by Mj Fields
It’s time.
I get off the elevator and slowly close the gate. Then I walk toward the room I know is the babies’.
When I walk in, the soft glow of the sunshine nightlight and the moonlight from the window lights up the room.
I walk to the cribs and stop. Looking at them, I am immediately tense. My heart slams against my chest, nearly knocking the wind out of me.
They are Ava’s children. They are Ava’s beautiful babies that grew inside of her.
The girl is blonde. She looks like him, like T, the man who broke Ava more than I ever did. There is no longer any doubt that they are his.
Hope also looks like her mother: her little, heart-shaped face; plump, pink lips; and her eyes, her fucking eyes that are looking at me, unafraid and almost expectantly. There is peace in them, and the peace is addicting. I could stare at them forever.
She’s an angel.
For the first time, I don’t hate Thomas Hardy. I fucking wish I could bring him back for them, for Hope and for Ava. They need a man to take care of them. I can see it in Hope’s eyes. And, as much as Ava is trying to hide her emotions from me, I know how easily she gets hurt, and how hard she tries to hide it. People like Ava feel ten times more than any one person should.
Something comes over me, and I reach inside the crib and lift Hope up, holding her against my heart that is beating so hard I’m sure the sound will wake Ava, who will lose it. For some reason, though, I can’t help it.
Hope nuzzles into my neck, and I can’t help holding my lips to her head. There is a feeling that comes over me unexpectedly. I have felt it before. It’s kept me strong for years.
Protective.
I close my eyes and inhale a familiar scent as calm and comfort wash over me.
Ava. She smells just like Ava does when she walks past me, acting as if I’m not there, yet letting me know she is well aware I am.
This is not about Ava, I tell myself, but it is. It fucking is about Ava and you, little Hope.
Her breaths slow, and she becomes completely limp, sound asleep. I take in a deep breath of peace, of calm, and of comfort before lying her back down in her crib, the way she was when she awoke.
Next to her crib is his. I look at him, and my chest squeezes so fucking tight I am sure it will burst. Tears, fucking tears, fill my eyes, and I swallow hard, begging them to stay at bay.
He looks nothing like T, and even if he had one shred of resemblance, it wouldn’t fucking matter. This boy is pulling out emotions that have been, not just buried, but entombed deep inside of me.
As much as I keep telling myself I need to gain Ava’s trust, she has now totally fucking lost all mine.
I feel my hands tremble as I reach for him. I lift him up and feel the wet tears rolling down my face. I’m wrecked by the intense amount of love I feel instantaneously, and the insane amount of hate that comes from lies.
Her lies.
Her fucking lies.
He inhales and nuzzles into my neck, just like little Hope did, and in that moment, love overshadows anger and hate.
I close my eyes and hold him a little bit tighter, turning toward the door and considering walking the fuck out with him.
“Please don’t,” I hear Ava whisper. “Please, Luke, please don’t do this to me, to him, to Hope. Please.”
I look over my shoulder to see her standing up from the bed she was curled up on, tears streaming down her face. My jaw twitches.
She scrunches her eyes shut and pleads in a whisper, “Please, Luke. I have nothing if I don’t have them.”
I freeze in place. “Go to sleep, Ava.”
“Promise me you won’t take him, Luke. Promise me.”
It hits me like a ton of fucking bricks. Chance is mine, and Hope...Hope is his, and she damn well knew it.
“Answer a question?” I try not to sound as pissed as I am.
“Okay.”
“Would you have ever told me about my son?”
She sharply intakes a breath, and I turn to fully look at her. She looks down and shakes her head before covering her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as she quietly sobs.
“Go back to bed, Ava. We have a lot to discuss in the morning,” I tell her as I walk toward the window with Chance in my arms, sitting down in the rocking chair and closing my eyes.
“You promised,” she whispers.
“I know.”
With that, she lies back down, but I know damn well she won’t fall asleep. Still, I will be damned if I put down my son, my child, the one I would never have known about if she had it her way.
I must have sat there for a couple of hours, rocking him and looking out the window at the moon before he begins to squirm a little.
I look down at him as he looks up at me.
“Hi, Chance,” I whisper. “Hi.”
I hear Ava move and look over at her.
“He needs to eat.”
“I’ll feed him,” I tell her, not wanting to let him go.
“Luke, he nurses at night.” She walks slowly toward me like she’s fucking terrified of me.
I stand up when she holds her arms out for him and force myself to hand him over. When she takes him, she hugs him so damn tight, and a whimper escapes her.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” I turn and walk toward the door.
“Luke,” she whispers from behind me.
I turn around.
“You can sleep in the spare bedroom.”
“I’m fine,” I say, beginning to walk away again.
“Luke, you can’t keep sleeping outside in your truck.”
I stop and turn around again. “Slept in worse places, Ava.”
She walks back into the room, closing the door behind her.
Outside, I climb into my truck and reach across the seat, grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen. I pop three in my mouth, swallow them down with the bottle of water sitting on the seat, and then recline back.
