[2017] We Said Forever

by Marie James

  “Don’t have that baby without me,” he demands before climbing back into the SUV and peeling out.

  Jenny, the nurse, chuckles as she turns the wheelchair and begins pushing me into the hospital. “First time father?”

  “Yeah,” I answer, because for all intents and purposes, Julian Stone will be the closest thing to a daddy this little boy is going to have.

  “I love seeing how excited the dads get. You’d think they were the ones in labor.”

  I try to laugh, but it releases as more of a low groan when the next contraction starts in the middle of my back and wraps its arms around me in the worst hugging sensation I’ve ever felt.

  They’re plugging up the wires to the monitor around my stomach by the time Stone makes it back into the room with a nurse who doesn’t look happy at all trailing behind him.

  “Sir, I told you if you’re not family, she has to approve you before you can just waltz in here like you own the place.” Her tone is kind, but the look on her face says she means business.

  He pops an eyebrow at me. “He’s the father,” I say without hesitation. “I need him here.”

  Normally, Stone would turn around and gloat with a wink or a chastising remark for proving someone wrong, but his eyes never leave mine. They soften at my words, filling his face with more love than I’ve ever seen on him before. I squeeze my eyes shut when the next wave renders me speechless.

  “You want drugs?” he asks, clasping my hand as the contraction peeks and tapers.

  “Yes,” I pant, nodding my head frantically. “I want all the drugs.”

  ***

  “You did great,” my best friend whispers as the nurse brings the baby back from a few tests and places the bundle in my arms.

  “The epidural helped.” My eyes stay on Phoenix as I tug the blanket down an inch so I can see his pouting lips. “My body is never going to be the same again.”

  I wince just thinking about the stitch count the doctor explained to me after I pushed when he told me not to.

  Stone’s eyes dart to my lower half, then back to the precious baby in my arms. I know he understands exactly what I’m talking about.

  “I can be a man and tell you what I’m really thinking, or I can give you the medical answer.” He grins, knowing I’m going to ask for both. This isn’t the first time he’s given me options.

  “Give me the medical version first.”

  “With proper healing, there will be no difference from before the birth. The vaginal canal was designed to birth children and the elasticity means it will go back to normal.” He swallows before giving me the “man version,” as he calls it. “But the truth is, Cariño, tight pussy can’t handle eight pound babies. The good news is you’ll be as good as new before you’re even ready to have sex again.”

  I grin at both versions of his truth. The good doctor and the filthy Latin man. He leans in and brushes his lips against my temple before placing a delicate kiss on Phoenix’s forehead. “Besides, you’re a mom now. Nothing will ever be the same.”

  I lean in to his embrace, loving him just a little more than I did yesterday for being so supportive even though I can’t give him what he truly desires. He’s a good sport, and I know he takes everything in stride, but everyone has their breaking point.

  “I talked to Brittney,” he whispers, not wanting to wake the baby. “She said she’ll be by the house to visit this weekend. As much as she wants to be here, she’s still in her probationary period at her new job.”

  My former roommate did exactly what I thought she was going to do. She fell in love and moved out, but she didn’t just pack her stuff and disappear, she let me know a couple weeks in advance she was leaving—and by leaving, I mean the state, not the apartment. Her boyfriend graduated and got an offer for a job in San Francisco, and she didn’t hesitate to say yes when he asked her to come along.

  So, my life is exactly where I was so apprehensive it would end up: in the spare bedroom in Julian Stone’s too-big house. Even though I was hired by one of my top choice marketing firms, it’s a low-level position. I couldn’t turn down a job with insurance and optimal opportunity for advancement, but I also wasn’t able to afford the rent alone after Brittney moved out.

  “I can’t wait for her to meet him,” I say, unable to pull my eyes from my son’s sleeping form.

  “She’ll love him,” he adds.

  “I know I’m biased, but he’s the best looking kid I’ve ever seen.” I grin over at Stone for confirmation.

