My Life as a Holiday Album (My Life as an Album #5) - L.J. Evans Page 0,123

between us.

“I said such awful things before you left.” Her voice was full of regret. Regret that was echoed in my own bones.

“We both did.” God, I had. If only I could take them back. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t take back the words or leaving her, so I’d just have to show her and the baby every day from here on out that I was never leaving them again.

“I love you.” She said it like it was a fact. She put her hand on my jaw, rubbing the stubble that had grown since I last showered and shaved.

“I didn’t know that I could love anything this much. Anyone,” I told her the truth. “When I first asked you to marry me, I loved you. I knew I didn’t want to be without you, but I didn’t realize… I don’t think I understood that my love for you means I can’t even breathe without you next to me. Without knowing the day will end with us together. You’re not just my heart. You’re my lungs. My muscles. Every piece that keeps me going.”

She kissed me. Hard, deep, full of sadness and regret that we wouldn’t be able to take back, but also with love and hope and joy.

“You bought a jet,” she said again.

I chuckled. “I knew I’d probably already missed her birth, but I was determined to not bring in the new year without both of you with me. Without you knowing how much I loved you both.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Don’t you see? It’s our solution. If we own it, we can decide at any moment to go to Scotland or come to Tennessee. We can wake up in the morning, and you can say, ‘Let’s go see my mama,’ and we can.”

“We could have done that anyway,” she replied.

I nodded. “Yes, but who knows if they would have spots on the next flight. Maybe we’d have to wait a day. And there’s nothing really direct. This way, I can come and go as I please, do business from the plane. Be where I’m needed when I’m needed.”

“Except for an eight- or nine-hour plane ride.”

“Psh. What’s eight hours? It’s nothing when all the other flights take double that with the layovers.”

“And Margery? She approved this incredibly outrageous expense?”

“Honestly?”

Edie nodded.

“I didn’t care, but when I told her what I was doing, she asked why I hadn’t done it sooner.”

“Really?”

My hands wouldn’t stop touching her. I missed so goddamn much.

“What did you name her?” I asked, looking back down at our girl’s face. She was staring at me. As if she knew my voice.

“I didn’t,” Edie stated.

I frowned, confused.

“I couldn’t name her without you. So, right now, she’s just Baby Girl.”

I was stabbed in the heart…love absolutely to blame. My love for her. My love for the baby all mixed together. My heart hurt as it grew and twisted and was claimed by these two females all over again.

“What do you want to name her?” I asked.

“I was thinking of Leannan,” she said, and my breath was taken away once more at the Gaelic word she uttered. The fact she’d spent time finding a name that would represent my family even when I had left.

“Sweetheart,” the English form slipped out of my mouth.

“Do you like it?” she asked, brows burrowing together.

“I do. It’s perfect,” I told her, my breath shuddering back to life in sharp, aching movements.

A hand on my shoulder jerked me from gazing at the people who mattered most to me. I looked over to find Lonnie standing there, his face as unfriendly as I’d ever seen it. I didn’t blame him. Looking at my little daughter, I was already feeling anger rise at the thought of anybody and anyone who might hurt her in her life. And I hadn’t just hurt Lonnie’s daughter, I’d almost destroyed her. I’d almost destroyed us.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“Dad, don’t,” Edie said, trying to protect me, even after everything.

“No, it’s okay, Edie,” I said. I kissed her on the lips, handed the baby back to her, and then went with Lonnie as he headed through the crowd to the back of the room.

We stepped outside onto the landing, the cold air hitting me.

Lonnie rubbed a hand over his face. “What the hell, Garrett?”

There was nothing I could say that would have been appropriate or sound anywhere near justified, so I said nothing. He was her father. He had every right to demand an answer from me, but I