Right. Some of us didn’t have a wealthy brother and sister to buy us a flat. I felt a pang of guilt that I didn’t have to struggle like so many people my age.

Cole’s eyes narrowed on me as he pulled a couple of mugs out of one of the dingy cupboards in his dingy kitchen. “What’s with the guilty expression?”

“Nothing’s with it. I’m just a bit of mess right now.”

His features softened with understanding. “If you need to —”

I didn’t know what Cole was going to say and I never would because at that exact moment we both got a text message from Liv.

Jo’s gone into labor!

We both looked up from our phones, eyes widened, and I knew Cole’s was the same message because he whispered, “Fuck.”

He flew into action. In less than a minute he’d thrown on his boots and coat, grabbed his keys, grabbed my hand, and hauled me out of his flat. We got into his little rust bucket of a Fiat, which was older than Beth, and hurtled toward the hospital.

Nine hours later, Jo gave birth to Annabelle Walker MacCabe, a gorgeous seven-pound baby girl. The entire time I sat in the waiting room with my family, my mind was on Jo and Cam and their new family. When I met Annabelle, or Belle, as we were already calling her, she was all I could think about, and when I kissed an exhausted Jo good night, hugged my family, and returned home to my flat to get some rest, my mind was still on them all.

There was a whisper in the back of my thoughts, a whisper too loud to ignore, that wished Marco had been there to enjoy the moment, to be a part of my family. He’d missed Ellie giving birth to Bray and now Jo to Belle.

There was a part of me that didn’t think that felt right.

That part scared the hell out of me.

CHAPTER 22

A little under a week later I was heading out of my flat. It was a Saturday, the ground icy where the snowfall of the past few days had melted with the rain and then frozen over with the newly falling temperatures. I sidestepped a large patch of ice on my porch and started to make my way down the steps.

I was excited to be spending the day with Jo, Ellie, Belle, and Bray and had a bag filled with goodies for both children and mothers.

“Hannah Nichols?”

I glanced up at the question, stopping on the last step of the front stoop to stare at the pretty brunette who stood a few feet from me on the pavement.

My eyes washed over her, wondering why she looked so familiar. “Yes?”

The young woman took a few steps forward, seeming anxious, and that’s when I remembered where I’d seen her: the photograph of Marco and his son at the German Market. The pretty brunette at his side. Leah. The mother of his son.

My heart suddenly took off at a gallop.

“I’m Leah McKinley. I’m Dylan’s mum.”

Eyeing her warily, I replied, “I know who you are.”

She stared at me. “You’re just like he described.”

I frowned in response. “What are you doing here?”

Her expression tightened. “I’m here because I care about Marco. And Marco’s a mess right now.”

I couldn’t ignore the guilt and pain that knowledge caused me. Since we’d last spoken on the phone, Marco had given me time. But he’d been honest when he said he’d give me time but not a lot of it. When five days passed and I didn’t contact him, he called me. Having already told him I needed space, I didn’t answer.

I didn’t answer when he called me three times after that.

I couldn’t answer, because my fear had made up my mind for me about us, and I didn’t know how to tell him.

“Look, he didn’t go into the details, but he explained that something bad happened to you years ago when he left and now he’s blaming himself.” She crossed her arms over her chest, appearing annoyed. “I knew Marco at school. Not well. But I knew him. I knew he was quiet and seemed a bit pissed off with the world. I watched him change when he became a dad. He got, I don’t know, like, sure of himself. And happy. Yet, still, I’ve never seen him as happy as he was when he was seeing you.” She squinted against the winter sun. “He told me all about you, you know. Before. When I was pregnant with Dylan we became good friends and he talked about you. I was even a wee bit jealous of the way he saw you – like you were so much better than every other girl on the planet. I told him countless times that he was good enough for anyone, that he should try to get in touch with you again, but he wouldn’t do it. That really f**ked me off – that he thought he wasn’t good enough. Now I’m even more pissed off because with you not forgiving him or giving him the time of day, it makes him think he is to blame for whatever shit went down with you. He’s back to thinking he’s not good enough. I know him. I know he would never hurt anyone deliberately, so I know whatever happened to you isn’t his fault. It would be nice if you’d let him know that, too.”

Feeling cornered, remorseful, and pissed off that I’d been made to feel guilty by someone I didn’t know, I gave her a look that told her I wouldn’t be cowed. “I’m not sure any of this is your business.”

Her face grew hard. “Marco isn’t just my son’s dad, he’s my friend. He’s a good guy and I don’t like anyone hurting him.”

“Does he know you’re here right now?”

“No.” She huffed. “And he’ll probably be really pissed off when I tell him I came to see you. But if it gives you a kick up the arse to do the right thing, then I’m okay with that.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”