“Sure do,” I reply. “Where’s my other baby?”
He doesn’t seem surprised at my aggression. No doubt, he was expecting it. “We performed an ultrasound on Willow. She immediately told us she was pregnant with twins when she was brought in, but we could only find one heartbeat. I double-checked. Another doctor did, too.” He looks over at Lauren. “Your sister did also.”
Lauren’s face falls.
“Willow experienced symptoms of a miscarriage. She lost one of the fetuses from what appears to be vanishing twin syndrome.”
She lost a baby.
One of our babies is gone.
Gone. I’m so sick of that word.
If I could set that word on fire and kill it, I would. Risk doing time. Risk going to hell. Risk anything not to hear that fucking word again.
Everything good in my life gets taken from me.
“What about the other baby? There’s a heartbeat?” I rush out.
“Yes, there is a heartbeat for the surviving fetus.”
“And everything is okay with that one?”
“So far, yes. The prognosis of the surviving twin is hopeful, but it can be more difficult since she’s in her second trimester.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“The ultrasound didn’t show any remains of the lost fetus, so we won’t have to perform any additional procedures. Again, I’m sorry for your family’s loss.” He hands me a card. “If you have any additional questions, please feel free to call anytime. Day or night.”
I grip the side of the bed from my chair and stare down at Willow when the doctor leaves. “How did this happen? Where were you?”
She hesitates before answering me, looking deflated and hugging herself. “Taking a drive.”
Lauren moves to Willow’s side to kiss her on the forehead. “I’m going to give you some privacy. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Taking a drive?” I ask. “I thought you didn’t feel well. Why were you taking a drive when you were sick?”
This stops Lauren from leaving, and she whips around to stare at me. “Dallas, none of this is Willow’s fault, so don’t you dare go there. There was nothing she could’ve done to stop the miscarriage.”
“I’m not blaming her,” I hiss.
I’m blaming myself. I’m fucking blaming everyone and everything.
“Well, you’re not convincing me of that,” Willow fires back. “Sure sounds like it.”
“All I asked was, why you were out driving in who the fuck knows where when you knew you were pregnant, and you told Stella you were sick!” I reply.
Her face lights up with anger, and she jabs a finger in my direction. “Don’t talk to me like that. Don’t you think I’m hurt about this? I lost a baby, too!”
“Okay, now, I’ll give you two some privacy,” Lauren says. She points to me before leaving. “Don’t be a dick.”
When Lauren shuts the door, I stare at it for a few seconds to calm down. Arguing with Willow isn’t going to help either one of us. It’ll only make shit worse.
“What happened?” I ask softly. “Why did you leave my house? I could’ve been there for you.”
She blows out a breath. “I needed to clear my head. Get some air.”
My voice starts to break. “Why?”
“I just did. It was all too much. Too much was happening, and I couldn’t keep up. Stella said she could watch Maven, and I needed to get out of there.”
I can tell she didn’t mean to say that last sentence.
“You needed to get out of there?” I repeat.
She nods.
“Are you going to tell me why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I rub my eyes to fight back the tears. “It was because of Lucy’s stuff, wasn’t it?”
“That was one of the reasons, yes.” She’s not shocked I knew what it was. She knew I’d know.
This is my fault. If I had picked up Maven myself or taken down Lucy’s stuff or told Willow to take Maven to her place, this might’ve never happened.
“Fuck. I’m sorry. It didn’t even cross my mind before I asked you.”
She shrugs. “It’s fine. She’s a part of your life. She was your wife. I get that now.”
“What do you mean, you get that now?”
“I understand the loss of someone you love. I now understand, sometimes, you can’t get over it.” She rubs her stomach as the tears fall. “I know I’ll never get over this, just like you’ll never get over Lucy. I don’t blame you for it. I’m not mad.”
“What are you saying?” I ask, simmering with fear.
Her eyes are vacant. Dull. She’s here physically, but she’s not here.
“I’m saying, we should spend some time apart.”
I feel my pulse in my throat. “Are you … are you saying you’re done with me?”
She shakes her head and rubs her forehead, like I’m stressing her out. Like it’s the last conversation she wants to have.
Me, too.
“I can’t be done with you. We’re having a baby together, but we should take a step back from everything else.”
I can’t be hearing her right. I lost Lucy. I lost one of my babies. Now, I’m losing her.
“Take a step back from the relationship we’ve been building? Take a step back from feeling happiness? Take a few steps back from making love?”
She cringes. “Don’t call it that.”
“Don’t call it what?”
Her jaw clenches in anger. “Making love. We don’t make love, Dallas, because we don’t love each other. We fuck. That’s it. You and I both know it.”
“You know that’s not true!” I grind out, fighting the urge to raise my voice. “If I were only interested in fucking someone, do you think I’d do it with the most complicated woman in the world?” I shake my head and lean in. “I do it because I’m falling in love with you. Not for a quick fuck!”
“Oh, shit!”
I stumble back at the sound of Stella’s voice and look at the doorway to find her standing there with my parents.
