by K. Bromberg
“No!” It’s the only show of emotion I can give. The need to keep this under wraps from those who would be disappointed in my failure the most.
“I’m going to call Dr. Steele then.” His voice is soft but slams into my ears like the harshest of noises.
“No!” My voice cracks with panic—the word on repeat in my head—as I try to shove away from him. Struggle as he pulls me hard into him to stop my resistance against the idea.
I fight because I can handle this.
No, I can’t.
And because I’m scared. What if I can’t ever find my way back?
Yes, I can.
The darkness is so much more tempting than the fight. Less work. Less struggle. But Ace and Colton are worth fighting for. I’m so sick of the dark. So sick of its loneliness. I do the only thing I can: cling onto Colton, my light.
“I’m holding tight so you can let go, Ryles,” he says into the crown of my head, the heat from his breath warming the cold lingering inside me. “Let go, baby. Deal with what you need to. And just know that Ace and I are here for you when you come back to us. Then we’ll get our little piece of peace.”
He still loves me.
He still wants us.
He’s fighting the fight for me.
Even when I can’t.
“HADDIE MUST HAVE CALLED IN the troops.”
My mother’s laugh is deep and rich through the phone. The concern is there though. I can hear her hiding it.
But it’s okay. I am too.
I glance to the extra bedroom where the door is shut and wonder what is taking them so long.
“You have no idea. She only means well.” Then silence. Fuck. Here we go. “You should have told us, Colton. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re here to help you.” I can hear the hurt in her voice, get that she thinks I didn’t trust her coming into our private life enough to tell her what was going on. And if my own mother feels this way, I’m going to have to steel myself for how Ry’s mom is going to handle this.
I clear my throat, unsure what to say. “It’s not like that, Mom. It’s complicated.” Tread lightly, Donavan. She’s not intruding; she just wants to be a mom.
Just like Rylee does.
“I know it is.” Her voice is softer. Her hurt feelings back in check. Being a mom again—pushing away her hurt to help me deal with mine. “Has the doctor finished talking to her yet?”
I glance at the door again. “No.”
“I’m sure she’s just reassuring Rylee. Sometimes when you hear things you don’t want to hear and they’re spoken by someone else, you actually listen to them.”
“I miss her, Mom.”
God, I sound like such a pussy. You can’t miss someone who is right in fucking front of you twenty-four/seven.
“Of course you do. You’ve all had a lot of changes over the past few months.”
“Changes?” I snort and then press a kiss to the top of Ace’s head. Use him to calm me. “I feel like we’ve had the shit beat out of us so much in the past month I’m surprised we’re not black and blue.” Sarcasm she doesn’t deserve is thick in my voice.
“You’re only alive if you bruise,” she says softly.
Then I must be thriving.
“Yeah.” I sigh. My eyes are back on the door but her comment sticks in my mind.
“You can’t do this all yourself, son. Let all of us help you. We’re setting up a schedule so we can come and—”
“I don’t know about that, Mom. I appreciate it, but Rylee—”
“Sorry. This is what family does. We rally the troops and take care of our own,” she says, the no-nonsense tone in her voice taking me back twenty years to when I was a punk kid getting reprimanded. “You don’t have a choice. Ry’s mom, Quinlan, Haddie, and I will take shifts if need be. Anything it takes. And you’ll take the help and not argue. Understood?”
Yep. Right back there to being ten and getting caught trying to light firecrackers in the backyard.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you need the break too. You’ll burn yourself out. A proud man is a good man. But he can also be stupid one.”
I can’t help the laugh that falls from my mouth. My blunt mother telling me like it is. One of a very few women who can.
“Mom, I have to go,” I say as the door opens.
“Let me know what she says so I can let everyone know and—”
I hang up the phone. Cut her off. I need to know.
“Dr. Steele?”
“Walk me out, please?” she asks.
