The Wrong Heart

by Jennifer Hartmann

  He jumped off a bridge.

  He jumped off a bridge right in front of me, and now I don’t know where he is.

  Tears rush to my eyes while anxiety courses through me. My fingers fumble with the button, pressing it over and over until the mint green curtain shimmies before me, and a familiar face pokes through.

  Dr. Whitley.

  Bree.

  “Melody,” she says softly, her chestnut ringlets piled high on her head. “How are you feeling?”

  I swallow. “Why am I here? Where’s Parker?”

  Her smile is easy, natural. Like mine. Bree paces forward with careful steps, coming up beside my cot. “You fainted. When you came to, you were overcome with panic, so we administered a sedative.”

  Warmth radiates from bronze-tinged eyes as she reaches out to place a tender palm along my arm. It’s an intimate gesture, something beyond what a regular doctor would do.

  But I suppose I’m not a regular patient.

  Licking my chafed lips, I feel my bottom lip start to tremble. “Parker… is he okay?”

  She nods quickly. “He’s going to be fine. I’ll monitor him for any long-term side effects and watch out for signs of lung infection, but he’s acting like his usual stubborn self.” Bree’s smile blooms through watery eyes. “He hasn’t stopped asking about you. He’s so worried.”

  My heartrate quickens. “Can I see him?”

  I need him. I need him in my arms, flesh to flesh, beating heart to beating heart.

  “Soon,” she tells me. “I’m about to go sign off on his discharge papers, and then I’ll get you guys out of here. But first…” Bree pulls her lips between her teeth, the pressure of her touch increasing on my arm. She falters, inhaling a long, shaky breath. “I need to go over some results with you. We ran a blood test when you were brought in.”

  I freeze, my muscles locking. Nerves race through me, triggering more nausea.

  Oh, God… am I dying?

  My mind is inundated with worst case scenarios: brain tumors, cancer, cancerous brain tumors.

  Bile climbs up my throat.

  Bree takes a seat on my bedside, her eyes glinting with tears as she squeezes me, her unsaid words coiling around me like a serpent.

  No, please.

  I’m not ready!

  I can almost envision a reverend pushing through the curtain, a barrage of mourning and last rites.

  “You’re pregnant, Melody.”

  No! A brain tumor!

  Wait.

  Her words penetrate my fog of fear, and I slowly begin to register what she actually said. Goosebumps scatter along my arms as my heart thunders with stunned, stupefied beats. A sharp breath hitches in the back of my throat. My mind spins. My limbs start to quiver.

  I’m pregnant.

  I’m pregnant.

  Our respective tears fall at the same time, and Bree lets out a choked-up, weepy laugh. “Congratulations.”

  I lift a hand to cup my mouth. A sob, riddled with equal parts joy and disbelief, is muffled by my palm, and I close my eyes to process this unexpected bomb. “How… how far along am I?”

  Bree swipes two fingers under her eye, streaking the tears away. “Judging by your HCG levels, you’re likely six to eight weeks along. We’ll need to schedule an ultrasound to be sure.”

  Emotions torpedo through me, stealing the air from my lungs.

  The morning after pill must have failed.

  I’ve been pregnant this whole time.

  Holding back an incredulous cry, I wonder aloud, “Does Parker know?”

  She shakes her head, her dark curls dancing in her topknot, and then she slides a loving hand up and down my arm. “That’s for you to tell him, Melody. Although, I’d give anything to see his face when you give him the news.” Bree reels in her own elated emotions, sighing deeply. “God, my little brother is going to be a father…”

  Her own love for Parker radiates off of her, heady and potent. She drifts away for a moment, her eyes reflecting years of memories—pain, joy, kinship. I see her relief, her pride, and I wonder what hardships they went through together. I want to hear their stories, relive their friendship and bond. I’m yearning to know everything.

  A swell of forgiveness and understanding fills me as I clasp the back of her hand with my palm. Bree is a good person. Her aura is pure and kind, and her heart bleeds with empathy. She would do anything for her brother.

  And I realize then… if she craved to see Parker’s smile just as much as I did, I can’t really blame her for what she did.