  “He’s a great looking kid,” he agrees, but it’s marked with something I can’t quite put a finger on.

  I can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am. This tiny baby has a shock of white blond hair covering his head and the doctor said he seems to have bright blue eyes, but both of those can change over time. In short, he looks exactly like his father. Not dark-haired, dark-eyed like me—like Stone. I know we’re both slightly disappointed. As much as he wants to pretend this child is his, there’s no denying his actual paternity, and I know how hard it’s going to be looking in to eyes so similar to Blaze’s, they take my breath away.

  Chapter 32

  Blaze

  Less than two years ago, I thought absolute torture was training on the field and puking my guts up after an intense practice. I’d take that pain every day for the rest of my life to replace the sight of the only woman I’ll ever love walking into a house I know belongs to the douchebag Julian Stone.

  Finding information around campus isn’t as hard when an addict turned dealer puts feelers out, trading top shelf weed and pills in Vegas for information. Mr. Stone is not only keeping my wife warm at night, he just started his last year of medical school, has incredibly rich parents, and is currently pulling a tiny infant carrier out the backseat of the same BMW SUV I saw them drive away in the day my clear head turned back to fog and regret.

  My nostrils flare in anger, panting harsh breaths when Fallyn gingerly gets out of the front seat. My face heats and hands tremble when his arm goes around her and they both look down at their brand new bundle of joy—a boy if the half dozen blue balloons tied to the mailbox are any indication.

  I notice his arm. The one holding the weight of the carrier doesn’t even flex. My eyes drift to my scrawny arm and rage fills my head at the sight of my borderline emaciated body. Once thick muscles and toned flesh now display the crimes I’ve committed against my own body. Self-destruction and drug abuse are evident in the sores I can’t keep from scratching when I go too long without a fix and the dirt from days of going without the shower I just can’t be bothered to take.

  The kiss Julian “The Douche” Stone presses against her temple as I watch from the safety of the hidden driveway across the street is enough to make me almost lose it. I pound my clenched fists against my thighs, an attempt at a distraction. The only thing that keeps me from storming up to them and reclaiming what’s mine is the way her face changes when she looks back down at the baby. Her face shifts, her features glowing in the same way she used to look at me: full of pride, hope, and undying love—a sharp contrast to the weak smile she gave the man who stepped in and took over the life I was supposed to have with Fallyn.

  I stand, watching the door long after they enter, imagining them inside, settling in, putting the baby to bed in their room, knowing Fallyn wouldn’t want to be away from him for even a minute. I picture Douche making her something to eat or warming a bottle. One big happy family, which she deserves. I’m man enough to admit that, I just thought I’d be the man caring for her.

  I shake my head one final time and walk away, vowing to shove the last bit of Fallyn out of my mind even though I know it will never happen. If I would have had a magic eight ball or some insight into our future, I never would’ve kissed her at that party. I would’ve envied her from afar, letting other women take care of the need and hunger I felt deep in my soul. Things would possibly be different right now. I could’ve ended up in the NFL. A child’s dream. I kno
w better, though. I know exactly where my life is heading and it’s exactly where I was always destined to end up.

  I don’t know if it’s just acceptance of my place in this shitty world or the nostalgia of seeing Fallyn and her new family, but my feet lead me straight to the door I swore, years ago, I’d never darken again.

  Lights flicker inside the rundown house, music playing louder than decent as the sun sets on another scorching September day. Many people have hope, the courage to start anew each day. For some, the setting sun is merely an end to another day. Today, as the sun sinks below the horizon, giving the filthy porch sort of an ethereal appeal, it’s the closing of a chapter of my life in a book I never should’ve picked up to begin with.

  My knuckles burn as I bang on the thin, wooden door hard enough to be heard over the blaring music rolling out of the broken window.

  The thin, menacing body of the man I’ve hated all my life fills the doorframe when the door is finally pulled open. I despise myself in this moment, knowing I’ve somehow managed to become exactly what I hate, what I fought so hard to overcome.

