I collapsed in the lounger, my hands fisted in my hair, and thought of the royal fuck up I’d become.
My head pounded with alcohol and stress. My body hurt. My eyes burned.
Life is shit. Complete and total shit.
I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, sucking in a few long draws before pulling my phone out of my pocket.
Amy didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve me, the asshole I was being, and she sure as shit didn’t deserve to raise a baby on her own, with only a deadbeat dad.
I flicked past her name, back and forth, up and down as I thought about calling her, telling her to come back. It was late, dark, her apartment was only a few blocks from mine, but I was such a prick for letting her walk away. Maybe I could catch her at the entrance before she left the building.
I flicked farther down my list and landed on Mia’s name.
I was so fucking torn in two.
Between obligation and love.
Right and wrong.
Just like I’d always been.
I tried to put my life in clear columns.
Keeping my brother in my life was a good thing.
Sleeping with my brother’s fiancée, or ex-fiancée, was bad.
Being a father to my kid was good.
Checking out on Amy was bad.
I puffed down to the end of my smoke and tossed it over the railing before stepping in the apartment, tossing my phone across the counter, and heading for the shower.
I smelled like a fucking bar. After a long hot shower and a shave, I would have my wits about me and call Amy before bed. Grovel if I had to. Promise her I would change because I wanted to. She deserved it and so did the baby.
I pulled off my shirt and caught a glimpse of the colorful flower etched on my chest.
“Mom,” I mumbled in the mirror. My eyes took in the darkly shaded green leaves of the bundle of azaleas splayed across my right pectoral. The various shades of blue petals that deepened to black. The flower was both beautiful and ominous. Striking and intricate. “I wish you were here to tell me what’s up and what’s down.” I clutched at the edge of the porcelain sink before twisting the knobs in the shower. I turned it as hot as I could stand and stood under the spray.
The hot water, like thousands of needles, stabbed my skin. It fucking hurt, burned, had my skin screaming, but in another fucked up sense, it was a relief. A relief to forget the epic mistakes I had made, and was still making.
And suddenly I knew why Mia cut.
My foggy brain registered a blaring noise.
I rolled over and tossed a pillow over my head until finally it stopped.
I started to settle back into sleep when it started again.
“What the hell?” I mumbled and rolled over. My phone was rattling on the bed beside me. I’d meant to call Amy last night after my shower, but I’d passed out before I could. Now her name was dancing across my screen at three in the morning.
This wasn’t good. At all. Really fucking bad. Jesus, what if she was hurt? What if some psycho had followed her home last night?
“Amy?”
“I'm a nurse at Mercy Hospital. Amy Taylor has you listed as an emergency contact.”
“What’s wrong? Is she okay?”
“We’re going to need you to come down. As soon as possible.”
“Tell me if she’s okay. Fuck,” I muttered as I jumped out of bed and scrambled to pull my pants up my legs while juggling the phone against my shoulder and ear.
“We need you to come as soon as you can.”
“Christ, okay. I’ll be there in ten.” I shoved my phone in my pocket, threw a shirt over my head, and ran out the door, pulling shoes on as I went.
I arrived at Mercy exactly eight minutes later. I passed through reception in a daze as they instructed me to the third floor. I rushed off the elevator and pushed through doors that said Labor and Delivery Unit.
God, the baby.
The nurse frowned when I burst through and then, once she saw the presumably wild, confused look in my eyes, her face softened.
“Can I help you?”
I nodded. “Amy Taylor.”
“I’ll tell the doctor you’re here. Take a seat.”
“I want to see her.”
“Just a minute. The doctor will want to speak to you first.”
I swallowed the thick bile rising in my throat and slumped into a chair in the waiting room. The cry of a baby echoed down the otherwise silent hallway and my heart wrenched at the thought that something could have happened to Amy and the baby that had her here and in danger.
“You're the emergency contact for Amy Taylor?”
I nodded and stood, shaking hands with the short Asian man who stood before me.
“I'm Dr. Yu. Are you the father?”
“Yes.” The word escaped in a whoosh.
“Amy came in tonight with severe cramping. She said it’d been happening along with some spotting off and on all night, but didn’t think it was anything serious. She said she’d left your place tonight? Walked home?” The doctor held my eyes, a disapproving look painted his face.
I only nodded, urging him to continue.
“She woke up with increased cramping and a significant amount of blood. She called the ambulance and they got her here as fast as they could.”
My heart thudded in my ears, pounded out of my chest.
“Is she okay?” I croaked out the words.
“She’s settled now, but the baby—”
“Jesus.” I slumped back in the chair, unprepared to hear the words I was worried were about to come out of his mouth.
“It’s what we call a spontaneous abortion.”
“Abortion?”
“A miscarriage. She isn't in much pain, but she's been quite upset. We've given her something to help her sleep. Because she was just past ten weeks, we recommend she has a D and C, probably tomorrow, as soon as we can get her scheduled.”
He continued on about infection and fetal tissue, but my ears tuned him out. I couldn’t think. My hands began to shake, my leg bounced. Amy had lost the baby. Amy was in pain. Amy would need a surgery to remove our baby from her body.
