Caught Up In Raine

by L. G. O'Connor

  “No, please don’t. I’ll be home tomorrow night.”

  “But, Jillian—”

  “Raine, I just need some time alone . . . to work,” she says. But that’s not it, I know it. She’s hiding something. She’s never needed to be alone to work before.

  Oh, my God.

  “Jillian, did he tell you have cancer or something?” I ask, terrified, as a lump rises in my throat. Please, God, don’t let that be it. I’m holding the phone so tightly it digs painfully into my palm. I feel hysteria rise inside me. I can’t lose her to that nasty disease.

  “No, Raine. I’ll be fine, I’m not dying. Please don’t worry, sweetheart,” she says. Even though she uses her usual endearment, I don’t hear the same love and warmth in her voice.

  Tears well in my eyes, making me feel like a whiny child. “Why are you pushing me away? Did I do something wrong?” I hate myself for sounding pathetic, but I can’t help it, I need to know what’s going on.

  Her voice softens then. “No, Raine. I promise, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Then what are you hiding from me, Jillian? Why won’t you tell me? I thought we told each other everything.” Fear builds inside me. I’m positive now that something is very, very wrong. My hands tremble, like my body is going through some sort of weird drug withdrawal.

  “Raine, please, just give me tonight, will you? I promise that I’m not doing this to hurt you. I just need a night alone. This isn’t about you . . . it’s all about me.”

  “Are you breaking up with me?” I blurt as I steel myself for gut-wrenching pain.

  She hesitates, and I think my lungs might collapse. “No, Raine,” she says evenly. “That’s not what this is about. I’m going to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Fine,” I snap. “See you tomorrow.” I hang up and hurl my phone across the kitchen where it bounces off the nearest wall.

  “Fuck!” I scream, cursing the fact that I love her with such abandon that she can get this far under my skin and unwind me to the point of lunacy.

  I grit my teeth and pick up my keys. There’s no way I’m staying here tonight alone wondering what bad piece of news she’s afraid to tell me.

  Less than thirty seconds later, I’m out the door, heading south to Spring Lake.

  Chapter 40

  Jillian

  I’M CURLED UP, fully clothed, on the bed with the lights on. I ignore my rumbling stomach even though I feel weak from lack of food and dehydrated from crying. I’m staring into space when the door slams shut downstairs.

  Shit! From the sound it, he’s taking the stairs two at a time. Within moments, he fills the doorway. I sit up and glance at Raine’s half-crazed expression.

  “I’m not leaving until you tell me what the fuck is going on.” His voice is a mixture of anger and controlled hysteria. He’s wearing the look he has when he’s been losing his mind with worry and unable to find a satisfactory resolution. His eyes home in on my face and he frowns when he has a chance to process my wet eyes and blotchy face.

  His feet pass over the threshold and he comes into the room. “Jillian, what—”

  I hold up my hand. “Please, don’t.” I’m not ready to see him. I’m not ready to talk about this. My anger flares at his intrusion. Couldn’t he give me tonight like I’d asked? I glare at him. “Raine, you shouldn’t have come.”

  I know it’s unfair for me to shift the blame, but I can’t hold myself back. I need tonight to wrestle into words what no words can adequately describe, and to deal with the well of shit that has been dredged up inside of me today. Having this conversation before I’m ready will only guarantee a terrible outcome. How do I tell the man I love that I don’t want to be a mother? The thought squeezes the air from my lungs and make me feel like a bear caught in a trap. My first reaction is to lash out, and gnaw off my own leg. How can that even remotely make for a productive conversation between us?

  Shock infuses his face, and his head snaps back like I’ve slapped him. “What could be so awful that you can’t tell me?” Then a look of horror passes over his face. “Did I give you a sexually transmitted disease?”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. I almost laugh. I wish it were that simple. “No.”

  His eyes pop wide. “Did you give me one?”

  This time, a snide laugh escapes through my lips. “God, no.”