  “Dad.”

  His lips twitch as his eyes rove over my body, taking in the filth, too big clothes, and sunken cheeks. His eyes catalogue all the outward signs of addiction before a chuckle rumbles from his chest and out his mouth. He doesn’t turn me away like I expected, though. Instead, he opens the door wider, accepting me for the first time.

  “I knew you wouldn’t be able to beat your roots.”

  I step past him, pride left in shambles on the rotting front porch.

  Everyone has regrets. They may regret not taking a certain road in life, not talking to the pretty girl in the bar, or suffering buyer’s remorse after a particularly expensive purchase. My regrets could fill this clapboard house, but my biggest is knowing I fought so hard, every day for years, to avoid this exact situation.

  So much wasted time, so many fruitless dreams. If only I’d been exactly who my parents expected me to be, I could’ve avoided a lot of heartache. By the grace of God, I could be dead already. Resting in eternal damnation seems so much better than stepping over trash, filth, and unconscious addicts as I make my way inside and sit on a couch covered in lord knows what—not that I give a shit anymore.

  “Move,” my dad grumbles as he walks closer to a broken recliner in the corner of the room. The half-naked woman curled up shuffles out of the way but stays near him, kneeling on the floor at his feet like an abused pet.

  He pulls a battered cookie tin from under the table situated beside the threadbare chair he sits on. The lid comes off with ease, and I frown, recognizing the tin. It’s the same one he had twenty years ago, only now it’s dirty, dented, and the paint is chipped. The man can’t manage to keep a job, a decent woman, or the electricity on most days, yet he’s been able to keep that dope tin around all this time. I huff a laugh at the sight of it, knowing it’s more precious to him than I ever was. Disposable, just like my mother.

  I’ve seen it more times than I can count, but it doesn’t keep me from cringing when my father pulls out the used needle, rubber strap, burnt spoon, and tiny bag of heroin. I watch with gross fascination as he runs through a routine that’s second nature to him from using the last thirty years. The golden brown liquid resting safely in the syringe, he holds it out to me.

  “Not really my thing, Dad.” He glares at me, and I feel like I’m in elementary school again. Only it’s not Chip, the playground bully, holding out the joint he stole from his father. This time, it’s the man who created me, ruined my life just by living, and brought this shit into my life, only for it to snuff my mother’s out way too soon.

  “You sure?” I nod even when I want to take the needle and plunge it into his eye. He chuckles. “Still pretentious as fuck I see. What’s your poison then?”

  He hands over the tin and my eyes bulge as my mouth waters at the cocktail of pills in different bags.

  “Should’ve known,” he says absently as I pull the baggie with yellow pills out. He pricks his track mark ridden skin in the crook of his elbow and looks up at me. Tugging the rubber strap free, the plunger slides, sending the dark liquid home. “That shit ain’t got nothin’ on this high.”

  His eyes droop as a faint smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, the heroin hitting him hard and fast. “Welcome home, my boy.”

  I dry swallow four of the pills he suspiciously offered without expectation and sink farther into the couch. I close my eyes and begin the twenty-minute wait for the pills to kick in.

  “I knew you wouldn’t stay clean.”

  I open my eyes to find the sad girl at my father’s feet looking up at me.

  “Do I know you?” She looks familiar, but that means absolutely nothing to me.

  “Kate,” she says, as if a simple name would spark my memory. When it doesn’t, she adds, “We went to meetings together over on eighteenth.”

  The girl who asked me out the day a pregnant Fallyn came into the diner I was working at.

  “How?” I whisper, looking for insight. “How did you know I’d use again?” I was on top of the world after that meeting. That day, I was so certain I’d beaten the addiction. Even planned to go to her when that sixty-day chip was firm in my grasp. I hate that someone from the outside looking in was confident in my failure.

  “Your eyes,” she answers after a long minute of staring up at me. “A man with that much pain in his eyes can’t fight the demons alone.”