“Bad timing?” Stella asks regrettably, tears lining her eyes. “Sorry, I suck at knocking.”
Tears are falling down my mom’s cheeks. My dad has his fist against his mouth to fight his own hurt.
They know before even asking questions.
I stride across the room to hug my mother, rubbing her back as she lets out her hurt, and then move to my dad next. He’s not much of a hugger, but he keeps a tight hold on me, understanding my pain.
I lean back on my heels. “Will you give us a moment?”
They nod, and I’m back at Willow’s side when they’re gone. I scrub my other hand over my face and try to control my breathing. “You honestly can’t believe I’m not in love with you. I’ve been trying to show you how damn good we are together.”
Her chin trembles as she prepares herself to break my fucking heart. “I might be younger than you, but I’m not stupid, Dallas. We have fun together. We like each other. We’re attracted to each other. But your heart isn’t ready for anyone else. And my heart isn’t whole enough to give someone a piece I’m not sure I’ll get back. We were caught in the moment, moving too fast, even though we told each other in the beginning that a relationship was off the table.”
“That was before I brought you into my life, before you showed me how wonderful you were with my daughter, before you showed me what it was like to be happy again.”
She stares down at her stomach without saying another word. She said what she needed, and now, she’s done.
“So, this is it, huh? Where you want us to go? I’ve lost two people in my life that fucking meant something. No, make that three if you walk away from me.”
She keeps her head bowed and grimaces.
“Please, look at me. Goddamn it, look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me.”
She appears almost frail while slumping down on the bed. “I understand you’re upset about our baby, but please
don’t try to act like you’re hurt because I’m asking for space. We would’ve never worked because you’re not ready to open your heart to me.”
“Glad I know where I stand with us.” I push off the railing on the bed. “I need some air.”
I speed out of the hospital without stopping to talk to anyone else, get in my truck, and slam my fist against the steering wheel, taking all of my anger out on it. The pain hits me like a brick. I let the tears fall freely, and I’m certain my heart is dying in my chest.
My tears were finally starting to dry from losing Lucy.
I’m back at square one.
My life keeps falling apart.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dallas
Eleven Months Ago
You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.
It’s a bullshit cliché.
But fuck me if the reality of those nine words isn’t smacking me in the face.
I knew what I had.
I cherished what I had.
But I sure as hell didn’t plan on it getting ripped away from me at thirty-one years old.
The beeping of the machines next to Lucy is the only noise in the room. I have a love-hate relationship with them. They’re her helping hand, her strength, but they won’t be here much longer.
And neither will she.
A relentless surge of panic rips through my veins like a drug when I grip my hand around hers. Watching someone you love die is like your flesh torturously being stripped from your bones, inch by agonizing inch, baring the most vulnerable parts of yourself.
I wipe away my tears with the back of my arm, pissed at them for blurring my limited view of her. I haven’t cried like this since I was in Pampers.
I’m a Barnes boy. We’re known for our resilience, for our strength in the most desperate times. Emotions don’t bleed through our skin. We hide them underneath and let them eat us alive.
At least, that’s what I thought until I had to shoot myself with the truth. She is going to die, and there is nothing I can do. No one I can fight. No amount of money I can pay to stop it.
That shit does something to a man.
I tilt my head up to painfully stare at the tiled ceiling and wish it’d cave in on me. Her lips are a bruised blue when I bore my eyes back to her.
Metastatic breast cancer.
It spread fast, too fast, and was caught too late. There was nothing we could do. Chemo didn’t work. Praying didn’t work. Her liver is failing. Her body is shutting down.
I’ve followed her wishes. This is where she wanted to do it—not at our home where our daughter lays her head. Here, with just the two of us, so that’s what I’m giving her.
“Take me,” I plead to the good man above. “Take me, goddamn it!” My chest aches, my lungs restricting airflow, and I pound my fist to my chest. “Let her fucking stay! Take my last breath and give it to her!”
My throat is scratchy and sore, like I’ve been screaming my pleas, but they’ve merely been coming out as a whisper.
I tighten my grip on her, wishing I could be her lifeline, as she starts to let go. I gulp down the urge to beg her to hold on, beg her not to leave me, but the thought of her enduring more pain kills me just as much as losing her. I have to let her go in peace even if I selfishly don’t want to.
I don’t know how to live without her.
I sob as the radiant eyes I fell in love with dim.
No!
Take my light! Take it all from me!
Let her keep shining!
I slump down in my chair like a fucking coward when the machine starts to fire off.
And, with her last breath, she takes me with her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Willow
Gone.
I was on the verge of a panic attack when they brought me to the hospital. I cried. Man, did I cry. I’m shocked I have any tears left. I didn’t know what was happening—if I was miscarrying, if it was something serious, if I was overreacting. The pain told me something was off, and I was hoping that it wasn’t the something that happened.
I shrank into my bed, a cry escaping my lips, when they couldn’t find the second baby’s heartbeat. They checked it once. Checked it twice. Nothing. Blame wrapped around me like a blanket when Dallas walked in. I shouldn’t have been on the road in the middle of nowhere. I shouldn’t have been stressing myself out over a man when I had babies to worry about.
