A Perfect Love

by Becca Lee

  “We wait.” It wasn’t what I’d set out to do. To be honest, I had no idea what my intentions were when I came to see Mace, but this wasn’t it. For the time being, until I could do more, until I could stand in front of the man who raped Jo—my father—this would have to do. I’d wait.

  Some things constantly play on. They play in slow motion. No matter what you do to avoid, to forget, they remains. We survived the trauma, the pain, and somehow came out on the other side. We were stronger for it. Jo had maintained her crazy-arsed self, finished university, and we’d managed a decent crack at our lives. We’d reached the point when everything seemed to make sense. Until that damn letter.

  Three weeks had passed since I’d shown Jo the letter. We’d talked and she’d cried, yet once again, she still managed to wear a smile. What was even more miraculous was that her smile was real. I knew when her smile was painted on, which was very rare, and for the most part, it was genuine. It was the baby. It kept her grounded, kept me grounded.

  In less than three weeks, David Mason would be released from prison. I’d still yet to see my mum, and I had no desire to. What I did find the need to do, though, was figure out why the hell David had written Jo a letter.

  After emptying my pockets, I was patted down. The guards moved down the line of visitors, carrying out the same search. Finally reaching the last person in line, a buzzer went off, signalling the release of the metal door, and they ushered us through.

  I was directed to a seat waiting to confront the man who I hadn’t seen in almost seven years, one who I would have been quite happy to never see again. Hearing another buzz, I looked down, wiping my sweating hands on my jeans, and forced myself to control my breathing. I felt his presence immediately and then the shift of the benched table as he sat down opposite me. I counted to ten before I was able to control my heart rate and my features. I then looked up at him.

  His eyes were wide, searching my face. Clearing his throat, he started, “Son—”

  I cut him off immediately. “Don’t. My name’s Liam. Don’t ever call me that, David.”

  He nodded in acknowledgment, his mouth in a hard line. I took the moment to study his face. The last seven years had not been kind to him, which I was so bloody pleased to see. Deep wrinkles framed his eyes and mouth, and a scar marred his cheek. His eyes, the same colour as my own, appeared duller, different. I assumed that it had been so long since sober eyes looked back at me, I no longer recognised them.

  David was a meth addict. He hadn’t spent much time in mine or Mace’s lives growing up. At different times, he would show up, turning our lives momentarily into chaos, begging for money, usually stealing and causing as much trouble as he could muster. A fist to the face wasn’t something rare.

  Many times growing up, I’d wondered what it would be like having a mum who gave a crap and a dad who wasn’t a meth-head. The first glimpse I had into such a life was when I met Jo. She introduced me to the world I wanted and one I didn’t think I truly deserved. But Jo, being her stubborn self, had soon brow-beaten me into submission, allowing me to see I deserved more and I deserved her. Even after what he had done to her, she never turned her back on me. When we had parted for that time, it was never about me, or our lack of love.

  “Why’d you write?” I had no time for bullshit, just truth.

  “It said in the letter. I wanted to make—”

  “What? Amends? Things right? For shit’s sake,” I seethed. “Who the hell do you think you are? You are nothing. Nobody. You had no fucking right.” He remained silent as I strained to keep my voice low. “If you think for one second you will ever say a single word to Jo again, ever, you’re delusional. Either that or you’ll be fucking dead.” My anger rushed to the surface, driving my words forward. I took a calming breath, thinking of Jo, of Mace and his offer. A small part of me was tempted, especially as the monster before me simply sat, looking on with his face devoid of any expression.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you can rot in here for the rest of your life. You deserve nothing more.” His gaze never faltered with every venomous word I spoke. “When you’re out of here, do not attempt to contact me, Jo, Mace, or anyone who’s mine. You got it?”

  He nodded in understanding, his face remaining impassive. I stood up and turned to leave.

  “S— Liam.”

  I paused shortly, my back to the man whose very existence made me sick.

  “I meant every word.”

  “I don’t give a shit.” There was so much more I wanted to say, but I stopped myself. I just needed to get out of there. Heading to the exit, I signalled to be released, restraining myself from banging on the bars.

