by Marie James
“I’ll always be here,” she offers, placing her warm hand over mine on the counter. “I just want to protect you from the heartbreak I seriously think is just around the corner.”
“I appreciate that.” And I do, but I can’t focus on what might happen.
I have to figure out a way to give us a second chance, but I’m not turning a blind eye to anything that may rear its ugly head—the hints and signs I missed the first time around. I chastise myself mentally. I didn’t miss the signs; I flat out refused to acknowledge them. I convinced myself things weren’t as bad as they seemed. He was angry all the time, disappeared for hours only to return home like nothing happened, blamed his red eyes and the inability to hold a normal conversation on how hard his job was, how exhausted he was. He turned every argument back on me. I didn’t love him enough. I didn’t respect him because he wasn’t earning six figures a year. And the one jab he liked to use the most: I never forgave him for the accident.
My bedroom door opens and Brittney and I snap our attention to it, only for her to meet my eyes when the bathroom door clicks closed.
“I honestly hope everything works out for the best.” She squeezes my hand once more before placing her cup in the sink. “But if it doesn’t, I’m here for you. Shoulder to cry on, someone to bitch to, body removal, whatever you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you.”
She leans into my ear as the toilet flushes. “I understand you’re going to open your heart to him again, but please don’t turn off your brain this time. Everyone deserves a second chance, but don’t let it be at the expense of your own happiness and success.”
A frown settles on my lips and I straighten them into a line as I let her words bounce around in my head.
Chapter 26
Blaze
“Don’t hurt her,” Brittney insists in a harsh whisper as she passes me in the hallway on her way to her room.
I don’t answer her. I won’t make any more promises I know I can’t keep, but I’m proud of the fierceness in her eyes. The defensiveness she has only helps my wife, and she needs people in her corner.
I couldn’t hear every word that was said, but the bits and pieces I did manage weren’t very pro Blaze Porter. I have to approach this whole situation with caution. I can’t complain to Fallyn about her roommate having it out for me. Brittney has been here while I’ve been gone, and I respect the hell out of her for that. I also can’t get mad when she is one hundred percent correct. I’m a piece of shit. I know it. She knows it. I just hope I can make things better before Fallyn realizes it.
Sidling up to my wife, I slink my arms around her and place a delicate kiss below her ear, my eyes fluttering closed as I inhale her scent. Memories of happier times fill my mind. The first party, the movie, the fun in the truck after, the first time we made love…such happy moments, all tainted by the terrible things that followed.
“Mornin’, beautiful.” My voice is thick, filled with emotions I’d rather be tortured by than have to talk about, but I know it’s coming. I know I can’t just show up and not expect to try to work through my problems. Just like I can’t expect Fallyn to start over and forget all the things I’ve said and done.
After placing her coffee cup on the counter, she turns in my arms, resting her head against my chest. Fuck, how I wish things were different.
“I don’t think your roommate likes me very much.” I don’t expect her to reply, but I also don’t expect the huff of agreement from her either. I grin knowing she’s not going to lie and cover for her roommate’s feelings just to keep my pride intact. It’s one of the things I love most about her. She speaks her mind nine times out of ten, even if the information isn’t something the receiver wants to hear. Honest to a fault, some would say.
With a gentle push against my chest, she glides off the stool to stand and steps out of my embrace. Making her way around the counter, she starts gathering breakfast items from the fridge and places them near the stove.
“When do you have to report to your probation officer?”
Her back is to me as she adjusts the heat under a skillet. My eyes narrow, and I want to ask if she doesn’t trust me, but I’m terrified of her answer. She shouldn’t trust me. I have the pills under control, but she wouldn’t listen to reason if I failed another drug test.
“I got time served,” I finally answer. “I’m off paper.”
I don’t miss the slight flinch in her back muscles at the news. She wants me supervised.
“Do you want fried or scrambled eggs?”
“You don’t have to make me breakfast, Fallyn.” I can’t help the annoyed twinge in my voice. Not even twelve hours into being back and the tension in the air can be cut with a fucking knife.
“You’re too skinny,” she tosses over her shoulder with a quick smile before grabbing a spatula from the drawer nearest the stove. “I have to fatten you up.”
“Scrambled would be awesome,” I reply, trying my best to release some of the anger I woke up with this morning. I hate being pissed off all the time, hate feeling like shit, hate being here with Fallyn looking like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The thought of leaving terrifies me, though. I know what life is like without her, and I want no damn part of it.
Unable to keep the distance between us, I line my front up with her back and my arms encircle her waist, chin resting on her shoulder.
“I love you,” I breathe into her neck before tracing the shell of her ear with my nose.
“Mmmm,” she hums. “I love you, too. We do need to talk, though. Figure out a game plan.”
“All of my clothes are still in the dresser,” I comment.
She nods her head. “Where else would they be?”
I shrug. “I figured you were done with me. I wondered last night if my key would even work in the door. When it did, I figured you’d kick me out the second you saw me.”
“I almost did,” she confesses, stirring the eggs.
I stiffen. “You probably should have.”
“Explain why it took days for you to come here. Where have you been?”
