“Brody, no. No, I’m so sorry. God, when did this happen?” I asked when he’d been quiet a few minutes.
“Early this morning,” he groaned. “Olivia sent me to the store, she said she just wanted some quiet time so I took Tate with me. It was icy, so fucking icy, so I was being careful. We were stopped at a red light, and the guy—the guy behind me couldn’t stop.” Brody didn’t say anything else for a minute as more cries filled the phone. “It pushed us out into the intersection and we got hit hard. I couldn’t stop the car from spinning—I swear to God I tried! I tried so damn hard! It just wouldn’t stop, I couldn’t stop us. We hit a median, but another car that had been trying to avoid us swerved into us. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up in an ambulance, and Tate—he was—fuck! This isn’t real, Steele! Tell me this isn’t fucking real! Tell me he’s still alive.”
“I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t force anything else out. I couldn’t believe this was happening to him, I didn’t know what to say to help him. I was in shock and thinking the same thing. That this couldn’t be real. But the pain in his voice . . . you couldn’t fake that.
I listened to him break down harder than he had the entire conversation, and tears filled my own eyes when he continued to scream his son’s name over and over again. His son, who he’d fought so hard to be able to see, who wasn’t even a year old, who was taken way too soon.
My chest ached for my friend, and my body screamed at me to get Parker and hug him tight. To keep him safe from anything that could possibly happen to him.
I knew then that I’d made the wrong decision. That I’d been quick to act on the first insecurity that popped up—all because of some other guy’s experience—and had possibly ruined everything. I needed Reagan and Parker. They were my family . . . my peace.
“Don’t let them go,” Saco said minutes later, his voice hoarse.
“What?”
“My son is gone, St—” he broke off with a cry. “I can’t get him back. You can . . . don’t let them go.”
“Brody, what can I do? I’ll get on the first flight to Oregon, I swear. But what can I do?”
“Just don’t let yours go. Promise me.”
“I’m not. I can’t let them go.” I grabbed a shirt and threw it on over my head before searching for my wallet and keys. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get Hudson, and we’ll be out there as soon as we can, all right? I’ll call you when I know details.”
“He can’t be gone,” he whispered.
Knowing there was nothing I could say, and that he needed someone now, I kept him on the phone as I left for Hudson’s apartment, and continued to listen to him cry until he told me his brother had just shown up and ended the call. Hudson hated me right now, but I knew I’d fucked up and was prepared to do anything to make it right again. But right now I was fighting with myself over whom to go to first. Reagan, or Saco. I needed to see her just as much as I needed to get to Oregon.
Like Saco last night, all that was going through my head was the definition of the warrior ethos from The Soldier’s Creed. “I will never quit,” is followed immediately by, “I will never leave a fallen comrade.” Those words went much deeper than the obvious, and right now, Saco was struggling. We needed to be there for him.
Pulling up outside Hudson’s building, I kept my car running and ran up the stairs to his apartment. I started banging on the door immediately, and didn’t stop until it opened.
I tried to dodge the flying fist too late and stumbled back as my hand went to my jaw.
“What do you want, you piece of shit?” he growled, and the look on his face was clear. He wanted to murder me.
“I know you’re pissed, I know. I’ll talk to you about that, but right now we need to buy tickets and get to Oregon.”
He hadn’t been expecting that, and his anger faded to confusion as his head jerked back. “Oregon? What—why?”
“Saco didn’t call you?”
Hudson stepped back and let me in, and I ran over to the kitchen table where his laptop was open and sat down. Goddamn, my jaw fucking hurt.
“I talked to him yesterday . . . what the fuck are you doing? I don’t want you in here, and I sure as shit don’t want you on my damn laptop. You ruined my little sister.”
I slammed my hand down on the table and stood back up. “I know that, Hudson. I. Fucking. Know. I made the biggest mistake of my life yesterday, but right now Saco needs us. He got in a wreck this morning with his son. Dude, Tate died. Saco’s so fucked up right now.”
“Shit,” he whispered, and pressed his fists onto the table, dropping his head. “You’re lying, right?”
“I wish I was.”
Straightening, he ran his hands over his face, and stood there staring at nothing for a few minutes before responding. “All right. Get us the first flight out of here, do you want my card?”
“No, I got it.”
“I’m gonna pack and call Erica, she’s at work right now.” He’d turned to head to his room, and turned right back around with a finger pointed at me. “This doesn’t change shit between us, you get me?”
I didn’t respond. I knew this wouldn’t change anything, and there was no point in responding to him. No matter what I said right now, we would end up fighting about it . . . and this wasn’t the time.
Chapter Twelve
Coen—November 5, 2010
HUDSON AND I stood back behind Saco for almost an hour after everyone had left the cemetery. The service had been short, and painfully heartbreaking, but nothing could compare as we watched the world’s smallest coffin be lowered into the ground.
There was nothing like it. No words to describe it.
Olivia screaming that Brody was a murderer had only served to have her hauled off by her father, and to have Brody collapse on himself as grief consumed him.