  Racing through the formalities, as soon as I stepped outside of the prison walls I took a gulp of fresh air, needing the oxygen to calm me. It was then I noticed my hands were shaking. I hadn’t been looking forward to seeing him again, but I had no idea just how shaken-up I’d be. My heart was at the point of bursting, my stomach recoiling at the onslaught of emotions. I needed to get home. I needed to see Jo.

  Before I opened my car door, I pulled the letter out of my pocket for the last time. Unfolding the paper, I read its contents.

  Joanna,

  How do you start a letter that has been 7 years in the making, and should never have needed to be written in the first place?

  There’s no excuse, no reasoning. I need to say I am sorry. I was sick, am sick. I want to go back and make things right. I know I can’t, but I want to.

  I need to let you know I am being released soon. In just 6 weeks, I can try to make things right.

  Just let me try.

  David

  I scrunched up the paper and threw it in the bin in the parking lot, feeling my stomach recoil once again. There was no way to sum up the gut-wrenching anger whenever I read his words. How in the hell did he ever expect to make things right? He’d raped her, damaged her, and destroyed a piece of her soul. He was screwed up in the head thinking he could even reach out to her. The letter was just another example of the selfish bastard he was. Forcing the events back on Jo once again, a long seven years after he’d smudged her heart, was a step too far.

  Clenching my fists and breathing out deeply, trying to shake my anger, I took a moment before climbing in my car and driving off. I refused to look in the rear-view mirror. As far as I was concerned, there was no more looking back. I had my perfect life waiting at home for me, growing our family and no doubt preparing to kick the crap out of me since the fifteen missed calls on my phone indicated she’d found my note.

  Chapter Seven

  Jo

  When I got my hands on him, I was going to throttle him. Seriously. The chicken-shit had left a half-hidden note telling me he’d gone to the correctional facility, which made me sick to my stomach. Not only because Liam was having to face David, the man whom he hadn’t seen in all these years, but it also made reality hit me smack in the forehead.

  It meant the letter was real, which also meant that his release was scarily real, too.

  I refused to pace the floor. And thinking it best to be out of the house when he arrived home—I was liable to pounce on him if I stayed—I grabbed my car keys and headed to my parents’ house.

  It didn’t take long before I was sitting in my folks’ kitchen, the air-conditioning pumping out delicious cool air as I sipped an ice tea. I relaxed and sighed in contentment. I had moments when I would react to situations without fully thinking things through, and I was never more aware of that than over the last few weeks since I found out I was going to be a mum. Which was one of the reasons I knew it was best to calm down and attempt to behave like a grown-up when Liam returned.

  I was still pissed, but not really at him. I knew why he’d gone. I also understood why he’d gone without telling me. I was unbelievably angry at the situation, so much so, I could barely get my head around the audacity of David, but that didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how I was really feeling. All I wanted to do was vomit. A
persistent ball of nausea sat heavily in my stomach since I read his letter. My reaction didn’t help me at all, as every time I felt close to vomiting, I thought about the baby growing in my belly. And every time I thought about my baby, I then felt even more nauseous, worrying my upset stomach may harm my unborn child. It was a vicious bloody circle, and, I was sure, an irrational one at that. Of course, my anger, fear, sickness and a whole heap of other emotions I dared not put names to, rushed through my stupid brain and body regardless.

  Sometimes, I wished I could rewind, but I never knew where exactly I would pause and press play. I wondered if I hadn’t read the letter would that have made any difference. I knew I wouldn’t be on the edge and feeling sick, but I also knew if I hadn’t and instead discovered he was released without me knowing, then it would have been a whole lot worse.

  I considered whizzing back to all those years ago. That night at the party. The night when my life tore apart. Life was filled with ifs and buts and what ifs; it was an aspect which I hated. There was no point. Turning back the time would not have made me the woman I was to become. Despite the shit I had been dealt, I’d also been given some pretty amazing moments, too. It was the need to focus, and look at the positive, that always managed to keep me grounded.

