by Alice Ward
Mom needed a few things at the grocery, so I trudged in, grabbed a cart, and began filling it up. At the checkout counter, one old lady was gossiping with another.
“And isn’t that Jake Truman leaving tomorrow for boot camp?”
My head snapped up at Jake’s name.
“Yes, he is,” the other woman said, “never expected to see that one in the military. I can’t even imagine what he was thinking to join the Navy like that. It’s so—”
I didn’t hear the rest. I abandoned my cart and ran from the store, still unable to believe Jake was going into the military. Tomorrow, one of the women had said.
Racing to his house, I didn’t think he was going to let me in at first. Only when I began pounding on the door with both fists, did it finally open. He looked terrible, even worse than the day after his worst bender.
“What do you want?”
Pain sliced through me at the cruelty of his words, the disgust in his expression, but I pushed past him and stepped inside his house. “So, you were just going to leave without saying goodbye?”
He shrugged and pushed his fingers through his hair before blinking at me with bloodshot eyes. “What does it matter?”
I stared at him, incredulous. “What does it matter?” My voice was high and squeaky, and I was forced to clear my throat before going on. “You’re my best friend. That’s why it matters. I love you. That’s why it matters. You said you loved me. That. Is. Why. It. Matters.” I knew my voice had taken on a pleading tone, but I couldn’t stop it as I begged, “Jake, please don’t do this.”
His lip curled up into a snarl. “Do what? Pretend that everything isn’t completely fucked up? Don’t you get it? Things will never be the same. Do you know what we did, Skye? We killed him! We might not have fired a gun or been behind the wheel of that car, but we killed him just the same.”
He was right.
Guilt ripped into me, taking over all the other emotions. “I’m so sorry.”
He scoffed. “Sorry for what, Skye? Sorry for coming onto me? Sorry for batting your eyelashes and begging me to fuck you?” His voice went high, mimicking my tone. “I want you, Jake. I’m in love with you, Jake. Make love to me, Jake, just one time. It’ll be our little secret.”
I felt the punch of each word and bile rose into my throat. “So, this is my fault?”
His jaw ticked, his nostrils flaring with the heat of his emotion. “I didn’t say that.”
“You practically did,” I shouted, my hands clutching my churning stomach. “You just implied that if I hadn’t initiated things with you that night, Trey would still be alive. How is that not my fault?”
“Because I said yes!” he roared, causing me to back up a step. “I took you to my tent and stripped off your clothes and stuffed my cock inside you all while knowing how wrong it was. It’s me, Skye. It’s my fault. I should have been strong enough to walk away from you, and because I didn’t, the best person I know died hating my guts.”
The horrible night came rushing back to me, and I remembered everything in living color. How I’d pleaded with him to be with me. How much I’d wanted him. How he’d said that if Trey found out, it would kill him. And it had.
He was right. Trey died because of me. Even after we had sex, I should have left his tent and gone home. But I’d stayed, wanting to sleep beside him, wanting to extend what little time we had left.
“I’m sorry,” I told Jake as I backed toward the door of his house. “You’re right. Because of me, Trey saw us together and ran. Died.”
Taking one last look at him, I turned and reached for the door. His voice stopped me. “Skye…”
I turned back to him, hope a living thing under my skin. But when I saw his face, all hope evaporated, turning into a ghost that would haunt me forever. “Yes.”
“Do me a favor.”
My heart twisted. Even now in his agony, he was so very beautiful to me. “Yes. Anything.”
“Forget I ever existed.”
I didn’t reply, just turned and walked out the door.
I tried to forget and ended up sleeping most of the time. As the weeks passed, I sank into a terrible depression that felt like quicksand pulling me under. The harder I tried to be okay, the more it sucked me down. Hours turned into days that turned into weeks, and still I laid there, trying to forget.
One morning, I threw up. I did the same the next day. And the next. The smell of food cooking in the kitchen would make me gag. Since I was so sick and was mostly sleeping, I didn’t really notice that my period was late.
Mom was worried and tried to make me see a doctor, but I resisted it too. I just wanted to sleep. I was so incredibly tired. The very effort of going to the bathroom left me exhausted. I missed another period, but by then, I was glad. It was one less thing I had to deal with.
One night, I had a dream. For the first time in two months, it wasn’t about Jake or Trey. It wasn’t about the grim reaper pounding on my door. Or guilt pointing its boney finger in my direction. In the dream was a baby. I was holding it, smiling down into the adorable face as it grinned back at me.
I woke up with a start.
As the hours passed, I couldn’t shove the image away. Couldn’t sleep away the knowing of what the dream meant. Mom was pleased when I took a shower and washed my hair. She looked relieved when I told her I was going out for a little while. I didn’t tell her where I was going and she didn’t ask, just told me to be careful.
It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I drove two towns away to buy a pregnancy test. I couldn’t be in denial anymore and needed to face this possibility.
Jake and I only had sex that once. Well, twice. And he’d worn a condom. But I also remembered how the condom had slipped off when he was inside me the second time. My high school’s sex education teacher had always said it only took one strong swimmer if the timing was right.