  We’re not so different, she and I.

  While my tears continue to track down my cheeks, I give her knuckles a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” I whisper in a ragged breath. “I understand why you did it.”

  Her eyes widen to copper saucers as her throat bobs with a swallow. She nods through her own tears. “I truly didn’t mean to hurt you, Melody. Please know that. My intentions were noble, but I realize now that it wasn’t right. It wasn’t my place to meddle.”

  “I know,” I assure her. “It’s okay.”

  A grateful smile tugs at her lips. “Thank you.” Her gaze dances away, settling on the bleached sheets, and she adds softly, “Thank you for everything… for what you’ve done for Parker. I feared my brother would never find happiness or joy, or see life as anything other than a burden. An affliction.”

  Heartache stabs at me as I listen thoughtfully.

  “His heart is strong, but it never had anything to fight for,” Bree finishes, finding her way back to me and sealing her words with a glimmering smile. She lifts her hand, placing it atop the bed cover that’s draped over my belly. “Now he has everything.”

  —THIRTY-NINE—

  Home.

  This feels like home.

  Not necessarily the four walls or the ruddy bricks, or even the curtain of tall, lush trees that surround the property, giving it an air of peaceful seclusion.

  It’s this.

  This man.

  This new life fluttering in my belly.

  After Bree discharged us from the hospital, she led Parker to my room. His eyes were tired and weary, but his arms felt safe and eager as he pulled me into an emotional embrace, kissing the top of my head and hushing away my tears as they fell hard against his chest. We held each other for a long time, while three precious heartbeats filled my soul with hope.

  We shared an Uber ride over to our vehicles, still parked near the bridge, then drove separately to Parker’s house where I plan to share my news with him.

  Stepping out of my car, I jog towards him down the gravel driveway, entwining our fingers together when we meet beside his truck. Parker inhales a weighty breath, leaning back against the hood with a sigh. His eyes don’t find me right away. They are cast just beyond my shoulder, flickering with something I can’t quite read. “Hey… look at me.” My hand lifts, and I graze my fingertips along the bristles shadowing his jawline. “Are you okay?”

  Parker tenses, wavering before meeting my searching stare. “Sorry, I just…” He blows out a hard puff of air, like he’s trying to regroup. “I feel all fucked-up inside. Itchy. Off-kilter.”

  “You just went through a trauma, Parker. It’s understandable.”

  His eyes close tight as a sticky breeze rolls through. “I feel like I fucking failed.”

  My stomach pitches at his words. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not? It’s the truth. I failed you, and now I failed him,” Parker bites out, looking away again. He withdraws before I’ve even had a chance to try and reach him. “He’s dead. I knew it when I was dragging him out of that goddamn bay.”

  A heavy sorrow saturates the air around us. Bree gave us the grim news before we left the hospital—they’d done everything they could, but the man on the bridge didn’t make it.

  My eyes had shifted to Parker in that moment, and I swore I could see a tiny light flicker out. A cloud rolled in, casting shadows all over him.

  He dimmed.

 
“Parker…” I lower my hand from his cheek, grasping both of his palms in mine. “Don’t do that to yourself. This is not your weight to carry. I just witnessed the most selfless, heroic thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and it only makes me want you a thousand times more.”

  Parker’s eyes dip back to me, flaring as he registers my words. His grip on my hands tighten. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean, Melody.”

  “I mean it,” I reply in a whispered, valiant breath. “You didn’t fail me—you made a mistake. Mistakes make us human. Mistakes have the potential to mold us into better, stronger people.” His eyes catch the pearly starlight as they dance across my face, brows creasing with reflection. “You did a good thing tonight, Parker… a really good thing. The outcome doesn’t erase that.”

  His shoulders deflate, his forehead dropping to mine as he pulls me closer. We hold each other in silence for a few beats, wrapped up in the mere vitality of one another, serenaded by the song of the cicadas and our healing heartbeats. “I’m so fuckin’ glad you’re okay,” he mutters, pressing a light kiss to my hairline. Then he says with a sigh, “Thanks for following me home. I’m probably going to hit the shower and head to bed.”

