can’t tell you how many times I took the train into the city and made my way to your father’s café—”

“My café,” I interrupt.

“Yes. Your café,” she corrects. “But I could never work up the courage to go through those doors. I’d see you in there, and you looked happy. I didn’t want to ruin that.” She pauses, tilting her head as she surveys me. “And you look happy now, too.”

“I am. Because of those two little girls you decided were forgettable. They’re not. They’re my world. I won’t let you hurt them.” Acid burning my stomach the longer I stay in this woman’s presence, I push past her. When I sense her watching me, I pause, glancing over my shoulder. “So don’t get any ideas that you can be a part of their lives now, even if you’ve finally realized leaving was a mistake. Those girls haven’t needed you for the past six years. And they don’t need you now.”

I storm off, drawing in deep breath after deep breath to compose myself. The last thing I want is my girls to see me so worked up, wondering who that woman is and why she upset me.

As I approach the exhibit where Alyssa and Charlotte are oohing and ahhing over all the colors reflected on the wall and floors by the prisms, Brooklyn senses my presence and snaps her attention away from them. Dropping their hands, she walks toward me, her analytical eyes seeming to assess every inch of me.

Without saying a word, she wraps her arms around my waist, squeezing me tightly. I momentarily still, then pull her closer, sighing. I need this. The feeling of her warm, lithe body against me calms the fire raging within. It always has. Whenever I felt like my world was falling apart around me, she was the person I always went to. Right now, she’s exactly what I need.

“Oh, Drew,” she breathes. “I am so sorry.” She pulls back, cupping my cheeks in her hands. “I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling right now.”

I look deep into her eyes. “It’s okay.” While seeing Carla was the last thing I ever wanted, I refuse to let her get to me. I refuse to let the memories bring up everything I thought I finally buried. “Those girls are better off without her. They don’t need her. They’ve had a better upbringing than she ever could have given them, thanks to Aunt Gigi, Molly…and you.”

She brings herself onto her toes and places a tender kiss on my cheek. “Thank you.” It’s a simple gesture, but the feel of her soft, pink lips on my skin forces a tingle to run down my spine, easing my worry.

“Daddy?” Alyssa approaches, and Brooklyn steps away. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am.”

“But that woman…,” she begins, always the observant one.

“She’s no one, sweetie.” When I grab her hand, she doesn’t