  A red flush creeps up his neck, and his face creases into an angry mask. He throws his hands heavenward. “Then what the hell on earth could be so fucking horrible that you run away from me, shove me aside, and look like you’ve been crying your eyes out for hours? What? Just tell me!”

  I lunge up off the bed with my hands stiff at my sides. “Can’t you just respect my privacy for one night? That’s all I asked. Is that so much to give? I’ve met you halfway whenever you’ve asked. You can’t meet me halfway on this? One goddamn night? Just because we’re in a relationship, doesn’t mean you have a right to every thought in my head every hour of every day. There are times when I need to be alone . . . without you. Without anyone. It doesn’t mean I love you any less. It means that I have things to work out in my head that I’m not ready to talk about. Understand?”

  My throat is raw from screaming and I’m breathless. The muscles in his jaw twitch as he grinds his teeth and glares back at me and says coolly, “No, I don’t understand. There’s nothing I wouldn’t tell you now.”

  I look down and clutch my head in my hands. Walking in circles, I get ready to explode. “God, I keep forgetting how young you are sometimes, how idealistic. Life isn’t always so simple or black and white, Raine!”

  His hands work at his sides as his blue eyes bore into me and his nostrils flare. “I’m not ashamed to give everything I have to you, Jillian. I told you I wouldn’t hold back, and I haven’t! Isn’t that good enough? Or are you back to thinking I’m some dumb, young kid who you can fuck and throw away?” he shouts.

  My head snaps up. How did we land here? “Don’t ever accuse me of that again, Raine. I’ve never thought that, ever. I’d never use you or throw you away! I love you! That doesn’t disappear just because we have a fight or I refuse to share my every thought with you.”

  His face is cherry red. “Then just tell me what’s wrong!”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and scream, “I’m pregnant!”

  His wide blue eyes stare at me in shock, and his mouth hangs open, speechless. For a moment, his blond brows twitch up and his lips form a look of happiness. He walks toward me slowly, and I watch as his expression turns to confusion and then to something else . . . He grinds to a halt a few feet away from me.

  He swallows, and his voice comes out in a harsh whisper. “You don’t want it. That’s why you didn’t want to tell me.”

  Hot tears fill my ducts, and I cover my face, unable to look him in the eyes. Damn him for coming here. Damn him for forcing me to tell him.

  He pulls my hands away from my face. His eyes well and turn glassy. “You don’t want our child?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Look at me, Jillian,” he says through clenched teeth. “You want to throw away our baby?”

  I say nothing. His hands tighten on my wrists as tears spill down his cheeks. “Is it because you don’t think I’ll marry you?” he whispers. My heart wrenches in two as he struggles to understand if he’s the reason for my decision.

  I shake my head.

  His voice quivers, and he shakes me. “I’ll marry you, Jillian. Tomorrow if you want. If that’s not the reason, then why? Why don’t you want our baby?”

  I have no answer.

  His face twists in pain. “How can you love me and not love our child? A part of us!”

  “It’s not that easy!” I scream. I haven’t had time to figure that out, and now I probably won’t get it. My heart lurches as I realize I was right about him. I knew he’d want to keep this child. There would be no compromise, only my giving in to his wishes and resenting him for it. I recognize his cravings for
family, and his obsessive need to feel that he’s loved and valued. I get it. What better way to have it than by having a child?

  “Yes, it is that easy,” he says through his gritted teeth.

  I twist away from him. “You’ll never understand.” How could he ever understand the source of my panic? I can’t even explain it. Not to mention the most obvious issues. Even if I wanted this child, the risks at my age can’t be ignored. Never before has the gap in our ages felt so acute. How do I explain the angst of being sixty years old when the child graduates from high school?

  “Make me understand,” he says, passing the backs of his hands over his wet eyes and then planting them on his hips.

  We’re back to where we started, yet I still haven’t found the words. How do I distill all my pain, guilt, and fear into a logical explanation? Even if I do, we’re both rooted on opposite sides of this decision. Me and my “two kinds of stubborn” Raine.

  “I can’t,” I whisper and wipe my face.

