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Candace smiled encouragingly, explaining, “You’ll want a few extra calories for your milk.” Then she helped Faye—again—with getting Owen latched onto her breast, which is where he seemed most content.

Now, the room is quiet, and everyone is gone. Owen is wrapped snugly in a blanket, content in my arms and Faye is asleep. His face is so small, his hair so dark. Every nurse that came into the room gushed over his long, dark lashes—'wasted on a man’, they said, following up with, ‘he’s a handsome one’.

He is handsome.

A soft smile pulls at my lips even as something else, something prickly, tugs at my heart. I pull in a sharp breath as the tug turns into a squeeze, that prickly thing pinching like the bite of thorns.

He’s handsome because Holt is his father.

Holt, my brother, is my son’s father.

My throat feels tight as I marvel at the infant in my arms. He’s a miracle, the best thing my brother’s ever done in his life and quite possibly will ever do—and he doesn’t know it.

My eyes drift to the woman sleeping soundly in the hospital bed. She is the strongest woman I’ve ever known, the thief of my heart and keeper of my hopes and dreams. I love her and yet…

I need Holt to know his son.

My heart thunders in my chest as I pull my phone from my pocket. I open the dead text thread I share with Holt, and I take a closeup picture of Owen’s little face. I hit send and follow it up with another text.

Meet Owen Wilder. He’s a big boy for being born so early. It was touch and go for a moment or two, but he’s a strong little man.

Owen wasn’t early. He was late, but this helps sell the lie that he’s mine and not Holt’s. It helps Faye feel safe and secure in the life she’s chosen here in Rubble Ridge, supporting Holt in his quest to see his dreams through to the stardom he craves.

I hate it, but I swear to myself I’ll include Holt in all of Owen’s special moments.

It takes Holt a while, but he finally replies.

And it guts me.

He looks like me.

25

LIKE A DREAM

JUNE 2010 – 18 YEARS OLD

Guilt overwhelms me as I crack the first canister of formula. Tears, hot and angry, spill from my eyes.

“Hey.” Tate moves in behind me, his hands settling on the counter on either side of me. He dips his head, his breath hot on my neck as the heat of his body is hot on my flesh through my clothes. “Don’t do that.”

“I can’t help it.” I swipe angrily at my face and the tears that just won’t stop.

“There is nothing wrong with formula.”

“Then why does it hurt so much?” I deflate against the counter. “Why do I feel like such a failure?”

“Faye.” Tate turns me around to face him, keeping me pinned by the bracket of his strong arms. “You’ve been in pain for months. You’ve tried everything.”

“I don’t have enough for him.” I sniffle.

“He’s a monster of a baby.” Tate tries to joke, but it doesn’t help. He sighs. “This happens. This is why formula exists.”

“I just didn’t want this.”

His hands come to either side of my face and he holds it, forcing me to meet his eyes even when I try to hide. “You’re making sure our son is fed. That’s all that’s important now.”

My chin quivers, but I nod. I don’t entirely believe his words, but I don’t have a whole lot of fight left in me, hence the formula.