My body is in pain from sleeping in the truck for three nights, but I have been in worse pain. A hell of a lot worse.
When I was loaded into that fucking copter, torn to hell, I saw a light, and it was hard as hell not to go toward it, but I needed to know that Killshot was okay. I needed to know Trigger was okay. I needed to make sure they got home to their families.
When I heard Trigger screaming obscenities, I knew one of the two bodies I had pulled out of the fucking building was going to be okay, so I took a step toward that light, ready to meet my maker, to answer for all I had done, but then I waited until I heard Killshot. I waited and waited, and by the time I heard his name, I was in the fucking Army plane, heading to Germany.
His wife thanked me for making sure his body was returned to them. She thanked me. I wished like hell it was me and not him. He had two kids, two boys who will grow up without their father, two boys who knew what a damn good man their father was. I would have traded places with him. I would have given him my life so he could have watched his boys grow into men. I would have done it in an instant.
For months, I have simply existed, but something finally pushed me harder than I have ever been pushed before. Something pushed me to get up and walk. Something twisted my head and mind in circles, and my stomach in knots. Tonight, I found out for sure what that something was.
For months, I have looked up at the ceiling in a bed, or outside up at the stars, all the time wondering where God had been during all the hell that surrounded me. I found out tonight, when I held my son in my arms for the first time.
I sit in my truck, my hands shaking in anger and confusion. I started the engine several times, wanting to just drive away, get a hotel, and try to sleep in a fucking bed so maybe tomorrow I will wake up and have less pain and more clarity. I kill the engine each time.
I see her as clear as day in my head. Fight or flight. I saw it in her eyes, but I am not running. I have run for long enough, dammit. If she thinks I am leaving, she is wrong. My son will know me. He will learn from me. He w
ill be part of my life. Come hell or high water, this is the fucking truth.
The military allowed me to be the man I am supposed to be: a protector, a fighter, and a man who will take care of others above himself.
Fucking cold, I reach over and grab my military-issued sleeping bag, when I hear a tap on my window. Ava.
I crack the window open, telling her, “Now is not a good time, Ava.”
“You’ll freeze,” she gets out before the sobbing begins anew. “Just come in.”
“No. If I do, you won’t like what I have to say.”
“I’d rather get it over with now, than when they’re awake.”
She wants her punishment now? I haven’t even figured out what it’s going to be.
“How fucking dare you?” I snap as I push open the door. “You knew all along, and you—”
“Shh...Jesus, Luke,” she scolds, looking around.
“Do I look like a man who gives a fuck what anyone around here thinks, Ava?” I scream. “Do I!”
“I hope you freeze,” she sneers before she turns to storm back into her building, but then she freezes.
I wait for her to turn around. Then I realize she is staring at something. Her body begins to shake, and I know damn well it’s where...he died.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I grumble as I roll up the window. Then, slamming the door shut, I walk toward her and grab her arm.
She looks at me in the way she did as a kid: hurt feelings, lost little girl, and expecting—no, demanding, I take care of her.
“Let’s go,” I tell her with as much care as I can muster. When she doesn’t move, I tell her honestly, “I can’t carry you again, Ava. You’ll have to walk this time.”
Tears cascade down her face as I pull her toward the door, using my key to get into the lobby, and then again to gain access to the elevator, taking her to her place.
When we walk in, she wipes her fingers under her eyes then wipes her nose, turning toward me and asking, “What do you want from me?”
“What do I want? What the hell do I want?” My voice grows louder with each word.
“Shh...Please, they’re sleeping.”
I have no idea how to answer her question. I have so many of my own.
“Why the fuck did you keep him from me? Because of Thomas fucking Hardy?”
She reaches out and slaps me across the face with the force of a woman who has held in her anger for months.
I grab her wrist and tell her, “You ever slap me again, you better make damn sure I have it coming.”
With her other hand, she tries to slap me again, but I catch it this time.
“You are such a fucking bitch, Ava.”
Chapter Ten
I won’t do it again. — C. White-Lofton
Ava
“You haven’t seen bitch, Luke. Mark my words, you will if you say another thing about the man I love, the man who loved me enough to tell me the paternity tests came back that he was the father. He did that so I wouldn’t hurt, so I would be happy! He knew everything about me. He loved me! He was nothing but a gentleman and patient, waiting for me to realize he had been there the whole time! You have no right to judge him or talk about him disrespectfully when he, Thomas Hardy, was more of a man than you will ever be, and he would have loved and raised them both as his own, for me, for them!”
“Your disillusions are fucking epic, Ava,” he snarls.
“Don’t you dare try to minimize or cheapen our love!”
“How much did he love you when you came home to announce your engagement and he bent you over your kitchen sink and fucked you knowing I was looking out the window at you? You were a conquest, Ava, a fucking toy.”
How could you, T?
Skin to skin again, my hand connects with his face. “You’re sick.”
He laughs, walking back toward the elevator.
“Where are you going?” Fear and anger make my voice shake. Panic of the unknown, of what he will do, sets in.
“To figure out how to fix this mess you two caused.”