  “I’m not letting you have an abortion, Jillian.”

  “Letting me? You’re not letting me?” I snarl, as the feral animal inside me rises. The noose around my neck tightens. Regardless of my intentions, I’ve been wrestling with my choice all day. It’s not something I’m taking lightly. But in my mind, it’s still more or less my decision. My eyes turn hard. “You need to go back to Chatham tonight, Raine.” My heart goes numb as grief prepares to kick my door in. I don’t want to lose him, but I know now that I can’t keep him. My head is a muddled mess, stuck in an impossible puzzle that I can’t solve. We’ve reached a stalemate, at least for tonight.

  “Don’t dismiss me, Jillian! I’m the father of this baby. Don’t I get a vote?”

  Rather than answer, I shake my head.

  Raine sways on his feet. “Oh, my God! You already did it, didn’t you? You got the abortion today. That’s why you didn’t call me!”

  He misinterprets my answer.

  “I—” As I’m about to correct him, my mouth clamps shut and I stay silent. A light bulb goes off in my head, waking me from my stupor, and I see the answer with crystal clarity. My breath hitches. I know why this all happened. I killed Drew, and I never paid. Maybe this is the only way the universe can think of to exact the price, by taking my happiness and forcing me to let go of Raine.

  Whether it’s today, tomorrow, or next week, we can argue until we’re hoarse, but it won’t change the fact that we are still on opposite sides of an impossible situation. No one will win that way. I love him more than I love myself, but I have to stand up for what I believe in. I’d rather he hate me than compromise his position and resent me for it later. He has a rare sense of honor that I don’t want him to abandon. It’s better to rip off the bandage and save us days of fighting and an ugly good-bye. He can win this way—he can forget me and start over. He deserves a better life with someone younger who can give him the things he so richly deserves, including a family of his own.

  My heart rips in half for hurting him, but it’s the best option I can think of in the state I’m in. Maybe I’m wrong. I don’t know. But I’ve always known his warm, generous soul deserves more than I can give him, yet I selfishly took him as mine.

  This is his out—he just doesn’t know it yet.

  “Answer me!” he screams as his face turns a bright shade of red under his wet cheeks.

  With whatever air remains in my lungs, I release him. “I’m sorry, Raine,” I whisper as a tear slips down my cheek. I let him believe these words mean he’s drawn the right conclusion, when, in truth, I’m apologizing for the hurt I’m about to unleash between us. I take solace in knowing that I’m doing this for him. I’m giving him the freedom to go find his best life.

  His tears come faster now. “You killed our baby!” He shakes his finger at me. “You’re dead to me, Jillian!” He stalks to the door, and turns. “My father told me he wished my mother had aborted me. You’re no better than him!” He disappears through the doorway.

  His words cut through me, and I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming in agony. The door slams below, and thirty seconds later, his truck roars out of my driveway.

  I drop to my knees, take my hand from my mouth, and scream at the top of my lungs until I pass out on the floor.

  Chapter 41

  Raine

  I THROW BACK my fifth scotch, enjoying the burn as it travels down my throat and hits my gut.

  “For fuck’s sake, Mac! Slow down, will ya?” Declan glares at me from across the bar with a bottle of Macallan in his hand. A medium-size crowd clusters around the TVs to watch Monday Night Football. Lucky for me, Fi is off for the night. I can’t imagine exchanging any words with her that would even border on pleasant. The only thing worse would’ve been if she tried hitting on me. I’d have seriously lost my shit.

  I slam my glass on the mahogany bar. “Hit me again,” I snarl. My goal is to get tanked enough that I either don’t remember, or don’t care that Jillian just ripped my heart out and shredded my happiness right before my eyes. Emptiness eats at my insides as I struggle to breathe.

  Declan holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers at me. “Give me yer keys.”

  I frown at him.

  “Give me yer feckin’ keys!”

  Blowing out an exasperated breath, I wrestle my fingers into the pocket of my jeans to retrieve them, and toss them onto the bar. He snatches them up and pours me another scotch.