  Forgetting was impossible. It was the moving on which had been the hardest. Dealing with the reality of the pain and heartache had been destructive. Love was the only glue able to provide the strength to put me back together. I wasn’t like new, and I wasn’t exactly shiny and sparkly, but I was solid and whole.

  I was so caught up in trying to ignore my feelings and reality, which I completely sucked at, that I didn’t even see my mum sit next to me.

  “I spoke to Liam.”

  My awareness of Mum knowing about the letter sent a jolt of pesky reality through me. I nodded without looking at her and took a sip of my tea. I crunched on an ice cube, enjoying the coolness, and the fact that the volume blocked out the world around me, even though it was for a fraction of time.

  “I’m here when you’re ready.” I nodded once again and returned the squeeze of her hand she gave me. “Just know, we’re here and we’ll do whatever you want or need.” I gulped, swallowing my bubbling emotions. “You know Tony Trovalusci from your dad’s old work?”

  Turning to her, I raised a brow in question. I knew who he was. Tiny Tony was a funny, old Italian guy. He was crazy tall and really sweet. I had no idea why she made the bizarre subject change.

  “Well, I’m pretty convinced he has mafia connections.” I coughed on the fresh ice cube I was chewing on. “No, truly,” she continued, ignoring my choking. “If I need to, I can always talk to him. I’m sure I could organise a hip or something on him.”

  Hysteria swept through me. Visions of old Italian guys taking people out with their steel-reinforced hip replacements filtered through my mind. This was a complete contrast to my horror of my mum being deadly serious. Containing the laughter bubbling in my chest, I managed to speak. “Holy crap, Mum. Hit. It’s called a hit.”

  “A hit? Right.” She grabbed her bag off the side, rifled through and pulled out a pen and her notepad. “Hit. Okay, what else do I need to know? Is ‘pop a cap’ right?”

  “Shit, Mum. No.” I tore the notepad out of her hands, this time my laughter flying out of my body. It was loud and high-pitched, and it made me jump and clamp my hand over my mouth. “God, Mum,” I wheezed. “You can’t go round saying Tiny Tony is mafia just because he’s Italian.”

  She raised her brows at me. “No, Jo, I’d never do that. But I’m pretty sure I overhead him at the office once saying something about needing his driveway concreted. He ended it with ‘capiche’. I’ve watched a few movies in my time. I know that’s code for something.”

  It was too much. I grabbed the tea towel off the side, shoved it between my legs and raced to the bathroom. I had no idea if I was going to make it in time, but holy shit, my mum was making me piss myself.

  Sitting on the toilet, remarkably relieved I wouldn’t have to ask to borrow any spare undies or maybe a Tena Lady, I called out to Mum, “All it means is ‘do you understand’, Mum. It’s not code.” I shook my head as I flushed the toilet and washed up. I had no idea where my mum came up with half of the stuff she did. She was far from unintelligent. She’d had a really successful business over the years, so much so, she had been able to sell and retire early. Nope, she was far from dumb. A genuine smile plastered my face. This was exactly the reason why I needed to see Mum. My wonderful, crazy-arsed mum.

  “Thank you,” I said, bumping shoulders with her as I sat down.

  She leaned over and pulled me into an embrace, tight and familiar. Kissing my head, with her lips against my hair, she whispered, “Anytime, sweetie, but you think carefully about what I’ve said. Anything.” I nodded as she moved away, a smile still sitting contently on my face.

  “So…” she said, standing and making her way to the cupboard. She opened the door and removed a VHS. “This looks like a perfect time to me. What do you think?”

  My smile slipped and I was sure my face had turned white. Hell, no. It was time to get out of crazy town.

  It wasn’t like I was opposed to grotesquely bright colours and Disney characters painted on the wall, but staring at the sad-face Eeyore made me want to pull out the magnolia and repaint the waiting room. Liam was antsy. His knee bobbed up and down and it was pushing me over the edge. I had no idea what to expect when we arrived for my twelve-week scan, but it most definitely wasn’t the level of anxiety sweeping through my system. Having a full bladder ready to explode wasn’t helping, either.

