Page 33 of Roundabout

Round and round I go, back to the beginning we know. Last time I took on all the risk in order to save those I love it didn’t work out the way I planned either. But last time, Coty chose me back.

This time, he didn’t.

CHAPTER 9

Angela

“Mommy birthday?”

I gasp into the phone, then ask Jace, “Who told you?”

“Daddy.”

Coty mumbles something and just the sound of his voice makes my heart ache. I want to hear that voice in person again, not just over the phone as background noise. I miss him talking directly to me, but he’s only willing to speak to me through our three-year-old right now.

Coty hasn’t been home since the showdown. He suggested—via text—that he’d keep Jace out of the house for me while I treated the girls for lice. It’s been three days since I’ve seen him, hugged him, kissed him.

Coty and I have never spent a night away from each other. Never. Not since we moved in together out here in the house he built specifically for us to grow a family in, to grow together in. Once he branched out from Pop The Hood, he still made it a habit to call or text me at least once during the day, just to check in or say hi. Some people would find that suffocating, but not me. I know it’s because he genuinely means it.

Meant it?

Not being on speaking terms means we haven’t discussed what happens next. Or what happens now, for that matter. Our wedding got cancelled but does that mean we’re over? Like over over? Because I’m not over anything, least of all Coty. I could never be over Coty. The longing I felt for him the moment I left him standing in front of Marshall’s office has doubled each day I’ve gone without seeing him, and three days later, I’m practically choking on my yearning. I need Coty like the moon needs the sun. Without him, I have no shine. Without him, everything’s just dark.

I sigh, telling Jace, “Yeah, it’s Mommy’s birthday.”

As far as birthdays go, this one might be the worst, and I’ve had some bad birthdays in my lifetime. I’m not only missing Coty and our son, I’m also missing the rest of the family.

I glance around the house. The girls and I have been cooped up inside for three days now, we could use some new scenery. I spent the morning combing what felt like every strand of hair on both Brittni’s and Makya’s heads—twice—so I know they’re bug-free.

I cover the phone to ask, “What do you girls say to getting out of here?”

Makya nods enthusiastically.

“Brit?”

Brittni shrugs her shoulders, a little more reluctant than her younger sister. “I guess.”

Even though they could technically go back to school starting Monday, I probably won’t send them for at least another week. Not only to be sure the lice is gone, but to let their eyelashes grow in a little because middle schoolers can be brutal. It’s a good thing Brittni’s cousin is the toughest girl in school.

Harley, Terra, and Tysen’s son, Diesel, will be happy to welcome Makya back to their elementary school. Our family is tightknit like that. No matter how much time passes, or what happens, we don’t give up on each other.

We don’t give up on each other.

Our relationship is not just between two people who love each other. It never was. The life Coty and I share together has been intricately woven by not only our own hands, but also the hands around us—the stitching unable to come undone as easily as other relationships. Other simple relationships, because with us, it’s not so simple.

Neither is this. This is difficult.

Or maybe it’s not; I just made it so. It’s the only way I know though. The easy route’s never appealed to me, even in times of desperation, mainly because I don’t trust it. Things that are easy to get are easy to lose.

The money I lost adopting the girls didn’t feel like losing at all because what I gained means more to me than money ever could. I’ve never considered money to be a permanent fixture in my life. I valued it but it wasn’t valuable to me because I’ve lived without it and survived. Losing Coty, however, that feels like the biggest loss of all.

Coty wasn’t just a part of my life, he was my life. He is my life.

“Are you at Funcle Beckett’s house or Uncle Marc’s?” I ask Jace.

“Bett-ett’s house.”

My heartrate spikes at the idea of seeing both Jace and Coty.