  Chapter 33

  Fallyn

  “Julian!” I scream in excitement as I grin at Phoenix from across the room.

  The baby’s head jerks up and looks at me, so startled, his eyes start to water, tears budding on his lower lashes.

  “Such a sweet boy,” I coo. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  He grins up at me, the two tiny teeth he fought so hard with last week finally peeking through his bottom gum line.

  “What happened?” Julian says as he runs into the room.

  My mind goes blank as he steps inside the nursery, sweats hung low on his hips, the towel from his shower still clutched in his hand. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him this way, but every so often, he catches me off guard and I see him as the virile man he is and not my best friend.

  “Watch him,” I urge, sitting on the floor. “Come here, Phoenix.”

  I pat my leg, but realize I’m speaking to him like a dog and hold my hands out to him instead.

  Julian sinks to the floor beside me as Phoenix pushes up on unsteady arms and rocks his bottom back and forth.

  “It’s a little early for him to crawl,” Julian says, not taking his eyes from the handsome baby on the other side of the room.

  “The book says seven to ten months,” I correct him.

  “He was seven months three days ago, Fallyn. Babies begin to scoot at this age, crawling will come later.”

  “I’ve been telling you since he was born he’s a genius. He was crawling earlier. I saw it with my own eyes,” I insist.

  “You put too much pressure on him.”

  I look over at Julian to remind him I’m his mother, but the sight of a water droplet running over his golden skin has the words sticking in my throat.

  His eyes linger on my lips, mine on his. With lips parting a fraction, his breath becomes harsher.

  This man has been beyond amazing the last year and a half. He’s been my rock—my one constant in the middle of heartbreak and chaos, and there’s no mistaking the lust in his eyes right now.

  He’s put in all the work of being a parent—the late nights, staying with us in the hospital when Phoenix had RSV at two months old, yet he’s had none of the rewards. Physically, he’s kept his distance, knowing his forward advances make me uncomfortable, but as far as I can tell, he hasn’t been with another woman. He doesn’t disappear at night or hide his phone calls and text messages. He’s in a holding pattern waiting for me, content for now to remain platonic while never giving up hope that I’ll eventually s
ee what’s right in front of me.

  “Cariño,” he sighs, “the way you’re looking at me right now—”

  I lick my lips, and he groans.

  “Julian,” I begin, but the crash of his lips against mine stops the words from coming out.

  His hand fists my hair at the nape of my neck, holding me in place and bending me to the will of his mouth. A few long seconds pass before I cave and move my tongue along his. My body has been starved, needful of physical interaction.

  This is fine. Sex is an animal instinct. It’s as natural as breathing.

  His huge, warm hand cups my breast over my shirt, deft fingers finding and pinching my tightened nipple. I whimper when a fiery need lands in my core. He growls into my mouth, tugging my hair harder and angling my head so he can drive deeper.

  The tickle of a cold little hand runs over my leg and I jerk my head away with shame, knowing I just did that in front of my son. I turn my head to look down at Phoenix’s smiling face.

  “I’ll be damned,” Julian says with awe as he removes his hand from my hair and breast. “He actually crawled. Looks like two miracles happened today.”

  “I told you so,” I whisper as tension fills the room when I ignore the latter part of his statement.

  “Hey,” he prods when I don’t look at him or acknowledge the way his fingers toy at the edge of my shorts.

  “Bath time!” I scoop Phoenix up, telling him how smart and incredible he is for crawling all the way to us.

  He giggles and tugs at my necklace as I leave the room.

  Once inside my en suite bathroom, I close the door with a soft click, the delicate sound a clear conflict with the feelings warring inside my head and body. With Phoenix on my hip, I tug the inflated duck bath from the closet, make sure the water temp is perfect, and fill it. I add bubbles because I know it takes longer to clean up and I need more time. Once Phoenix’s bath is over and he’s put down for the night, I know I’m going to have to face Julian, and I’m not ready for a conversation I know is going to change us forever.