[2017] We Said Forever

by Marie James

  “Yeah, loves it,” I deadpan. “I’ll make sure your first kid gets one too, if you guys ever decide on kids.”

  Silence fills the room. “Yeah, about that.”

  Distracted by Phoenix trying to twist one of the knobs off the well-loved guitar, it takes a second for her words to sink in. Once they do, my head whips around to hers.

  “Seriously?” I glance down at her stomach.

  She grins, placing a soft hand against her t-shirt. “Two months.”

  “Why are you just now telling me?” I ask, though I’m not hurt by her reluctance. They weren’t trying and I know how surprise pregnancies have a tendency to knock the air out of your lungs and make you question everything you’ve ever done.

  “We just found out.” She feigns a look at the nonexistent watch on her wrist. “Like two weeks ago. We weren’t sure, so we waited for confirmation from the doctor. We got that yesterday, and here I am.”

  “Are you excited?” My eyes widen as my pulse quickens, but I keep my emotions under control. I know they weren’t trying to get pregnant, it’s something she would’ve mentioned, and I also know the gamut of emotions a woman goes through when they find out.

  “I’m scared shitless,” she answers, looking at me with honest fear in her eyes.

  “I think every mother feels like that at first, even if they won’t admit it.” Her eyes dart toward the wall as she wrings her hands in her lap. I cover her fidgeting with my palm, trying to offer comfort. “How is Dean taking the news?” I ask, concerned maybe her hesitance has something to do with his reaction.

  She huffs an indignant laugh. “He’s already talking about names, and yesterday, before I left to come here, I caught him on a baby furniture website. I wouldn’t put it past him to have poked holes in the damn condoms. He’s always wanted kids. Before we went to the doctor, he said he hoped we were having twins. He’s only thirty-three, but feels like he’s behind in the baby making game.” She shakes her head in exasperation, but her grin betrays her.

  “You’ll be a great mother,” I assure her as Phoenix pushes his favorite truck into a stacked pile of blocks. “He’s so messy.”

  “Boys,” she grumbles, shaking her head. “Maybe I’m having a girl and can avoid the disaster zone.”

  I shake my head. “Oh, young one, you have so much to learn. I’ve heard girls are just as messy. Either gender, you’re in for a ton of cleaning and picking up.”

  “When I let myself imagine being a mother…” she confides, “I never pictured them growing up, only the tiny baby stage. Being responsible for a helpless being freaked me out. Now that I picture this stage, trying to keep a living, breathing human who’s able to make their own choices safe? That terrifies me.”

  “All normal, I assure you.” I pat her leg and stand from the couch. “Come on, Little Destructo, bath time.”

  I scoop up my wiggling two-and-a-half-year-old and point to the mess on the floor. “Looks like you can get some early practice.”

  She grumbles goodheartedly as she stands from the sofa and begins to gather the toys. “I thought parents made the kids clean their own messes.”

  “I’m picking my battles today. Be back in a few and we can talk more about the Dean Bean.”

  The sound of the doorbell ringing echoes through the living room. I hand the squirming noodle over to my best friend. “If it’s another one of those people trying to get me to change electric companies, I swear I’m going to spray them with the water hose.”

  “Good luck with that,” Brittney says as she tickles my son, all too relieved to postpone the impending cleanup of scattered toys.

  I keep my eyes on them as I make my way to the front door. She may be terrified and questioning her ability, but just by the way she interacts with Phoenix, I know she’s going to be an amazing mom. I hate the jealousy that washes over me when I think about how excited Dean is. Every baby deserves two enthusiastic parents who can’t wait for the arrival of their bundle of joy.

  I pull the door open. “I don’t want to change elec—”

  The words catch at my feet when the man on the front porch raises his head and looks me in the eye. My hands tremble and knees weaken when piercing blue eyes stare back at me. A faint smirk tilts his lips, and the cockiness on his face brings back feelings I had years ago—ones that made me want to smack his cheek for the same egotistical look he’s giving me now.