“A friend’s couch,” I admit. “I tried to stay away. I know you’re better off without me dragging you down, but I couldn’t. Standing outside your apartment the last couple days has been pure torture. Being the selfish man I am, I couldn’t let you go.” Fuck, that’s hard to admit out loud. Giving a voice to my weaknesses in my head is bad enough, but sharing them makes me vulnerable.
“Four days,” she whispers. I raise an eyebrow in question and tilt my head around hers so I can look in her eyes. “I call every week to check on you. I called two days ago and they said you were released two days prior.”
“I figured you didn’t want me here. I was awful to you the last time we saw each other. I was sure you’d never want to speak to me again. I expected to have divorce papers served while I was locked up.” She flinches, her deep brown eyes darting away with some unknown reaction. Did she have them drawn up? Was that her plan all along and I ruined it by getting released? “I came over last night to either break my own heart with your rejection or beg for forgiveness.”
“You were hurting when you pushed me away.”
“Still doesn’t excuse the pain I caused you,” I murmur. I’ve had nightmares for months, that argument replaying over and over. Some nights, she confesses to another man in our bed. Other times, she doesn’t say anything as she cries uncontrollably.
“I haven’t so much as looked at another man, Blaze.”
“I know that. I knew that then, but I couldn’t keep seeing you every week—tired, annoyed, obligated. It killed me not being able to touch you, to make things better.”
She twists the knob on the stove to off and moves the skillet to a back burner. Turning in my arms, she looks up at me. “So, not seeing me for months was easier for you?”
I shake my head. “It was absolute torture. Every day, every second, my mind was on you, wondering what you were doing, knowing I shoved you into
the arms of another man. Made you stop loving me.”
“See this?” she says, holding up her hand with the wedding ring I noticed was still on her finger last night. It was what gave me a modicum of hope that we still had a chance. She reaches down and grabs my left hand, holding it so the light over the stove glints off the gold circle. “And this?”
I kiss her forehead. Words are impossible right now.
“I’ll never stop loving you. Ups and downs, every relationship has them.” Her face sobers and I know she’s reliving the conversation in jail because she’s started a conversation just like this before. It’s what set me off then, knowing how loyal and dedicated she was while I was still using. “I’ll work to keep you if you work to keep me. Don’t give up on us, Blaze, because I never have. I won’t.”
Leaning down, I seek out her mouth with my own. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”
She smiles wide and pinches my ass before turning back to the stove. “And don’t you ever forget it.”
***
“These have been coming in the mail for a while,” Fallyn says after we’ve eaten breakfast, handing me a stack of unopened mail.
Each envelope has a different name on it. Some are from the hospital, others are from individual doctors, anesthesiologists, and various facilities. The deeper I dig through the pile, I see URGENT and 2nd NOTICE. The thick stack makes the eggs and coffee sour in my stomach. “I’ll take care of it.”
I shuffle through the stack again, disinterested, but feeling the need to make her think I care. I couldn’t pay these even if I wanted to. The damned county should be footing this bill. All the guards in that damn place turn a blind eye to the hierarchy of inmates, extortion, and violence that takes place on a regular basis, which makes it a cesspool teeming with opportunity for people to get hurt or killed. My eyes land on a letter from a civil attorney I reached out to while I was in jail.
Grant mentioned suing the county for not having a safe environment for inmates. He assured me the county would just roll over and pay out of court because they don’t want spotlights brought down on them. I put that letter on the very top, but don’t open it in front of Fallyn. What happened while I was in jail is not a conversation I want to ever have with her. I lay the stack near my jacket, pull clothes out of the dresser, and change out of the sweats I put on after getting up this morning.
“You’re leaving?” she asks when I pull on my jacket and stuff the stack of envelopes in my inside pocket.
“Have to hit the ground running. I need to see if I can get my job back at the factory, and if not, I need to get applications.” I kiss her forehead so she doesn’t see me wince at the lies I’m already telling her. “I can’t have my wife supporting me.”
She wraps her arms around my waist and molds herself against my chest. “I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“I know,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
We kiss one more time before I walk out, thankful she doesn’t mention the fact that it’s New Year’s Day and not many places in town are going to be open—at least not the factories I’d have a chance at getting hired at. I stop by the trashcan near the front office of the apartment complex and throw all the bills in, only keeping the letter from the attorney. Hitting the ATM inside the laundry mat a few blocks down, I withdraw the last fifty bucks I have to my name, praying Bones isn’t too fucked up from partying last night to get me something for the pain in my shoulder.
Chapter 27
Fallyn
My hands tremble as tears stream down my face. I can’t bring myself to even touch the test lying on the bathroom counter.
“It’s not possible,” I gasp, my hands moving to my lower stomach of their own volition, covering a being that can’t be more than a tiny dot at this point.
I’d only been taking birth control for a few weeks and stopped taking it again when Blaze got locked up. There was no point. They made me hungry all the time, bloated, and I’m certain the headaches I got were caused by them. I was glad to stop putting those chemicals in my body, not needing them because the only guy I’d consider getting intimate with was incarcerated. I did, however, start taking them again within two days of him coming back. I only took the test today as a precaution since my cycle seemed to be messed up. I assumed it was because I started the pills again and they made things a little off the first time around. According to the test, my period is going to be missing for quite some time.