At first, I blamed myself.
Then, that blame shifted to Dallas.
He shouldn’t have asked me to go to his house.
It’s not my fault we lost the baby.
It’s not his fault we lost the baby.
But, sometimes, you want to blame someone because you can’t handle knowing they’re just gone. Even though I haven’t been pregnant that long, I’ve already started to fall in love with my babies, and now, one of them has been taken away from me. My heart is hurting, like someone stuck a knife inside and is twisting it until every part of me has ruptured.
I still have a baby relying on me. I’m not going to put myself into any other stressful situations. I won’t be worried about Dallas’s heart because I’m only going to focus on keeping mine sane for the baby, and trying a relationship with him isn’t going to do that.
I need space. I need to step away. I stare at the door, wondering if he’s going to come back or not, and tense up when a knock comes.
Stella peeks her head in. “Cool if I come in?”
“Yes,” I answer. I need someone right now.
She smiles and sits down in the empty seat next to me. “Have you called your mom yet?”
I shake my head. “I honestly don’t want to tell anyone. She’ll want to fly here and take care of me, which is what I don’t want. I need time to breathe on my own, to accept this, to take it in.” I rub my stomach. “Can you give me a ride home when they release me?”
She squeezes her hand over mine. “Of course.” She opens her mouth and then shuts it. She wants to talk about Dallas, most likely wants us to patch things up, but that’s impossible right now.
Like I told Dallas, I understand now. I know how it feels to lose someone you love so much, someone you thought you’d spend years with.
And I understand never wanting to let them go.
Three days have passed since Stella brought me home from the hospital.
I’m sore. Exhausted. Hopeless.
Calls and texts have gone ignored, and the only reason I’ve seen Lauren is because she has a spare key to my apartment and lets herself in, uninvited. I’m selfish because they’re worried about me, but I want to be left alone. I asked Dallas to give me some space, and except for a few texts, he has. But no words, no lecture, nothing will stop me from feeling some blame in this. I was too stressed. I wasn’t eating right. I should’ve been resting more. The guilt that my body is the one that lost my child kills me.
I called my mom the day I got home. We cried. She prayed. She begged to fly out here to be with me, and I begged her not to.
I’m reading another article on vanishing twin syndrome when I hear my front door open. I turn around on the couch and shut my laptop at the same time Lauren walks in, wearing her scrubs, going straight to the kitchen like she owns the place.
“Hey, girl,” she calls out when I meet her. “I hope you have an appetite.” She starts the oven and begins pulling out containers of prepared food. “Tacos are on the menu for tonight.”
I do a scan of all the items laid out on the counter. Meat. Lettuce. Cheese. Salsa. Guacamole. “You made all of this?” I ask. “Didn’t you have to work?”
She laughs, removing the lid from the meat and pouring it into a pan. “Sweetie, you know my cooking is shit. Although my reheating game is pretty good.” She turns the burner on. “Dallas did all of this last night before going to work and asked me to bring it over.”
I snort. “Why? Is he scared I’m not feeding myself well enough, and we’ll lose the other baby?” The words c
ome out before I can stop myself.
She narrows her eyes at me. “No. And we both know he doesn’t think that, so quit acting like a brat.”
“Excuse me?” I snap.
“You heard me,” she says, her attention going back to the stove. “Quit acting like a brat.”
I huff. I puff. I want to kick her out of my apartment, but she keeps going, “I get you’re going through pain, but don’t forget you’re not the only one experiencing this loss. So is my brother.”
I press my finger to my chest. “He’s the one who tried to blame me for losing the baby.”
“Did he say those words?”
“Well … not exactly.”
“The only thing that’s exact about your argument is that he never said you’re to blame. Not once. You’re pissed at him because you have no one else to be mad at—because no one is to blame. No one. You heard the doctor. The miscarriage would’ve happened, no matter what.”
“I don’t blame him for the miscarriage.”
“But you blame him for what occurred before the miscarriage. You need something to blame for losing the baby, so you’re blaming it on Lucy’s stuff at his house.”
“Don’t do this, Lauren,” I mutter. “I’m not talking to you about this.”
“Then, don’t talk to me. Talk to him. Please.”
“I have. We’ve texted a few times.”
“Maven has a sleepover tonight. Let him come over.”
“I can’t,” I whisper, and my voice starts to crack. “It’d be too hard.”
“Going through a hard phase in life is a lot more difficult with no one at your side. It starts getting softer, gentler, when you have someone else with you. Trust me.”
Dallas knows food is the way to my heart. The tacos and the slice of blueberry pie he sent over are making me reconsider seeing him. Lauren’s right. We’ve barely said a few words to each other since our argument at the hospital. I’ve run our exchange through my mind hundreds of times, staying up late because I can’t sleep, and I’ve tried to dissect every word that fell from his lips.
I shut my eyes and remember what he said.
Just One Night Page 20