  “Bl-Blaze,” I stammer.

  “Hey, beautiful.” I shake my head—rejecting his words, confused by him standing before me, denying he looks better now than he did the day he won the National Championship.

  Wider shoulders than I’ve ever seen taper down to his waist, forming the most glorious triangle. Eyes I remember being dull and empty are now filled with health and a spark resembling hope.

  “How’ve you been?” He’s cautious, but that innate alpha shit he was always so good at surrounds us.

  “Fine.” Time stands still as he scours my face, looking for who knows what. Happiness? Attraction?

  “How’s my boy?” Genuine curiosity. The words, spoken with such wonder, shoot a shiver up my spine.

  Papers crinkle in his hands, drawing my eyes to them immediately. My blood runs cold, both at the sight of the gold band on his left hand and the font type peeking around his fingers. It’s legal, judicial even.

  I have rights to my son.

  His words from two years ago bang around in my brain so loud, my head pounds to the point of nausea.

  “No,” I gasp, trying to slam the door in his face.

  Anticipating my move, his foot sticks out, the heavy wood stopped by his boot. Without a word, he hands over the paperwork, a petition for visitation for Phoenix Harrison Porter.

  “I just want to see my son.” My eyes move from the papers to his face. “I want him to know his father.”

  His hand brushes blond locks from his forehead—a classic Blaze mannerism. It almost makes me smile, as if he’s back from the dead, a ghost here to beg for forgiveness. His wedding band glints again, and I’m certain his wife has put him up to this. Pain radiates through my body as the realization of another woman being capable of healing where I failed settles in. I wasn’t strong enough to help him. I wasn’t enough to get him clean…but someone else was.

  I swallow roughly, split between being glad someone was able to bring him back and feelings of absolute failure.

  “These haven’t been filed yet.” He points to the court documents burning my hands and I stare down, struck silent. “I’ll give you the weekend, Fallyn. We can arrange something between us without getting others involved, or we can battle it out in court.”

  Those words sting too. I taunted him years ago, never imagining this day would come to fruition. I’m happy to see him healthy, but I already grieved him, sure the life he was leading had already claimed its final payment.

  “The weekend,” he warns again before taking a step back. “My address is on the back. If I don’t hear from you, my attorney will file the paperwork when the courthouse opens on Monday.”

  Speechless, I watch as he walks toward the street, the dark green fabric of his polo shirt clinging to the muscles on his back. His eyes find mine one last time over the hood of a black truck before he climbs inside and drives away.

  Stunned and working on pure muscle memory, I go back inside. My hands tremble, causing the paper to crinkle even further as I walk up to my friend.

  “You fell for it, didn’t you?” Brittney jokes as she bounces Phoenix on her knee. “You were gone forever.”

  I trade the paperwork for my son and leave her sitting on the floor. I have mommy duties to perform, and they don’t stop even if my world is crashing down around me.

  I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I don’t even chastise Brittney when I hear her say, “Fuck,” as I walk away.

  Chapter 38

  Blaze

  Summertime in Vegas is brutal. The house I’m living in has one lone tree in the yard and it’s in the back
, but that hasn’t kept me from sitting on the front porch for the last couple hours waiting, praying, hoping Fallyn is still the woman she once was.

  I stayed home yesterday and didn’t get a wink of sleep last night knowing the direction my life takes depends on whether she’ll show. I knew she wouldn’t show on Saturday. If only to hold on to some form of power over the situation, I knew she’d wait until the last day, the last minute, if she showed at all.

  My knee bounces up and down as my faith in her arrival begins to wane, but her car pulls into my short driveway, nearly kissing the bumper of my truck just as the sky is turning pink and purple, the sun readying itself to set. She’s waited until close to the last second to show up, classic power-play. It reminds me of her temporary resistance when we first met.