  He rests the bottle on the bar and leans his elbows on the polished mahogany. “Tell me what happened, Mac,” he says in a kind voice.

  I drain the glass and feel my head roll in a pleasant wave. “I can’t talk about it, Declan. Not yet.” How do I explain that Jillian went behind my back and killed our child? That she took away our chance to be parents . . . for me to be a father. I knew that being with Jillian meant there might not be kids in our future . . . because she couldn’t have them, not because she would do anything in her power not to have them. She betrayed me in a way that I never thought possible.

  A lump rises in my throat when I realize, just like my father, she stole my future out from under me. “Pour me another one,” I say, sliding my glass across the smooth wood.

  “Will I drive you home later?” he asks.

  I blink, and pain shoots to my middle. “I don’t have a home,” I whisper. “I’m staying at the Hyatt around the corner. I can walk.” I sway in my seat as the scotch finally catches up with me.

  “Ah, Mac. Please tell me you’ll go home and try to work this out with Jillian,” he says, his eyes filling with concern.

  “There’s nothing left to say.” My tongue feels thick in my mouth.

  “There’s got to be. Don’t do anything rash. You had a fight. Couples have fights all the time without breaking up,” he says. “You and Jillian have something special. Don’t throw it away on a whim. I’ll check back with ye in a few minutes.”

  Wrong. We had something special. I would’ve never left. But I did. On a whim? Definitely not.

  “Hey!” I yell after him and slam my fist on the bar as he walks away. He turns, and I point to my glass.

  “Yer cut off, before you get too drunk and do something stupid yer likely to regret in the mornin’.”

  I screw my face up in a scowl and curse at him under my breath.

  Thirty minutes later, I stagger to the hotel, numb and barely able to get the electronic key in the room door. I may have actually achieved my goal, because I feel nothing. No pain. Nothing.

  Fully clothed, I drop onto the bed face down. It doesn’t take long for the alcohol in my gut to rebel. A wave of nausea rolls through me, and I propel myself toward the bathroom. I get there in time to stick my head in the bowl and lose the contents of my stomach. I flush, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

  The cool tile feels good through my jeans as I rest, sitting against the bathroom wall. Not easy given the small size of the bathroom and the length of my outstretched legs. My lungs heave as pain returns to
the hole inside my chest that used to contain my heart. I hoist myself up, lean on the sink, and brush my teeth. Then I use the walls to keep me up as I stumble back into the bedroom and collapse into bed.

  When the phone rings, I ignore it and I wait for Jillian to answer it. I keep my eyes pressed shut against the light filling the room. How could it be morning? It feels like I just went to sleep. The phone keeps ringing.

  “Dammit,” I mumble into the pillow, knock the receiver out of the cradle, and then hang it back up. And it all comes flooding back . . . Jillian’s not here. Pain assaults me in an unceasing wave. I curl into a fetal position, and hug my knees. I want it all to be different. For my life to be the way it was before yesterday happened, enjoying the ignorant and blissful existence that I had.

  Anguish hollows out my insides, and I have trouble breathing because of it.

  I stay motionless for a full hour before I inhale deeply and drag myself into the shower. I stick with the plan to go to the city, hoping I can lose myself inside my project and find some relief.

  I’m not exactly sure how I make it to work. My body seems to know where to take me. I sit down at my desk and plug in my phone. The drained battery flashes to life through the cracked screen, and the phone chimes with unheard voicemails.

  “Hey, Raine,” Karen says. When she looks up from her computer, she does a double take. “Holy crap, are you okay? You look sick.”

  I know how I look, and it’s frightening. I scared myself when I looked in the mirror this morning. The nonstop throbbing in my skull from all that scotch is definitely contributing to the sunken look around my eyes.

  When I glance at my phone and see Jillian’s name—three times—agony rips through me. Like a masochist, I listen to the first one.

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m sorry . . . I love you.”

  I grind my teeth together and delete the message. Without listening to the other two, I delete them. I slam my phone down, cradle my head in my hands, and force myself to take in one deep breath after another.