“Why did this happen?” Was this my fault? was my real question.
“We can’t really say. Miscarriages are common in the first trimester. Sometimes a chromosomal abnormality, if she fell recently . . .”
“No, I don’t think so.” I shook my head.
“Stress can sometimes play a roll.”
Stress. There it was. My fucking fault. She’d left my place upset. I’d let her walk home. In the dark, at night. I’d ruined her. Taken another life. I couldn't stand it. I shot up and ran for the bathroom I’d passed on the way in. I stuck my head in the toilet and emptied my stomach of all the alcohol I’d poured in it earlier.
I was so fucking useless for anyone I came into contact with. I'd ruined Amy’s life, caused her to lose our baby. Fucked up Mia, my brother, everything I touched turned to black. I was dying a slow death and taking everyone down with me.
I squeezed my eyes shut and sucked in deep breaths before standing and walking into reception.
“I can take you to see her, but she’s trying to sleep, so try not to keep her up.” The nurse nodded and I followed behind her down the long hallway.
We finally turned into a darkened room, the soft glow of monitors the only light. Amy’s dark blonde hair fell around her shoulders in a messy halo, her skin ashy and pale, eyelids resting softly as she sucked in soft breaths in her sleep.
She really was beautiful. Sweet. So undeserving of the hell I’d brought her.
The nurse nodded again and closed the door behind me. I set a chair next to Amy’s bed and planted myself in it. My fingers ached to touch her hand, wake her up, and surround her in a hug. Soothe her. She’d been excited for this baby, happy. She’d always wanted one. I just had so much painful regret that I’d been involved in any way.
I smoothed my fingertips across the scratchy
hospital blanket until they caressed the soft skin of her hand. I held my hand over hers and tried to bite back the guilt that felt ready to suffocate me.
Her fingers twitched before her eyes slowly opened and came to focus on my face.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” She smiled softly, pain etched around her face.
“Are you in pain? Can I do anything, get anything for you?”
“No.”
I rubbed a hand up her forearm. Goose bumps broke out across her skin and she shivered.
“Cold? I can have them turn off the air.”
“No.”
“Amy, I’m really fucking sorry. This is my fault, and it never should have happened. None of it— the working, the drinking.”
Soft tears began to trail down her cheeks. She swiped at them angrily. “Something didn’t feel right the last few weeks. Just off.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her eyes landed on me, telling me everything I already knew. I’d been checked out. Unavailable to her, even when we were in the same room. I nodded and bent my head to kiss her knuckles.
“You should go back to sleep. You need rest.”
She nodded before curling deeper into her pillow as her eyes drifted closed again.
“I’ll be right here, Amy. Not leaving, I promise.”
She mumbled a soft assent before sleep consumed her. I held her hand all night, my head sometimes resting on the bed at her knees. I drifted in and out of sleep. Sweet sleep. Because when I was asleep, I could forget that I’d ruined the beautiful woman who was lying in a hospital bed because of me. I had no right to her, or anyone, for that matter. I was poisonous and no doubt better off left alone, so there was only myself to fuck up.
As darkness melted into dawn, I made a decision. When Amy got better, got past this, I would leave. She deserved so much better, so much more, but until that time came, I would be there for her as long as she needed. Heal her as long as she wanted me. But when she was better, I'd be out of her life in an instant, before I could bring her down with me again.
The first full day after surgery, when I was assured she was okay, I'd slipped out and had gone home to dump out every bottle of liquor I owned.
I was scared shitless about going cold turkey, but I didn't see another alternative.
Four days after the miscarriage, I was bringing Amy to my place. She'd had to stay a few days after the D and C. They'd had trouble controlling the bleeding after the procedure and wanted to monitor her for infection.
I’d called Louise over and had her deep-clean everything. The stain from the broken bourbon bottle was gone, the walls scrubbed, upholstery cleaned. Gone was all alcohol and any traces that I’d ever smoked a cigarette in the apartment.
I’d also had Louise make up the spare bedroom. Amy couldn’t have sex for six weeks at least, which was fine, but I wasn’t sure she’d even want to sleep next to me. I was giving her my bed and I would sleep in the spare.
I cooked shrimp scampi for dinner and waited on her dutifully until she turned in early.
I stretched my arms over my head. Sleeping on the stiff, pullout couch at the hospital had wreaked havoc on my back. I cleaned up our few dinner items before swiping my smokes and heading for the balcony.
I might have quit drinking, but I wasn’t a fucking saint.
I propped my legs on the railing and lit up, sucking in a long inhale and turning my head to the sky.
I hadn’t called or texted Mia.
I didn’t even have the energy to miss Mia. My brain had been run into the ground from exhaustion, guilt, shame. Even the love was gone. Desire, need, my sex drive—all gone. Disappeared like a raindrop in a hurricane. All blurred together in a whirlwind of destruction until it didn't matter which way was up and which way was down. All that mattered was the resulting devastation that I would have to clean up.
I ran my tongue along the top of my teeth before taking another drag. The glass door slid open behind me and I turned to find Amy stepping out into the soft moonlight.