  Tilting the warm bottle of water to my lips, I watch her unbuckle her seatbelt. She watches me through the front windshield, and I find myself unable to pull my eyes from her. She waits so long, I wonder if she’s going to back out and leave, but she finally opens her door. I hold my breath when she climbs out, letting it release in a long whoosh when she opens the back door and begins to get Phoenix out.

  I’m off the porch and by her side in no time. “Want me to carry the car seat?”

  “Car seat?” she asks before pulling my beautiful son from the back and setting him on the ground. “He’s not a baby, Blaze. He walks.”

  I grunt in response, feeling like an idiot for not knowing what kind of car seat a child his age would use. “I’ve missed a lot.”

  Nodding, her cheeks begin to flush. I hate the brief guilt that clouds her eyes.

  “You wanna come in? Pretty hot out here.”

  She takes my son’s tiny hand and guides him to the front porch. Holding the door open for them, I breathe deep, letting her new smell wash over me—something fruity with a hint of baby powder.

  “I got him some toys to play with so we can talk.” I point to the pile of stuff the lady at Target told me every two-year-old would love in the living room. “I got diapers, three different sizes. I didn’t know whether he’s potty trained or not.”

  “He’s…” she pauses, looking lovingly at Phoenix as he rushes to the new toys, “fighting it, but we’ve made some progress.”

  With an out swept hand, I direct her to take a seat on the couch. “Something to drink? I don’t have alcohol, but I imagine you don’t drink when you’re driving him.”

  Her eyes narrow, suspicion hitting me hard in the chest. “Are you trying to dig up dirt to use against me in court?”

  “What?” The notion never even entered my mind. I shake my head. “No, Fallyn. I don’t want to end up in court. I came to see you Friday because it’s the last place I want to be.”

  “Water is fine,” she mutters, handing a baby-safe, red Lego looking thing back to Phoenix, who put it in her hand not a second before.

  “Anything for Phoenix? I have juice, milk, and those little Capri Sun things.”

  “Milk would be great,” she answers, never taking her eyes from our son.

  “Don’t be an asshole,” I chastise myself as I walk to the fridge and grab a bottle of water for us and milk for Phoenix. She’s aloof, damn near emotionless—not true, anger is boiling right below the surface, and it peeked its ugly little head out when I told her I don’t have alcohol in the house.

  I take a moment, alone in my kitchen, to let the happiness of them being in my home for the first time wash over me. Things may not go exactly how I want them to, but this is the first step in getting closer to my son.

  Phoenix’s giggle welcomes me into the room as I hand Fallyn her water and the cup of milk.

  “Sippy cup and everything?” She grins up at me.

  Her gorgeous smile nearly knocks me off my feet and I know I’ll do anything to see it again.

  I smile back at her. “The department manager at Target spotted me a mile away.”

  I don’t tell her he has an entire room set up here. I know that information will freak her out with how presumptuous it makes me look.

  We watch in silence as Phoenix flits from one toy to the next, attention span lacking and energy in overdrive.

  “Does he ever slow down?” I look over at her before she speaks to find her eyes already on my face.

  “Not unless he’s asleep.”

  She watches me without apology, and the attention makes me nervous, as if she’s going to notice an imperfection other than my past that will cause her to pick him up and leave without a backward glance.

  “You look good,” she finally says. “Healthy. Possibly more so than before we met.”

  “You’re even more gorgeous than I remember.” Even in skinny jeans and an oversized t-shirt, she makes my mouth water.

  “Don’t,” she whispers, eyes falling to her clasped hands. “We’re not here to talk about me. I only mentioned you looking healthy because for so long, you didn’t.”

  “Right,” I say. “I’m clean, Fallyn.”

  “For how long?”

  At first, her words hit me the wrong way, as if she’s asking me when I plan to fall off the wagon and relapse, but after a moment of consideration, I realize she’s asking how long I’ve been clean.

  “Almost two years. Started rehab a few days after we saw each other on the street.”

  “You didn’t use again after you found out about him?” Hopeful eyes, the ones I remember her having after we said our vows, beseech me.