The timing must have been incredibly right, and Jake’s sperm must have been an Olympic champion because there I was. Alone. Peeing on a stick in the drugstore’s single restroom.
Three minutes had never passed so quickly or so slowly. I hadn’t known my heart could beat so hard. My stomach could roll so sickeningly without twisting its way from my body.
Positive.
I just stared at the plus sign, euphoria and misery battling an unwinnable war in my head.
I went straight back out into the pharmacy and bought a second test.
Positive.
On shaky legs, I left, walked across the street, and bought the biggest soda they had, downing it in long, churning swallows. When I could pee again, I went back to the drugstore and bought a third test.
Positive.
It hadn’t even taken the full three minutes for the plus sign to stare back at me. Under the observant eyes of the checkout lady, I bought a fourth test and left with it, deciding to wait until the morning to try again. “Good luck, honey,” she said on my way out, and I burst into tears.
Positive.
I didn’t tell a soul for another couple months, not until the bump began to reveal itself. After all, the only two people in the entire world I would have told such a thing to were gone. One by accident. The second by choice.
I considered all my options, swinging from joy to depression and back again.
I’m having Jake’s baby! one side of my brain squealed in delight.
I’m having Jake’s baby, the other side moaned in total despair.
Happy or sad, good or bad, right or wrong… I was having Jake’s baby. Alone.
By the time I finally told my parents about the pregnancy, I’d decided to keep the paternity secret. Even when Mom and Dad hounded me for the truth, I wouldn’t say. It was one of the reasons I left home and moved in with Cadence. That, and the disappointed looks they kept giving me. I knew they would never have kicked me out, and they would have helped me the best they could. Maybe it was my stubbornness, or maybe it was my lack of self-worth that wouldn’t allow me to stay with people I’d failed
so completely.
Plus, I needed to get away from that town. Get away from the memories that haunted me everywhere I turned. I couldn’t go to a store or even look at a tree without remembering my friends. The mourning was terrible.
It didn’t matter anyway. By then, Jake had finished boot camp at The Great Lakes Naval Training Center off Lake Michigan and had gone off to the next levels of training, or so rumor had it.
Forget I ever existed.
I decided to leave Jake alone, let him move on with his life, not burden him with more guilt about what was growing in my stomach. I didn’t know if the decision was right, but it was the one I made. And when Jake didn’t come back, didn’t write or call or email or text, I knew he was really gone. Really didn’t want me in his life.
As my belly grew, I made another decision. I would funnel all the love I had for the father to the child.
Present Day…
I wasn’t sure how long I cried after Jake left, and I wasn’t sure what time it was when I fell into an exhausted sleep. But when I woke, I started crying all over again.
I wasn’t hurt. At least not badly. Not physically.
Emotionally, I was shattered.
I’d just tried to comfort him as he thrashed in the nightmare of his dream. I’d just laid a hand on him, and before I could blink, he launched himself up at me, his hands at my throat, squeezing down like a vice.
Nothing I did could make him stop. I clawed and kicked and hit. Tried to scream.
His eyes had been black, devoid of all emotion as he stared into my face, seeing and not seeing.
Then he blinked, horror spreading over his expression, and he let me go as quickly as he had clamped down. I tried to breathe, but the air wouldn’t come in at first, and I thought he’d damaged my trachea and I’d asphyxiate right there on my bed.
In the horror of that moment, before the first sip of cleansing air entered my lungs and I began to cough, I thought of Jagger.
Not just how much I would miss him, but how he’d have to live with the knowledge that his father killed his mother — accidently or on purpose wouldn’t matter. Jake might even go to jail, leaving Cadence to take on the responsibility of a small child grieving the loss of both parents.
Then the air came and light returned to the dark world I was thrown into, and my next thought turned to Jake. I knew he didn’t mean to do it. I knew now why he left every night. I knew that what was wrong with him was even deeper than I first believed.
And I didn’t know how to make it right.
Beside me, my phone began to ring, and I dove for it, wincing as the muscles in my neck twisted in the process. I didn’t recognize the number, but I didn’t care. I answered the call.
“Hello?”
“Miss Skye Crawford?”
A deep sense of foreboding hit me at the man’s formal tone. “Yes.”
“Good morning, Miss Crawford. This is George Richards of Thompson, Black, and Richards. I serve as an attorney for Mr. Jake Truman, and he has enlisted my assistance in a few legal matters. I apologize for the early morning phone call, but he insisted it was urgent.”
I glanced at the clock. It was a little after seven a.m. “I’m sorry, Mr. Richards. What does that have to do with me?”
“This morning, I received a video message from Mr. Truman asking that I alter his will immediately to include you and your son. I’m also to set up accounts in your name, and a significant trust for your son. As soon as I am able to get a few details from you, you’ll be able to access the funds in the account as early as this afternoon.”
Panic seized my chest. “Mr. Richards, you said Jake sent you a video message?”
“Yes, Miss Crawford. I received it at six fourteen this morning. I must say that such an urgent request is highly unusual and—”
“How did he look?”
“Pardon me?”
“How did he look in the video?” I shouted into the phone.