  “If you don’t still your knee, I swear on Eeyore’s pinned-on tail, I’ll find a pin to stick on your arse.” I stood and re-paced the room, hoping the movement would distract me enough to ignore Liam, who was more nervous than I was, and stop me from opening my bladder in front of the young couple to my left. I was reaching the point of squatting in the corner of the room. Hell, right in the centre was not beneath me.

  The loved-up couple looked horrified at my sneer. The damn woman wasn’t even jiggling on the spot. I grimaced and was on the edge of a disparaging remark, which would no doubt get me kicked out, when a nurse entered the room and called our names.

  Sighing in relief while still clenching my pelvic floor muscles—it was the only way to stop my pee from trickling—I sped ahead of Liam, not looking back to see if he was following. I needed the scan over as soon as humanly possible. I’d already eyed five possible routes to the toilets.

  Lying back on the hospital bed, the doctor talked Liam and me through the procedure and explained what she was looking for. Fingers brushed against mine, drawing my attention to Liam. He looked down at me, a nervous smile flickering across his face, and his hand found mine more securely. At the contact, I released a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding, glancing back at the screen just as the sound of what was undoubtedly a heartbeat filled the room.

  I gripped Liam’s hand and squeezed, all thoughts of peeing my pants forgotten. On the dark screen, an amazing image appeared—an alien Liam and me. It was bloody perfect, beyond amazing. Most definitely an alien life form, which explained my aversion to all things citrus and my projectile vomiting whenever I was in a car for longer than fifteen minutes, but the wriggling baby before us was at that moment the point where everything clicked.

  Everything truly happened for a reason. The epiphany hit me with my knickers halfway down my arse and a glob of sticky wetness on my slightly swollen stomach. Despite the crazy and regardless of the pitfalls, the squirming image on the screen made everything make sense.

  “Damn, Jo…” Liam trailed off.

  “I know.” And I did. Liam’s lips found mine, and he kissed me sweetly. Opening my eyes, I didn’t brush away the tears that escaped.

  “Perfect,” he murmured with another kiss.

  Pulling away, we looked at the doctor who cleared her throat. “Okay, everything looks wonderful. I can tell
you that August 31st is your predicted due date.”

  I knew I should have been listening to everything the doctor explained afterwards, but my brain swam with dates and lists, and my bladder chose that moment to remind me it was time to get the heck out of there. With a jiggling body while pulling my trousers higher up to cover my knickers, I said my thanks to the doctor and raced out of there, only half-listening to the information she was sharing with Liam.

  It wasn’t until after I could finally think and breathe again that sad-faced Eeyore didn’t look as sad as before. I reached out, stroked the paint on the wall, and smiled. Maybe I could cope with the cheery crap that seemed to come with pregnancy, because if experiencing the wondrous moment of hearing my baby’s heartbeat and seeing the munchkin dance its booty around in my belly was anything to go by, then I could pretty much become used to it all.

  Liam handed me the printout of our scan. “You were thinking alien, right?” he said, looping his arm around my shoulder.

  I laughed, looking at the image again. “Yep. A pretty amazing alien, though.”

  He kissed my temple. “You’ve got that right.”

  As we stepped out into the March sun, the light breeze brushed against us, bringing with it an enticing Frangipani fragrance. I inhaled, enjoying the sweetness of the scent. As we walked by the beautiful tree, I bent down and picked up a few fallen flowers. Liam, resecuring his arm around my shoulder, gave it a light squeeze as we continued toward our car, both silent and caught up in our thoughts.

  Chapter Eight

  Liam

  “Sod it.” My mind was not on the computer in front of me. Instead, it was drifting to my phone, waiting for a call from Mace. Saving my work and powering off, I looked in Jo’s direction. She was in the glass-walled meeting room, putting the final pieces in place for Sutton. She was smiling and laughing as she stood and shook his hand. He nodded toward her rounded belly and made a comment that left her smiling even wider and rubbing her swelling bump. She indicated her head in my direction and turned a moment later, still talking. Seeing me watching her, she winked before turning back and ushering Sutton toward the door.