This is my fault. How very typical of me to get pregnant during my last semester of college.
I let the fear creep in. There’s no way I can be a mother. Blaze sure as hell can’t be a father. The last three weeks have been an exercise in extreme patience, and we’re both failing as time ticks by. His temper is easily sparked; my agitation is always right on the surface. I know he’s trying. He leaves daily to look for work, but comes home each evening more annoyed than when he left. For a city that never sleeps, and has casinos on damn near every corner, he’s having trouble finding a job. A misdemeanor wouldn’t keep him from working in a couple years, but it’s proving to be an issue since five years hasn’t passed since his DUI conviction.
I do my best to stay out of his way, exactly what I promised myself I wouldn’t do. Concentrating on my schoolwork has helped some, but it’s increasingly difficult to watch him get frustrated. Nothing I say helps. I’ve kept my assurances to myself the last two weeks because the first week he was back, I realized my positive attitude about our current situation was not helping to improve his.
I push the creeping thoughts out of my head. The ones that tell me to open my eyes. The ones that insist he’s exactly as he was before.
He’s using again. He never stopped.
I shake my head, determined to have a better life. I know he loves me. I can make him see we have a future together. We’re having a baby. Hope filling my chest, I scoop the test off the counter and walk to our room. I feel the need to celebrate, to present this lifelong responsibility, this tiny surprise, as a positive. It will be what turns things around. It’s a sign things are getting better.
I dig through the top of the closet looking for wrapping paper or ribbon or something to spruce up the test so it’s more gift-like to him when he gets home. I refuse to let him see the trepidation and anxiety I’m feeling. It will only agitate him more. Coming up empty, I start on the drawers in the dresser.
My heart plummets when my fingers sweep over a small plastic bag. Eyes closed, I tug it from under a stack of pajamas I haven’t touched since I moved into this apartment. My throat clogs with disappointment before my eyes even verify what’s in my hands.
Failure as a wife, as an equal, washes over me as I walk to the bathroom, grateful Brittney isn’t here. I couldn’t handle her “I told you so” right now. With trembling hands, I watch the yellow pills only long enough to make sure each one lands in the toilet bowl and flush without regret. My marriage is ending today, and I’ll be damned if I worry about his feelings and the anger he’s sure to have when I confront him later about what I found. The urge to hit him, beat him for the lies, break him for breaking me hits hard, souring my already teeming stomach.
Nausea hits in a wave and I’m bent over the toilet before the last pill disappears—another reminder of what my future will look like. A single parent. A life I never wanted.
You didn’t want this life either, my brain reminds me.
For the first time since I’ve known Blaze Porter, I regret going to that party and meeting him in the first place. I heave again, curled over the bowl when it dawns on me that I just admitted not wanting the baby, even though, deep down, I already love it. Sourness fills my mouth and chest at my first failure as a parent.
I climb up from the floor, rinse out my mouth, and go in search of my computer. A million things run through my head, but research on abuse of prescription meds is the most dire. I’ve done this once before, months ago, after he was arrested, but a
refresher course now that it’s no longer just us is necessary.
With different eyes and a different view of things, I pull up the numerous medical websites I bookmarked last year. The list of symptoms, each one I’ve attributed to his frustration over not being able to find work, glares at me from the screen—insomnia, irritability, loss of appetite, and difficulty focusing are just a few I’ve explained away.
I think back to last week when Brittney asked if I’d seen two hundred dollars she misplaced and gasp, covering my mouth with my hand, knowing without a doubt Blaze has been stealing from her.
I scramble off the couch and scoop my purse up off my bed, pulling my wallet from it. The hidden pocket behind the calendar…empty. He’s been stealing from both of us.
Who the hell does that?
An addict.
With a calmness I have no business feeling, I place the empty pill bag under the picture frame from our wedding day. It’s the only one we have—the one I mailed to Blaze shortly after he went to jail and cried when he pulled it from his wallet to return to me when he came home.
He’s here because he has nowhere else to go.
Brittney’s words echo in my head, and I push the doubt down when it tries to claw its way into my mind. I refuse to entertain ideas such as maybe those are left over from last time. Maybe he isn’t abusing and just forgot he had a stash here. The signs are there.
With my hands clasped, I sit on the bed, running through every scenario in my mind on how to save us, but it all boils down to what he’s willing to do. The hours tick by and my back aches like hell, but still, I wait for him to get home—wait for answers only he can give me.
The front door closes harder than Brittney would ever shut it and I jolt awake. Running a hand through my messy hair, I straighten my spine and wait for him to come into the room.
“Just sitting in the dark?” he says, flipping the switch and flooding the room with harsh yellow light.
Cowering deeper into the bed, I shield my eyes. Remembering the main cause of my sudden fatigue, my eyes shift to the hidden baggie, and I know I can’t wait much longer to confront him. My teetering sanity won’t allow for it.