“Hey. You okay?” I stubbed out my cigarette and jumped from the lounger.
“Yeah.” She curled her arms around her body and stood at the railing, looking out over the city of Portland.
“Do you want me to get you anything?” I stepped up, ran a hand up her arm, and rubbed it to soothe her.
She nodded and turned into my body, tucking her head into my chest before sobs escaped her lips. My chest ached. I wrapped her up in my arms, her small, petite frame shuddering against me.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Amy,” I murmured in her hair as I held her.
“Thanks for being there.”
“Yeah.”
“Ridge?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t leave, okay?”
“I won’t, baby.” I held her a little tighter.
“I just can’t . . . I couldn’t take it.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“I love you.” Her fingers fisted in my T-shirt, as if she were holding on for dear life.
And it was right then that I knew. Amy still loved me. Amy didn’t know what was good for her. Because if she knew, if she’d learned anything, it was that I would destroy her, dismantle her piece by piece until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of what she’d once been.
“Let’s go to bed,” I muttered and stroked the hair down on the crown of her head.
“Sleep with me?” She tucked her arms around my torso.
“Yeah.” I tugged her in the door, sliding it closed with one hand before supporting her down the hallway and into my room. She slid into the sheets and I went in after her, wrapped her in my arms, and stuck my nose into the crook of her neck as I held her tightly.
A month went by just like that.
A month and Amy had all but moved in.
A month and we were all but playing house.
At her first post-op appointment, Amy was told there was a lot of scar tissue from the miscarriage and the resulting procedure to remove the vestiges of the pregnancy from her body. The doctor said she might have problems with future pregnancies. She may suffer infertility.
Amy sobbed in the car on the way home. I tucked her into bed as she wet my pillow with her tears.
That was another nail in my coffin.
Ridge fucking Wild, sucker of life and dreams.
I deserved some sort of hell worse than even available here on Earth.
I headed for the balcony, smokes in hand.
Maybe I’d retire from the daily operations of the restaurant and live in a small cabin on a lake somewhere. Fish everyday, get a dog.
Or a cat.
I think I was more a cat guy.
They were a lot more self-sufficient. I wasn’t good with things that relied on me to survive.
Amy was finally back at work, and we were going through the motions. I worked, I came home, we made dinner, ate, watched TV, and then went to bed.
We got up in the morning and did it all over again.
I wasn’t thinking and I wasn’t drinking. I was only taking care of Amy.
And the pain in my chest grew bigger.
This wasn’t my life. Was this what my brother had? I’d spent so long envying his happy little life with Kat, but if that was this, I hated it. I was suffocating.
Amy seemed to be healing. Her spirits seemed to rebound slowly, although she wasn’t the same girl she’d been.
I think it was my fault. I think she was feeding off my apathy.
I think I was still poisoning her, even when I was taking care of her.
Two weeks later, and Amy was cleared for sex.
I knew she’d gone to her appointment today. She’d texted me after, and insinuated that tonight was special.
I knew what she expected, what she wanted to happen, but I was scared. Scared shitless. At some point over the last six weeks, she'd become a friend, not my lover.
And I suspected I was doing a shit job of taking care of her. I c
ouldn't even take care of myself. But I was forced to, and it was okay; she was in this position because of me, but that didn't mean I could get hard for her.
I hadn’t fucked her, or even my hand, since the miscarriage.
I hadn't been with anyone since Mia.
The night it had all imploded. The night I'd called her, drunk on whiskey and despair. The night she'd taken me back to her place, where we'd fucked, showered, and then curled up in bed.
The night I'd found out she'd tattooed her body for me.
The night I found out she was cutting.
The night she found out I was going to be a dad.
It was all too painful even to process.
The memory ate at my heart, tore a hole in my chest the size of the state of Maine, and somehow I wanted to live there, stay rooted deep within the miserable existence that was my life.
I passed the liquor store on the way home and slowed a few steps.
I thought about going in, grabbing a bottle, and sitting out on the patio and getting tanked. Let the liquor pump through my system and numb me cell by cell, nerve by nerve.
But Amy.
Always Amy.
I didn’t have the heart to destroy her any more than I already had.
So I lit another smoke and kept walking.
I opened the door to my apartment to find Amy cooking. The rich smells of tomato and garlic floated in the air.
I cracked my neck, kicked off my shoes, and padded my way to the kitchen.
She stood, stirring sauce in lacy boy shorts and a ruffled apron and nothing else, the curve of her breasts visible around the black fabric of the apron.
It was meant to get me going, make me hard, have us reconnect.
And I fucking tried.
I tried to be what she wanted, tried to have the reaction she deserved.
But fuck if I couldn’t.
She twirled and stepped over to me, ran her palms up my arms, and hit me with a deep kiss. Our tongues tangled and I waited for the familiar stirring of my dick in my pants.
It didn’t come.
I pulled away, held her at arm’s length, and let my eyes peruse her body. I was giving her the reaction she wanted, the one she deserved, because she did deserve it—she was a beautiful girl.
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