Never in my life had I wanted to hit a woman until that moment.
Stepping forward, I put a hand on Saco’s shoulder, and waited to see if he would respond. He didn’t. He stood there, still as stone, staring at the fresh mound of dirt.
“This wasn’t your fault,” I told him a few minutes later. “There’s nothing you could have—”
“Don’t let them go,” Saco mumbled. “They could be gone tomorrow. Be with them, enjoy them, love them while they’re here.”
I nodded but didn’t respond. I didn’t want to talk about Reagan and Parker with him now, not when we were staring at his son’s grave. I didn’t want to talk about what I’d thrown away, and was trying so hard to get back, when the person he loved most in the world was gone.
Instead, I took a step back, knowing he wasn’t ready to leave this place yet. Glancing at Hudson, he gave me a look and I nodded. We’d have to take Saco from here soon, or he’d drive himself crazy. He needed to keep grieving, but he needed to do it away from where he looked like he was about to lie down and never leave.
I’d called Reagan at least a dozen times a day every day since I’d shown up at Hudson’s place, but she’d never once picked up. Hudson had even let me use his phone, but she’d hung up the second she heard my voice. And every time, I felt like I was closer and closer to losing them for good.
After I told Hudson about the call from Saco and the story about my client’s relationship, and how those conversations had started the worries and insecurities that had snowballed out of control into what went down in Reagan’s apartment, he’d understood. He’d punched me again the second we got out of the airport in Oregon, but he’d understood. He knew I’d made a mistake, and he knew I’d do anything to get them back. But there was only so much I could do while I was a couple states away, and right now, Hudson and I needed to be there for our brother.
Reagan—November 7, 2010
MY BODY STIFFENED when I felt my phone start vibrating in my back pocket. Looking over to
where Parker was playing with my dad, I pulled the phone out and locked my jaw when Coen’s name, and a picture of the two of us flashed on the screen.
I sat there staring at the screen until the voice mail finally picked up, and a deep sense of longing filled me—as it did every time he called.
“Are you ever going to answer that boy’s calls?”
My head jerked up to where my mom was staring at me from across the table, and my brow furrowed. “Ever? Don’t say that like it’s been years or something. It hasn’t even been a week.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, sweetheart. He’s called you five times since you got here this morning, and I know that’s not unusual for him right now.”
She was counting? Pressing down the lock button, I held it until I could turn my phone off. Parker was here, I was with my parents, and Keegan was with . . . well, he was with friends. No one would need to get in touch with me who couldn’t wait.
“Reagan,” Mom prompted.
“No, Mom, I don’t think I will ever answer his calls.”
The disappointment was clear on her face and in her tone. “He said he needed time to think. He said he needed some space. To me, that’s not even asking for a break, maybe he just wanted to be alone for a little while, and you took it the wrong way.”
I raised my eyebrows and brought my hand up to point at myself, but didn’t make it all the way before pointing at my phone instead. My jaw shook as I whispered, “I took it the wrong way?” Clearing my throat, I straightened in the chair and shook my head. “No, I didn’t take anything the wrong way. Those were some of the words he said, but his meaning was crystal clear.”
“Reagan, you push men away, it’s what you do.”
“I pushed him, and he pushed right back. I stopped pushing him months ago. I did not want him to leave, Mom. You have no idea how much it destroyed me to watch him walk away from us.”
She leaned forward and extended her arm on the table toward me. “But he’s calling. He’s calling all the time. That doesn’t sound like a man who doesn’t want you.”
Neither did his voice mails. “He walked away once, Mom. That’s all I need to know.”
“Reagan. You tried walking away in the beginning too.”
An agitated huff blew past my lips and I rolled my eyes. “To protect my son. Not because I didn’t want a relationship.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Whose side are you on, Mom?”
“Parker’s,” she said without missing a beat. “I’m on Parker’s. I want the world for you, Reagan, but you’re being childish. I had my reservations about Coen in the beginning, but he is the best thing to ever happen to you and my grandson. And, yes, he made a mistake, but he’s trying to come back, and you’re stopping him. You’re stopping my grandson from having the father he deserves.”
“If Austin had tried coming back, would you have wanted me to give him another chance?”
My mom scoffed. “Of course not. But he didn’t love you the way you deserve to be loved, and he did not love Parker. Coen claimed Parker as his son without a second thought, and without realizing it, the day Parker was rushed to the ER. Even when we mentioned it to him, he still didn’t catch it for a few seconds. That is why I know he deserves another chance.”
I sat there in shock for a few moments before I was able to compose myself. And just when I started to ask my mom what exactly had happened, Coen’s words drifted through my mind. “I’m not your husband, he’s not my fucking child. It is not my job to take care of you!” Looking at my son smiling as he played on the floor—completely oblivious to everything happening around him—I shook my head sadly as a few tears slipped down my cheeks. “You must’ve been mistaken.”