  No lies, to yourself or others. It’s one of the things preached about in recovery. Fuck, how I wish I could skip all the shitty things I’ve done in my past and go straight to the now—the future.

  “I wish I could tell you I didn’t use after that, and I tried to stay clean, but I just couldn’t.”

  Her face falls a fraction before she pulls it back into impassivity.

  “What’s it like?”

  “Being high?”

  She shakes her head. “Being an addict.”

  The age-old question that goes hand in hand with “why do you do it?” Many people want to know what being high feels like, but aren’t willing to risk addiction to find out.

  I dig deep for an answer I’ve struggled with for years. “It’s doing the same thing over and over until it drowns out everything else. You live and breathe for it. You’d kill and hurt the people you love for a fix. Then you have to get high to try to ease the pain you’ve caused yourself when you hurt those you love the most. It’s a vicious downward spiral and cycle that’s hard to get a handle on.”

  She nods as if she understands, but I know it’s damn near impossible to comprehend unless you’ve sold your soul to the devil for your next high—something I did time and time again.

  “When does your wife come home?” I look up, finding her eyes on the ring on my hand.

  “You tell me,” I whisper. She noticed it the other night, and I knew it wouldn’t take her long to ask about it.

  Confusion wrinkles her brow before she comprehends my words. When it finally dawns on her, she gasps and scoots away from me on the sofa, only she has nowhere to go because she’d already plastered herself to the arm.

  “I see you’re still wearing yours.” And nothing makes me happier. She covers her ring with her right hand, as if she’s been wearing it so long, she doesn’t even notice it anymore.

  “I didn’t give you that ring.” Her eyes leave mine, darting to Phoenix, who’s enthralled by a toy phone.

  “No, you didn’t,” I confirm, looking down at the ring I’ve worn for the last year and a half. It’s much nicer than the simple bands we got at the wedding chapel. “I pawned that one the same day I walked away from you—the day I left not knowing our beautiful son was already inside you.”

  I praise myself for saying that without the bitterness I’ve felt for so long. Letting go of the blame I allowed my addiction to place on others was one of the hardest things to get control of.

  “Would it have made a difference? If I told you I was pregnant, would you ha
ve gotten clean?” Her anguish is evident in the sadness in her eyes, the way she’s hoping I’ll answer, but at the same time, knowing it’s going to hurt no matter what I say. If I say no, she’ll know I wasn’t strong enough to fight for her, to try to get better for the sake of the life we created. If I say yes, she’ll wonder how things could’ve been different, how we would be today.

  I choose the truth. “I’d like to believe I never would’ve gotten high again, but I don’t know if that’s the case. I was raw then, so pissed off at myself, the team, the school. I blamed everyone for the way my life was turning out.”

  “Why am I here, Blaze?” Her voice is soft, unsure.

  “I want to spend time with my son.” Both of our eyes shift to him, happy as can be with his new toys. “I want to spend time with you,” I whisper, a breath of relief washing over me. It’s all out on the table. I’ve played my hand. Now all I can do is wait to see if she’s willing to stay in the game with me.

  Instead of responding, she watches me, the scrutiny of her eyes nearly making me sweat.

  “I have a nice house—rented, of course. A job with insurance. I go to meetings every day. I got my world back under control. The only things missing are you and him,” I say when the silence becomes deafening.

  “We all want what we don’t have,” she all but whispers.

  “All I want is what I had.” She pulls her eyes from mine, but I don’t miss the tear threatening to fall as it slowly builds on her lower lashes.

  Clearing her throat, she straightens her spine and meets my eyes with the same fierceness I remember from the night I first showed up on her doorstep. She slapped me that night when I kissed her, and as much as I want to pull her close and fix everything with my lips, I know that’s not the path to take now. Too much rides on today, too many things to lose—things I’m not willing to sacrifice for the brush of my lips on hers. Our relationship may never heal, but not being in my son’s life isn’t an option.

  “We can visit you. I can bring Phoenix over here. You’re more than welcome at our home, but I can’t trust you alone with him.”