“Well, he looked a bit haggard if truth be told, but otherwise very calm and rational. He was very specific in regard to what he wished to do with his vast estate. I found nothing amiss aside from the urgency.”
I jumped from the bed and began pulling on some clothes, my usual khaki shorts and tank top. “What else did he say?” Grabbing a thin cardigan, I yanked it on.
“Nothing besides the instructions. He seemed very certain about the arrangements he wanted made. I, of course, can’t give out specifics other than that he wanted you and your son included in his will. He left very few details, which is why I’m calling. Your son’s name is Jagger Daniel Crawford, is that correct?”
A scarf was hanging from the shelf, and I wrapped it around my neck as I stuffed my feet into the first pair of sandals I came to. “Yes. Did he say why the urgency?”
“Well, no. I, of course, have read of your new relationship and his paternity of Jagger in the news, and only thought he felt an urgency to make sure you and the child were taken care of should anything happen to him.”
Those last words rang in my ears.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Richards, I need to go,” I said as I grabbed my purse and headed from my bedroom.
“But Miss Crawford, if you could just provide your social security number and—”
I tapped the end button and burst into Cadence’s room. She jumped up, karate chop hands in place. She cursed, but relaxed when she saw it was me, then immediately grew alarmed again when she took a good look at my face. “What’s wrong?”
“Can I borrow your car, and can you watch Jagg for a few hours?”
She snatched up the keys from her bedside table and tossed them at me. “Of course. What’s wrong?” she repeated.
“I don’t know, but I need to find Jake. Something’s wrong, I can feel it.”
She was right behind me as I ran from her room. “Call me when you find him, okay?”
“Okay,” I shouted and ran out the front door.
Even for so early, I began to sweat as I ran to Cadence’s car, tapping Jake’s number on my phone. It rang and rang.
Snap. Snap. Snap.
“Miss Crawford, can you please tell me how you came to be in a relationship with Jake Truman?”
“Miss Crawford, is Jagger his son?”
“Miss Crawford, has there been a paternity test to confirm if Jake Truman is your son’s father?”
The questions rang out at me as Jake’s voice message clicked on. I hung up and called again as I clicked the key fob to open the Ford Focus’ door and slid behind the wheel.
Voice mail.
I tapped call again. Nothing.
Panic hit me like a train as the statistics ran through my mind.
In the latest study, roughly twenty veterans committed suicide every day. It was heart breaking. Our bravest heroes came back so broken they couldn’t see the possibility of living one more day.
Would Jake become a statistic?
A pap jumped in front of the car, snapping away with his camera. I waved for him to move, honked the horn, but he kept clicking away. I inched forward, tapping his thighs and he finally moved to the side, camera still clicking. The going was slow as they continued to try to close around me—until I was finally free.
Pressing the gas harder, I tore down the street, glad I was out before rush hour. I hit call again. Nothing.
I’d never been so afraid.
The last time I’d been so scared was the day I found out I was pregnant.
And now, as I pulled up in front of his building, I was filled with terror that what happened last night might have finally pushed him over the edge.
When I ran into the building, the elevator operator recognized me, wishing me a good morning.
“Jake’s floor. Please hurry.”
He punched the button, looking worried as he frowned at me. I knew I must look a mess. “Is there cause for concern? Should I notify anyone? Police?”
I stared at him. I didn’t know.
“I’ll call if I need you,” I p
romised. I didn’t want to embarrass Jake if I was overreacting and he was simply asleep, his phone powered off so he could rest. Or if I found…
I gave myself a mental shake. No. He was fine. He wouldn’t do something so stupid. He might’ve been broken, but he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.
Nearly twenty veterans kill themselves every day.
My heart was pounding in my chest as the elevator opened. My hands shook as I reached into my purse for the key he’d given me. A tear slid down my cheek as I stuck it into the lock.
With a final prayer, I pushed the door open and stepped in. The place was quiet. Too quiet.
“Jake!” My voice was a choked whisper, so I tried again. “Jake!”
He was sitting on the couch in his nearly barren apartment, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, a gun in the other.
“Oh, Jake.”
He looked at me, his eyes swollen and raw. “I’m sorry.”
Mind racing, I rushed to him, one of my hands coming down on the one holding the gun, the other going to his beautiful face as I climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs. “I love you, Jake. You have nothing to be sorry for. We’ll get through this. We found each other for a reason. I refuse to let you ever leave me again.”
“But, Skye. I nearly killed you.”
“But you didn’t. We’ll figure it out. I’ll learn how to wake you or not wake you when you dream. You’ll go into therapy in order to process some of this guilt. But you aren’t leaving me. You’re not leaving your son. I won’t let you.”
Slowly, I slipped the gun from his grasp, relieved when he didn’t fight me for it. I knew nothing about guns, so I held it gingerly, making sure the business end was pointing away from us.
“I don’t deserve you. Either of you.”
“Too bad. You’re stuck with us, so get used to it.”
He blinked, his eyes starting to focus. “What if I hurt Jagger?”
“You won’t.”
“But what if I do?”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I just know.”
He shook his head, his hand still lying limply under mine. “Why do you trust me?”