The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 370

Petty watched as Franco took the bottle she’d meant to drink herself. For a second, she thought about snatching it back, but instead, she just sat there, quietly watching him drain every last drop before setting it aside.

“Don’t regret it,” Franco said. His voice was rougher than usual, like he was forcing himself to sound strong, but she heard something softer underneath, almost like he was asking her for understanding.

She paused, certain she was imagining things. Franco was always so distant, always so proud. How could he have a hint of pleading in his voice? She’d only had two drinks. Was she already tipsy enough to start making things up?

When she looked again, his eyes were completely calm, like nothing had just passed between them.

Petty opened another bottle. She stared at the bubbles fizzing in her glass. The silence stretched out before she finally spoke.

“Do you ever miss our child?”

If their baby had lived, he’d be a year and a month old now. Instead, he was just a memory, an angel gone too soon.

Franco’s dark gaze stayed locked on her, and she noticed the way his eyelashes glistened. His hand curled into a fist, his knuckles standing out pale and tight.

Earlier, just before he came upstairs, he’d gotten a call from the hospital. The little boy had only just woken after sleeping for a whole day. If they couldn’t find a bone marrow match soon, things would get worse. It was already slim odds for most people, but for this child, the chance was impossibly small.

Eventually, Franco let his hand relax and reached for another bottle. He just kept drinking.

Petty caught his movement out of the corner of her eye. It made her chest feel heavy. Somehow, though, it made sense. Ever since they lost the baby, neither of them had said a word about it. Franco had never once shown any emotion, never let on that he cared. It was as if their child had never existed at all.

Franco stood up, coming over to her side. He leaned down, sliding one hand behind her head and gently pulling her into his arms, letting her rest against his chest.

“Are you counting that as a question?” he asked, his voice soft as he looked down at her.

Petty scowled and tried to push him away, but her finger just poked uselessly at his chest.

“Cheater,” she huffed, her voice a little louder. “That doesn’t count.”

Somewhere on the island, the thumping of a helicopter’s blades started up, rumbling through the air. The wind over the water and the steady chop of the rotors seemed to fill every corner of the night.