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“Where?” I chance another risky glance at her to find she’s staring out the windshield.

“In the space between.”

She doesn’t have to elaborate for me to understand. For me to see how torn up she is where she stands between me and Holt. Between my heart and his. Between the vows I intend to keep, and the promises Holt made. Between the life she lives with me and the dreams she made with him.

I wish I could pull her away from the between and over to my side. Hell, if I thought it would help her, I’d shove her to his side. But I tried that once already. I never intervened in her relationship with him, though there were times I thought about it.

I pushed her to him once. I let him have her and look where it led.

She’s pregnant with nothing and he’s chasing wild dreams in another province.

No, she doesn’t have nothing. She has me.

Maybe one day she’ll realize it.

12

YOU’RE YOU

NOVEMBER 2009 – 18 YEARS OLD

I’m starting to show. It’s small. A little bump, nothing much. I’m not sure anyone would notice, but I caught Tate staring at me this morning while I munched on toast slathered in raspberry jam with an egg on top.

I know, weird. But I can’t get enough of it.

My feet are killing me in a way they’ve never killed me before. My shift at the shop was busy and long. I didn’t get much time to sit with the town stocking up on winter gear now that the snow has really started to fall.

By the time my shift ended, and it was time to make the hike home, I ached all over. The first thing I did was strip down for a hot shower. Standing beneath the hot spray was heaven, but it wasn’t long before I’d melted down to a puddle of flesh and bones and tears in the base of the tub, a small part of me wishing I could just wash it all away—everything that hurts so much—and watch it spin down the drain with the water.

If only it were so simple.

Now, naked in the mirror, I can’t deny I’m changing. My body is changing. My breasts are bigger and heavy in a way they’ve never been before. I’ve gained weight in my thighs—not enough that my clothes don’t fit—but enough that I feel the pinch of snug discomfort in my jeans. And I swear my hips are wider. Again, not by much, but enough that I’ve noted the change.

Most alarming, though, is the hard swell in my lower belly. I hide it well with baggy T’s and sweaters now that it’s cold. I’ve hidden it so well; I think I might have hidden it from myself because I hadn’t realized just how obvious the small lump was until this morning when Tate’s eyes landed and locked on me in my tank top. Neither of us said anything as I shoveled down the rest of my toast.

I’ve never seen such a tiny elephant.

My hands drift over the small bump—far more noticeable now that I’m naked. For a while, I checked for the bump every morning. Then I just...stopped.

I think I was avoiding looking at myself in the mirror while naked. There was a part of me that lived in denial. If I didn’t see it, it wasn’t true.

Silly me.

It’s true, all right.

My swollen, red-rimmed eyes well with a new round of tears. My throat threatens to close around thick emotions.

I snatch the towel from the vanity to cover my offending body, whipping the door open and slamming into a hard wall.

My hands snap up to steady myself on the wall of Tate as his hands come around to steady me at my waist. In that same moment, my towel falls between us.

I freeze. Tate freezes.

My heart thunders so hard, I think he feels it.

I think I feel his heart thundering in his chest.

His hard jaw clenches, his throat works with a swallow.