  I nuzzle into him with a nod. It’s the middle of the night, nearing the early morning hours, and it’s been an exhausting day. Maybe my big reveal should wait until tomorrow when we’re both more clear-headed.

  Parker gives me another kiss before straightening. “You’re good to drive home?”

  My heart skips.

  I flinch as I take a step back, not expecting the direction of his query. My skin prickles with dismissal as a brisk wave of queasiness causes my belly to swirl. “You don’t want me to stay?”

  He stiffens. A beat passes while he processes the mood, tousling his fingers through unruly hair. Parker studies me, his gaze taking in my startled expression through incandescent moonlight. “Shit, you want to?”

  “Of course, I want to,” I say, an earnest plea. “You almost died, Parker. I-I watched you almost die… only a few hours ago. You dropped fifty feet right before my eyes.” A surge of panic bubbles to the surface, snuffing out my words and stealing my breath. “Please, don’t make me leave. I need to hold you, wake up with you beside me, breathing and warm…”

  “Fuck, Melody, I’m sorry.” Parker collects me in his arms, gliding his hands up to my face, cupping my cheeks. His green eyes shimmer with anguish. “Jesus… please stay. I want you to.”

  My breathing is unhinged, bordering on manic. All I can muster is a nod.

  “I figured you were still pissed at me,” he explains, worry laced into his words and his touch. He dusts his thumbs along my flushed cheekbones. “I wasn’t sure if we were okay. I didn’t want to assume all was forgiven, just because I launched myself into the fuckin’ bay.”

  “We’re okay.” I say it quickly, confidently, and then I repeat it. “We’re okay, Parker. It’s over. I forgive you.”

  Pulling our foreheads back together, he sucks in a hard breath through gritted teeth. A sound escapes him, one I’ve never heard before. Ragged, strained, almost painful.

  Heart-rending relief.

  “Fuck…” Parker’s fingers coil around to the base of my neck, clamping hard, his desperation sinking into me. I feel his need. “Are you still mine?”

  My favorite song echoes in my mind, and I keep nodding, my tears spilling free. “Yes,” I murmur, watching his eyes snap shut, like he’s soaking up my assent and carving it into his bones. “I’m yours. I’m only yours.”

  “Goddamn, I don’t deserve you.”

  Leaning up, I place a kiss to his bottom lip, lingering as I mutter, “You deserve more than you know.”

  Another kiss follows, just as light, but then the tip of my tongue flicks out for a quick taste along his lip. Salt and sweetness. Sensuality stirs between us, pulling our emotions in a new direction, and I melt into him with a sigh of longing.

  Parker’s hands vanish beneath the hem of my sundress until he’s gripping my bare waist, his heated stare locked on my mouth. Our pelvises grind together as I lean in closer, and his fingers inch behind me, sneaking underneath the trim of my underwear. He groans when his palms slide inside, cupping my backside. “Christ, Melody, get in the fucking house. I need to be inside you.”

  A whimper escapes me. “Wait… wait, you should rest. Recover,” I urge, despite the way my body buzzes with disagreement.

  “I don’t need rest.” Parker squeezes my ass, tugging me flush against his erection. “I’ve been asleep for nearly thirty years. All I need is you.”

  Our lips crash together, tongues tangling instantly. My head falls back when he raises a hand to my head, tugging on my hair, angling my mouth to taste me deeper through a frenzied growl.

  I pull back to breathe. Grazing my hands up his chest, I rest them on his shoulders as we collect our bearings, and I force myself to say, “Shower. Rest.” His body hums and sways with both exhaustion and lust. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

  Parker’s resolve wanes, his long sigh kissing the hairs on my head. A small nod of concession follows. “Okay.”

  We make our way inside, giving Walden a few minutes of attention before Parker slips into the shower and I retreat to his bedroom. Sifting through his drawer of t-shirts, unfolded and in disarray, I pluck one out and decide to use it as a nightshirt.

  Butterflies scatter low in my belly as my bare feet traipse to his unmade bedside, and I slink beneath the cool sheets. I mold into the covers, inhaling his familiar scent.