“Sure.” We head to the front door. This doesn’t sound good. My dread builds with each footstep. My heart is in my throat by the time we walk outside and shut the door behind us.
“He is an adorable little guy, isn’t he?” she says as she focuses on Ace when all I want her to do is tell me about Rylee.
“Doc?” I finally ask, hoping she’ll have pity on me.
“You were right to call me, Colton.” The breath I’m holding burns in my lungs. “She’s definitely struggling with more than the typical baby blues.”
I feel a flicker of relief. I don’t know why. She hasn’t said she’s going to be okay, but at least I’ll know the beast we’re facing.
“Okay, so what do I need to do for her?” Something. Anything. I’m a guy. I need to fix things and this not being able to fix Rylee is fucking me up.
She smiles softly at me. “To be honest, there’s no clear-cut answer here. I talked with Rylee. Explained how she’s not alone. That a lot of women go through this and that getting help does not mean she’s failing as a mother.” She reaches out and plays with Ace’s hand as she continues. “Sometimes, postpartum depression is triggered by a sequence of events that seems out of the person’s control. Add in the rush of hormones. Then there’s the pressure of trying to get a newborn—who couldn’t care less about a schedule—to be on a schedule because every book you’ve read says that’s what you should be doing or you’re not doing it right. All of those combined are like the perfect storm of uncontrolled chaos. In Rylee’s case, her mind has internalized it all and has fallen into a little downward dip of depression.”
I blow out a breath, hear her words and know it’s not my fault. But I’m a guy so I blame myself nonetheless. “Is she going to be okay?”
She nods. “I’ve written a prescription for some anti-depressants and—”
“Can she still nurse?” I ask, knowing that nursing is the only time she feels somewhat connected to Ace.
“Yes. There is much debate on this. In my opinion the trade-off is worth it: getting Rylee on the road to recovery versus a trace of the drugs passed on through the milk.”
“Okay.”
“She’s a fighter, Colton. Get her out in the fresh air. A walk on the beach. A drive in the car. Anything you can think of doing to get her up and about without triggering her panic attacks.”
I chuckle. She does realize who we are, right? Did she forget there’s a reason she’s making a house call and we’re not going to her office?
“I know. It’s difficult in . . . your situation, but the more stimuli, the better.”
“Thanks,” I say quietly. “I appreciate you making the house call.”
“She’s going to be fine, Colton. She just needs a little time. It’s not going to happen overnight. The drugs take some time to take effect, so be patient like you’ve been so far, and soon enough you’ll have your wife back.”
The words cause my heart to pound. Fucking stupid since she’s been here all along. And yet my pulse is racing at the mere thought of getting my best friend back. Hearing her laughter. Watching her eyes light up with joy over staring at Ace. Listening to her sing off key to her beloved Matchbox Twenty. It’s the little things I miss. The day-to-day. The insignificant.
Desperate may not be something a man should wear but fuck if I’m not swathed in it wanting her to come back to me.
After the gates close behind Dr. Steele, I head inside, uncertain whi
ch Rylee I’m going to find: The fighter I’ve grown to admire or the lost woman I can’t even recognize.
“Let’s go, little man. Let’s see if we can make your momma smile.”
FADING IN.
My moments with Ace, the ones I can feel, I try to hold tight to them. Try to use them to keep me afloat. Soak them in.
A text from Colton: Photograph by Ed Sheeran.
A rush of warmth. A flash of happy. The recollection of that night. Of sweetness. A picture frame waiting to be filled. Memories to make.
Panic I won’t be able to make it. A struggle to hold on to the good from the song, and not the bad. Please help me hold on to the good.
Falling out.
Thoughts come. Thoughts go.
The house a constant revolving door: my mom, Haddie, Dorothea, Quinlan. Frustrating me. Reviving me. Holding me up so I can fall, but not be alone when I do.
