why the message looked bad. But couldn’t he ask me about it before jumping to conclusions? I thought we were past that.
But why should he trust me? I’ve bailed on him before.
Shut up, brain!
“Roger Heiden is a friend of mine. A director. That’s all,” I explained, stubbornly not wanting to go into it, annoyed that Kyle was acting as though he didn't trust me.
“Another director? How many have there been?” Kyle scoffed, and I stiffened. The look on my face must have been bad because he paled. “I shouldn’t have said that, Whit. That was messed up. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it—”
“Yes, you did. Don’t lie.” I screwed the top on my travel mug and grabbed my keys, stooping to kiss Katie’s curls before walking toward the front door.
Kyle chased after me, grabbing hold of my arm. Not hard—just enough to stop me from moving. “Can you tell me what he was talking about? Where does he want you to go?” His eyes begged me to wait. To make him understand.
“It’s nothing. It doesn’t matter. I have to get to work.” I wasn’t being fair. I owed him an explanation. Reassurance. With everything going on, he shouldn’t have to worry about me.
But his distrust hurt. And when I was hurt, I shut down. I retreated into myself. Gavin Wiseley had taught me well.
Fuck Gavin.
I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled him close. “Nothing could tear me away from you. From Katie. Roger is an old friend that offered me a job. I turned it down already. He just likes to be annoying.” I kissed him, closing my eyes, breathing him in.
I felt his hands on my face. In my hair. “I’m sorry I questioned you like that, but I’m scared …”
I opened my eyes to find him watching me. “Of what?” I whispered.
“Of this disappearing.”
We kissed again, not wanting to stop until Katie’s enthusiastic shrieks pulled us away from each other.
“Katie and I will meet you at the gazebo around 5:30,” I promised.
“I’ll be there, ice cream cone in hand.” He smacked me on the ass as I hurried out the door.
**
I was running late. I checked the time on the dash, and it was already 5:25. I had just picked up Katie, who was singing along nonsensically to the music I put on for her.
Mrs. Webber had wanted to show me the terra cotta pots she and Katie painted today. “We did this one for you,” she said, picking up a pot that had been splashed with red and orange paint, with Katie’s green handprint right in the middle.
Of course, I started crying.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Kyle’s mom handed me a tissue.
“I’m not upset. Not at all. I love it. Thank you so much. I’ll treasure it always.” Then I hugged her.
She patted me on the back. “We know you’ll always make sure our girl is safe. We appreciate that.” She looked a little uncomfortable. “Okay, well, you’d better get to the carnival. Kyle will be waiting.” She put the pot in a bag and carried it out of the car while I wrangled Katie and the diaper bag.
“Thanks, Gail. For the pot. For trusting me with Katie. You know, for everything.” I smiled at the older woman then pulled out of their driveway.
We were heading toward town, and I was driving faster than I normally would. Kyle had already messaged, asking where we were. With one hand on the steering wheel, I grabbed my phone, attempting to tap out a quick message to let him know we were on our way.
“Whity!” Katie squealed from the backseat, and my heart flipped. Did she just say my name? I glanced at her in the rear-view mirror.
“Oh, sweetheart—”
The impact was violent, the airbag activating and causing my head to whip backward at such a force I thought I had broken my neck.
The car spun, slamming into a lamppost. I could hear Katie screaming from the backseat. I tried to turn around to comfort her, but I couldn’t move my body. The entire right side of the vehicle was crunched in, and Katie’s car seat had been crushed into the side.
“Katie!” I yelled, pushing down on the airbag. “Oh my God, Katie!” I was stuck; my legs were pinned beneath the dashboard. “Help! Someone, please!” I shouted and shouted until my voice went hoarse all the while Katie screamed. I could hear her pain. Her fear. Oh my God, what have I done?