Just then, I hear a cry from the hand-held video monitor sitting on the kitchen island, so I walk toward the nursery, forgetting all about Luke.
Inside the room, I pick up Hope, and she calms a little. I look at Chance, finding him still sound asleep. Then I turn to walk out of the room and see Luke filling the doorway, his eyes trained on Chance’s crib, his fists balled at his sides. He doesn’t move when I walk toward him.
“She’ll wake him; move.”
He steps back, and I walk out, making sure I close the door behind me. I don’t want him in there.
“Shh...It’s okay, butterfly. You’re okay,” I whisper as I walk over to the couch with Hope. I hold her up, her little feet on my knees, and kiss away her tears.
She opens her mouth and...
“Oh,” I gasp when her mouth finds my jaw and she begins trying to...eat it? “You hungry, Miss Hope?”
I laugh as her mouth slides to my chin, and then her little hands tangle in my hair.
I look up to see Luke watching us. The moment is not lost, even if he is here. My moments with them are my everything.
“Well, feed her,” he gasps.
I can’t help closing my eyes and laughing, and then my little Hope’s head goes to where his voice is.
“You’re not hungry, are you, Hope?” I say, trying not to move my mouth. “Your gums are sore, huh?”
She lunges toward Luke, and I try to hold her, but she starts to slip.
He grabs her. “Christ, Ava, be careful.”
Before I can say a word, he has her, and she has him, and his chin is in her mouth. His eyes widen to the size of saucers as he tries to pull free while she grips his face.
“Claws, just like your mother.”
“Give her to me,” I demand, trying not to sound pissed.
He ignores me, sitting down and not giving her back.
“Luke...” I start.
He tries to pull free, but Hope lets out an almost cry, so he stops.
“She’s fine.”
She may be, but I’m not. Not one bit.
“I’ll take her and find one of the teething rings.”
“Ava, relax. Go get the tooth thing and bring it back.” He rolls his eyes at me.
Rolls his eyes...at me!
I stare at him, and he stares back. He’s not budging, and I’m pissed.
“Hope, someday, you and I will talk about all the times your mom held her tongue because she loves you.”
“When you and I can talk,” he says, moving his face to the side so he can talk better, “I’ll tell you that your mother very rarely holds that thing. It’s like a weapon.”
I stand before I say anything and flip him off as I walk into the kitchen to search for the teething rings for her to chew on. I know I have some somewhere around here...
When I finally find one buried deep in a cupboard that makes no sense, I stand up and look toward the couch. They are gone.
Panicked, I race to the window and look out to see Luke’s truck in the same place, and when I turn around, he is standing behind me.
“She’s asleep.”
I nod, relieved. “Two doors down is an office; there’s a bed in there. That’s where you can sleep.”
He continues to stand there, looking at me, just staring with an unreadable expression on his face. Then he shakes his head and says, “You thought they were his?”
I look away. “It wouldn’t have mattered either way. He would have—”
“You would have told me. I know you would have.”
I shake my head. “When I knew, I didn’t.”
“When you knew, you were...You have...” He’s stammering. He is, and he never does. “I know you, Ava. You would have fucking told me.”
I look back at him. “Not if he was here.”
His eyes widen, and his jaw clenches. Then he opens his mouth to say something before he snaps it back shut.
“He wa
s to be my life, Luke, and then...he died.” I turn away and leave him, walking into the nursery and feeling as if my world has once again been turned upside down. This time, though, instead of having my children in my arms safely, I am threatened by the fact that one may be taken away, and the other will be left to a mother who will not feel whole again without both arms full.
I look at them both sleeping peacefully, knowing I will travel to a different depth of hell tomorrow, and I may never sleep again. Therefore, I take comfort in the twin bed, in a room full of love and hope, and pray again to a God who has deserted me for a chance.
I wake up to the sun shining through the window and the smell of bacon. Panicked because they never sleep in this late, I jump out of bed to find empty cribs.
Running out of the room, I see them both in their bouncy seats. Hope is gnawing on her fist, Chance is cooing at Luke, and Luke is looking at them like he has it all under control.
It pisses me off.
On the counter is the jar of little, star-shaped treats that I have never given them because they aren’t ready.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, walking quickly over to them.
He looks at me and sighs. “Making breakfast.” Then he looks me up and down. “You may want to shower and try to tame that hair, Ava.”
My hand goes to my hair, instinctively patting it down. “They can’t eat that.”
He shrugs. “They ate the first pound of bacon without issue; what’s one more?”
“Are you trying to kill them!”
Chance laughs, Hope smiles, and Luke turns around to look at him.
“You not only got my good looks, but my sense of humor.” He looks over at me. “Try to keep up, will you?” Then he looks away.
“No, nope, no way. You don’t get to come in here and think you can just...feed them!”
Still, he doesn’t look at me. He just keeps looking at Chance.
“Tell the queen that she should be grateful she got to sleep in, and that I got these little troops under control.”
Chance coos again, and Luke smiles.
“Exactly.” Then he looks over at me. “Shower, Ava. I have places to be in about an hour, and—”