My mom. Opening blinds. Zipping through the house like Mary Poppins infusing her cheer to try and make me smile. Except I can’t smile. I can’t feel anything. Watching her hold Ace, coo over him, connecting with him should make me happy, jealous—anything—and yet I feel absolutely nothing.
The clock ticks. Time in Ace’s life I can’t get back.
My Colton. I watch him with Ace. Day after day. Night after night. Moments I capture, file away, and pray can keep. Colton asleep with Ace on his chest, tiny fingers curled against his muscles. Made-up lullabies that dig into the fog and make me feel something . . . lighter. A flicker of warmth. A strand of hope. A moment I can embrace.
Before the lead curtain falls again.
Seconds spent.
A tug of war of inner wills.
Hours gone.
And every night, Colton pulls me against him as we lie in bed and murmurs in my ear the wonderful memories we still have to make to put in our picture frame. The warmth of his body against mine is his subtle reminder to his wife, who is still lost in her own mind, that she’s not alone.
Days lost.
“Teddy called today,” Colton says. The ocean breeze is cool. The soothing surge from Ace nursing a little stronger today. The fog a little lighter.
“Hmm?” Afraid to hope. Wanting to know but fearing the worst.
“The board voted to keep him on as director.” An unexpected flutter. A tinge of excitement. “You’ll be reinstated if you choose to go back to work after your maternity leave.”
A deep breath in. Exhale out.
“Mm-hmm.” A bit of inflection.
Colton’s smile at my response. I love his smile. The feel of Ace’s hand kneading my breast. I love his little hands. A glimpse of hope.
A pile of jumbled jigsaw pieces. Two finally fitting together.
A text from Colton: I’ll Follow You by Jon McLaughlin
He tries so hard to keep me above the fray. To do anything to help me hold on a little longer than last time. A message to tell me I’m not alone. That it’s okay.
A pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel.
You can do this.
Change is never easy.
Fight to hold on.
Fight to let go.
Fight because they’re your whole world.
“I STILL CAN’T GET OVER it.”
“Get over what?” I ask as I look from where Ace is passed out on my chest—mouth open, hands up, legs apart. Content as fuck. And thankfully asleep since he’s been running me ragged.
“You. A dad.” Becks chuckles with a shake of his head.
“Yeah well, he looks sweet right now . . . but don’t let him fool you. He’s a stubborn little cuss. He had me up to my elbows in shit earlier. Not a pretty sight.” Fucking disgusting. But shit, I’d do it a hundred more times if I could be rewarded by the soft smile on Rylee’s face when I looked up and saw her standing in the doorway watching us.
Becks throws his head back and laughs. “Fuck. I would have paid to see that.”
“No. You wouldn’t,” I deadpan, “but you do what you have to do.”
Becks nods his head and lifts his chin toward the pool deck where Rylee is reading. Baby steps. Tiny bits of her returning to me. “Haddie says she’s doing better?”
“One step forward. Three back.” I shrug. “But at least we’re moving, right? Just trying to figure out our new kind of normal or some shit like that.”
“And you’re hanging in there?”
“Most days,” I say with a laugh. “But God I’d kill to get on the track. I need some speed to clear my head and give me a chance to not think for a bit.”
“Not thinking is what you do best. You don’t need to hit the track for that.”
“Fuck off,” I say with a laugh. And regardless of my response, I welcome the dig. Need a bit of our typical banter to get a little part of my normal.
“Dude, you better watch your mouth or else Ace’s first word is going to be fuck. And while it would be funny as fuck,” he says, raising his eyebrows at the intended pun, “I think that might earn you a spot in the doghouse.”
“True . . . but fuck—”
“There you go again.” He laughs, causing me to just shake my head and sigh.
“This is going to be harder than I thought.”
“Most good things in life are,” he says with a lift of his eyebrows. And I stare at him for a beat, hearing what he’s saying. That shit’s tough right now but it’s all worth it.
Damn straight it is.