Coen—November 10, 2010
IT’D BEEN ALMOST a week and a half since I’d walked out of Reagan’s apartment, and even though I still called at least twelve times a day, she wasn’t talking to me.
Hudson and I had come home from Oregon late Sunday night because Hudson had to be at work again on Monday, and even with trying to catch Reagan at her apartment, I hadn’t seen her either. Now I was outside the building she worked in, parked next to her car, and was waiting for her to walk outside at any moment.
The second she walked outside I stepped out of my car and waited for her to see me. Her hazel eyes briefly glossed over me before doing a double take, and she froze on the middle of the sidewalk. With a step back, she froze again, and I watched as her chest started rising and falling roughly.
I knew she needed to get to her car. She needed to go get Parker from school, so she couldn’t just avoid me, and it was clear in her eyes. She wanted to run, but she knew she couldn’t.
Walking to where she still hadn’t moved from, I stopped in front of her and looked into her lifeless eyes. “Please talk to me. You’ve been avoiding me for over a week, and there’s so much I need to say.”
She didn’t respond. Her face had no emotion, just like her eyes. And it was killing me to know I’d made her look like that.
“I was wrong to say what I said, I was wrong to try to make you think you were the problem. I was freaking out and—” I cut off when she quickly tried to walk around me, and I caught hold of her arm. “Reagan, please! I’m sorry, I know I fucked up. I know that. I got scared for a split second, that doesn’t mean you should just shut me out.”
She turned on me, and I hated that instead of sadness or anger, I saw pity in her eyes. “Me shut you out? You ran from us, Coen, what do you expect from me?”
I nodded and let go of her to run my hands roughly over my head. “For a second. I ran for a goddamn second. I love you, Reagan. I love Parker. Don’t take the two of you from me.”
Biting down on her bottom lip, she shook her head slowly as she began turning back around. “You did that all by yourself.”
“Reagan, I am right here, and I am begging you not to do this. Just talk to me about what happened, let me explain, and for Christ’s sake, stop acting like you don’t care.”
“It’s not that I don’t care, I’m protecting him,” she ground out as she kept walking.
“I thought we were done with that bullshit. I thought we were done with you pushing me away because you’re scared of what could happen in the future.”
She didn’t stop walking, and she didn’t look back at me.
“Reagan, talk to me!”
“You’re right,” she said, and suddenly whirled on me. “We are done with all that bullshit. We were done with it the day you told me you couldn’t promise me a forever.”
“Babe—”
“You were right about that too, Coen.” Straightening her back, she hardened her hazel eyes at me. “You couldn’t promise me a forever any more than I could promise you one. And I’m not taking us away from you because I’m scared you’ll run. You already fucking ran, Coen. You already ran, and now you’re regretting it because you lost the one thing that could silence your demons.”
My body went rigid and my eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
She huffed a sad laugh, and that look of pity deepened. “I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out. I was so consumed in everything you are—and so blinded by the bullshit you fed me—that I never really noticed why you fought so hard for us. It wasn’t because you loved Parker. It wasn’t because you loved me. It was because I chased away what you can’t escape in here,” she said, and touched my temple with her fingers. “It was because I was a means to forget about all that for a little while.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“You told me—”
“I know what I fucking said, Ray! And it’s true—you do silence them. But that is not why I fought for us. You completely captivated me because of what being near you can do to me, but I fought for us because I fucking loved you. I’ve always loved you. I want to marry you,
I want to adopt Parker so I can legally be his dad, I want to give you as much of a forever as I have.”
She shook her head sadly and stepped away from me. “And there you go trying to blind me with your words again. You’re an artist, Coen, through and through. What you see of the world through your camera, and the words that come from your mouth. But I’m not buying it anymore. I’m done letting you use us so you can have a few moments of peace from your fucked-up mind.”
My head jerked back and mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“The demons in there?” she said after taking a couple steps away. “They’re ruining you. You’ve allowed them so much freedom that they now control your life. And you may not be able to see it, Coen, but I can. Because of them . . . you’re toxic. I can’t have someone like you in my son’s life.”
I stumbled back a step like she’d hit me, and watched her get in her car and drive away as my legs threatened to give out beneath me.
My entire world was being ripped away from me, and once again, I was the only one to blame.
Chapter Thirteen
Coen—December 5, 2010
A PAINED GROWL left me as I flew into a sitting position and gripped the sheets below me. Looking around me, I bent forward and dropped my head into my hands as I tried to push the memories from my mind.
“God damn it!” I roared, and launched a pillow across the room.
Jerkily untangling myself from the sheets, I pulled my clothes off and turned the water on as hot as it could go. Waiting until steam billowed out, I stepped into the shower and fisted my hands against the burning sting. I needed it. I needed it to make the smell, pain, noise, and clear-as-day memories go away.
Stepping out, I didn’t even bother grabbing a towel to dry myself as I searched for clothes and my running shoes. By the time I had everything on, was out my door, and already running on the path, I still had water dripping down my body. I didn’t care that I was only in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, and that it was snowing, I just needed to run. I needed to forget.
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