  Earthy woods and musky raindrops. Hints of cedar and pine. It’s not cologne—Parker isn’t one for appearances—so, it must be his soap or fabric softener.

  A smile lifts with warmth.

  Will our baby be a boy, smelling of a Colorado mountainside?

  Or a girl? Citrus and sunshine?

  Will he build and carve, or will she bake and smile?

  Enchanting thoughts skip across my brain, dousing me in daydreams. A baby. I’ve wanted children since I was a child myself, from little toy dolls to babysitting the neighborhood kids. Charlie and I had a life plan, a plan that was cut short, cruelly severing my visions of ever becoming a mother. Months went by where I was plagued with vivid memories of that water running red in the shower, blood trickling down my thighs, my body purging all final remnants of hope.

  Hope.

  Parker said once that hope was for the weak.

  It was my very first day at those meetings, and his words burned me. They rattled me straight to the core.

  But maybe he was right—hope is for the weak. The frail and the struggling.

  The breakable.

  Hope is the glue.

  And there is no shame in that. There is no shame in weakness, in wanting more, in failure or defeat. Without those moments of weakness, we would never truly appreciate the beauty of our strength.

  Hope is the stepping stone for grief and suffering, and then it’s up to us to do the rest. To fill in our dark holes, stitch our wounds, and make our way to the other side.

  A wistful smile still paints my face when Parker steps into the bedroom twenty minutes later, his hair damp and mussed, adorning a light gray t-shirt and boxer briefs. He lingers, his eyes skimming over me through the lamp-lit space, flickering with thoughtful emotion.

  I sit up, gently patting the empty space beside me. “Hi.”

  His own smile twitches on his mouth. He wavers for a brief moment, like he’s taking it all in, then paces forward. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this.”

  “Seeing me in your bed?” I grin.

  “Seeing you in my bed, my space, my fucking clothes.” Parker climbs onto the mattress, prowling towards me, his arm draping over my torso and pulling me close. He trails a rough hand up and down my midsection, drinking in the sight of me in his t-shirt, and settles it on my stomach. He finishes in a low breath, “Everywhere.”

  Inhaling sharply, I meet his gaze. “I feel you everywhere, too,” I
whisper back, placing my hand atop his as he unknowingly palms my belly. “You’re inside me.”

  His eyes flare with heat. “Fuck, I really want to be.”

  “You are.” When Parker tries to move his hand downward, I halt his efforts, keeping it low on my abdomen. “You’re inside me right now.”

  A frown appears between his brows when he realizes I’m trying to tell him something. “Like, in your heart and shit? Is this a girly metaphor?”

  My smile blossoms wide, a chuckle slipping out. “No. It’s a fact. You’re literally inside me.”

  “Shit, Melody, maybe I swallowed too much sewer water, but I’m not—” Parker cuts himself off, going still. He blinks once. Twice. His attention goes straight to our joined hands, resting on top of my stomach, and when his focus flicks back to my face, the revelation is clear. It’s striking. “Are you telling me you’re fucking pregnant?”

  Tears shoot to my eyes, and all I can do is nod.

  “Jesus Christ…” Parker scrubs a hand over his face, holding his jaw as he reins in a breath. A silent, heavy beat passes between us, the air charged and thick, his eyes closing tight. When his eyelids ping back open, jade irises are glistening with emotion and disbelief. “We’re going to be parents?”

  My head bobs with fervor, my chin trembling. “Yes,” I reply, only a gasp. “Your sister told me at the hospital. They ran a blood test.”

  “Fuck. Holy fuck.”

  Parker launches at me, his one hand still clasped over my belly, while the other tangles in my hair, fisting the long strands as his face hovers above me. My core clenches at the indescribable expression on his face, the awe, the love. He lets out something like a moan as he holds me tight, and I lift up to kiss his lips. “Parker, I love you.”

  Another desperate, virile sound escapes him as he tenses on top of me. “Jesus, you’re fucking killing me right now.”

  “I love you,” I say again, coiling my legs around his hips while my hands cradle his face. “I love you so much, Parker Denison. You. All of your scars, your shadows, and your perfect, perfect heart. I’m not giving up on you. Not now, not ever.”