“Like I said, just say when and I’ll get the track time reserved for you,” he says as he stands. His unspoken, I’ve got your back, comes through loud and clear.
“Thanks . . . for everything.”
“No problem, brother. That’s what I’m here for.”
They’re gone.
I’m thankful the vultures have packed up shop and gotten the hell out of Dodge, but I still can’t believe it’s true. I check the live feed on my phone from the security camera mounted on the front gate one more time. The street’s still free and clear of paparazzi scum who had been camping out there for what felt like for-fucking-ever.
Thank God they listened for once. Chased the story I hand-fed them about Eddie. Uncovered truths behind his actions: his desperate and fucked-up act to exact revenge on my wife because he was found guilty. Paparazzi’s apologies mean shit to me. They’re just covering their asses from getting sued for slander. Besides, I know it won’t stop them from doing the same thing with their next story, their next lead, their next chance to fuck up someone else’s life.
Of course, I’m not blind to the fact they’re all playing nice in the hopes of getting first crack at pictures of Ace if we ever decide to go that route and sell the rights. So I’ll take their printed retractions. Use their hope to clear our street and rid our lives of their constant presence. But more than anything I’ll hold tight to the fact that their apologies have helped restore Rylee’s reputation.
Too bad she’s so lost in her depression she doesn’t know it.
Because while their apologies may have restored calm outside the gates, they’ve done nothing to quiet the storm still brewing inside them.
From my chair on the patio, I set my cell down and watch the set of waves roll in, immediately itching to grab my board and get lost in the ocean. My mind wanders. Thoughts run. Will Ace want me to teach him to surf some day? Will he be interested in racing?
Or will I just be the authority he resists until he gets old enough to understand the why behind my rules? Like father, like son.
The baby monitor crackles on the table beside me. I give him a sec, wait to see if he’s awake, but nothing. I lean back in my chair and get lost in thoughts about the next race. My everyday world that feels so fucking far away from the one I’m currently living in.
“Shh. Shh.” Ry’s voice comes through the monitor and startles me. My heart races. My eyes burn with emotion I don’t want to feel but can’t stop as I bring it to my ear to hear more.
Silence. Nothing else. Should I go upstairs or stay he
re and see what happens? If I’m there, does it add more pressure on her as she takes a step forward when so many we’ve taken have been backward?
And then those dark thoughts in the back of my mind take hold. The ones I haven’t wanted to acknowledge but linger nonetheless. The ones that make the evening news headlines about what mothers with postpartum depression have done to their children.
I’m up and on my feet in a second. A war of emotions battle over what to think and what to do. I stand in the hallway, frozen in indecision with what feels like the weight of the world on my shoulders.
Hope surges through me. I hate it and love it at the same time.
I choose to love it. Need to.
C’mon, Ry. Give me something to tell me I’m right.
“My sweet boy. You hungry?” I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, pissed at myself for doubting her but knowing I have every right to.
Joy, relief, fear, concern, caution. Too many fucking feelings hit me at once. The biggest of all of them is relief that I can see the light at the end of this long-ass tunnel. Our life has been put on hold for what feels like forever, and it’s time to get it back.
She’s not better yet. We still have a long way to go. Hell yes, this moment is a baby step, but fuck if I won’t take it because we weren’t even crawling a few days ago. This step may be on wobbly legs, but it’s a step all the same.
When I enter the bedroom, Rylee is lying on the middle of the bed, and Ace is nursing beside her. It’s the first time I haven’t had to bring him to her. The thought sinks in and takes hold as I watch the two of them together. A visual sucker punch of love.
Leave her be, Colton.
Good in theory, but not in my reality. I don’t know why I resist the pull when I know in the end it’s futile. It always is when it comes to Rylee.
I cross the room, pull my shirt over my head, and slide into bed behind her without saying a word. Careful of disturbing Ace, I put arm around her hip, and line our bodies up. And just breathe her in.
God, I’ve missed her.