Page 43 of Promise

“The middle of the night shouldn’t be awake time.” She scowls.

“We’ll just dance for a while,” I say, swaying a little with Mirabelle nestled against me. I hum near her head, feeling her settle into me.

Trinity leans against the changing table and crosses her arms, watching me. The room is dark except for a nightlight plugged into an outlet.

The low light further outlines Trin’s body and that silky nightdress hugging her breasts and hips.

“Go back to bed. I got her.” I nod toward the hallway, trying to dispel thoughts of what I’d like to do to her in that flimsy gown.

We need to talk, but now still isn’t the time. She’s tired, and I . . . I just want to soak in this moment representing all that could have been.

Wishing that I was Mirabelle’s dad.

Wishing that Trinity still loved me.

Wishing that I’d made all our dreams come true.

14

[Trinity]

Ihesitate. A boulder on my chest while looking at Dart with Mirabelle.

The way he holds her with confidence, like he’s a natural at being a dad. His large hands cup her head. His forearm creates a ledge for her bottom. She tucks into him. Her head rests near his heartbeat. Maybe she senses his strength. Maybe she’s thinking, I’m safe here.

He presses a soft kiss to her downy hair, murmuring something so quietly I don’t hear it despite the silence around us. His eyes briefly close as if the kiss is an instinct. A reassurance she is safe with him.

Looking at them is a twisty-turny reminder of all we wanted together and all we never had. The longing for something so precious as Mirabelle.

And here she is.

Earlier, I almost didn’t feel worthy of the impromptu shower from my friends, realizing I haven’t shared Mirabelle with others because I can’t shake the sliver of fear that she’ll be taken from me. That her appearance is all a dream.

But watching Dart hold Mirabelle, like he’d chase away nightmares and battle any demons, I can’t help picturing him in her future. In our future.

That boulder presses harder.

This right here is the forever we could have had, should have had.

And he looks so good with his backward baseball cap on his head and the low-slung fit of his sweatpants, which accentuate his⁠—

“Trin.” He whispers my name in a way I’ve heard a thousand times. Low and deep, seductive and rich even when he’s not trying to seduce me. “Just go, baby.”

My mouth opens, intending to argue, but something in the way he runs his bristly cheek against Mirabelle’s head gives me pause. Like he needs this moment with her, even if I don’t want him forming any ideas. Mirabelle is mine.

Would he like to share her with me?

The thought has me standing straighter and shaking my head. I will not allow myself to get ideas either. That picture of our future dissipates.

“I guess I could use a little more rest,” I admit over the grogginess in my throat from lack of sleep. A dull ache weighs down my limbs.

He nods, closing his eyes as he sways with Mirabelle, humming a tune near her ear.

I slip through the door and return to my bed, only to find I can’t sleep. Not with images of him cuddling Mirabelle. Singing to her. Soothing her.

He would have been the best father. He’d been such a good man, until . . .

My eyes cloud, and I blink away the tears.