Madness

by J. L. Vallance

  I allowed him to help me from the chair, and we walked arm in arm away from the coffee shop. I rested my head on his shoulder and reveled in the silence. I’d spent the past week riding the waves of my emotions like an untrained surfer. The tide left me beaten and battered. There were a few moments I was terrified the dark abyss that was my illness would swallow me whole and never spit me back out. But then there was this tiny pinprick of light shining in my eyes, proving to me there was hope. I liked to believe Patrick Winters was the one holding that burning bulb up to the microscopic opening, encouraging me to keep swimming. He was there in the background, whispering in my ear, reminding me of the good things in my life as well as the ones still to come. Whatever the reason was, I pushed up above the tide and gasped for air. Luckily, I had an entire yacht full of lifeguards that were on the prowl, waiting with preservers.

  “Let’s get some ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?” Lukas asked, glancing down at me sideways. “Isn’t it too soon for cravings?”

  “It’s never too soon for ice cream, Pope. Never.”

  Chapter 31

  Winter.

  I have always hated winter. It’s bitter cold, the snow is a royal bitch to drive, walk, and generally survive in. And being pregnant during the entire season was a blessing and a curse. I had the joyous experience of filling up on every goody known (and possibly unknown) to man. I also had the unpleasant experience of falling in the snow—twice. If spring didn’t come to Knotted Vines soon, I just might lose what functioning brain cells I continued to house in my brain.

  I had a lot of time while being shut in over the winter to ponder over my predicament. My predicament. That’s what we referred to it as.

  By spring, I would be a single mother. My child would be born to a mother with mental illness and an addict father—who had yet to know she existed. I had toyed with the idea of adoption for approximately five minutes. Just as I had never planned to fall in love, I never planned to become a mother. But sometimes, the universe has other plans for us; plans that force us to grow and embrace different parts of ourselves. I had yet to meet my daughter, but I loved her more than I ever dreamed I’d love another human being. I would grow from becoming a mother. I would be stronger, wiser, and more loving.

  My family had been supportive and nurturing, as had been my friends. Karleigh had been insistent on moving in, which I vehemently declined. My home was my home. I couldn’t share it with another woman. I knew that once the baby came, she and I would find our way in the madness of the world—together. But I also had Lucas. He attended every doctor’s appointment, went to birthing classes, and would be my birthing partner. I loved Lucas in so many ways, especially for the way he rubbed my feet and calves when they ached beyond belief. The swelling in my ankles had reached cankle proportion of late, and he always made me more comfortable.

  “I could just go to sleep,” I murmured.

  “Then go to sleep,” he replied, continuing to knead my feet. The wood cracked in the stove, filling the room with heat as I lay, comfortably cocooned in a fleece throw on the couch. “I’ll make a food run while you nap. Are you hungry?”

  I rubbed at the top of my stomach, moving up to my chest. I’d had such terrible heartburn since I woke up, the last thing I wanted was food, especially greasy takeout.

  “Ugh, no food,” I answered.

  “Ah, I guess I’ll be running for a solo pie.”

  “No,” I groaned. “Don’t go, Lukas; it’s terrible out. There is plenty in the kitchen.”

  “You know I only eat unhealthy, processed, grease-fried foods, Frankie.”

  I laughed without opening my eyes. He had the worst diet, yet remained thin and trim. I told him repeatedly that he needed to be tested for worms. That was the only answer for his impressive physique.

  “And you know I never touch the stuff.”

  “Right. . .” he huffed, rising from the couch. “I’ll see what I can find. Would you like some tea?”

  “Yes, please,” I replied, smiling as he placed a warm kiss on my temple.

  Settling into the couch, I relaxed further, listening to the television that played lightly. Lukas had put on an Arrow marathon as soon as he walked in the door, and I kept it playing. Not only was it entertaining, it supplied plenty of spine-tingling, drool worthy eye candy.

  The doorbell chimed, and I groaned. Fuck moving. When you are as big as a miniature tool shed, visitors are of little consequence.

  “Stay put,” Lukas called, his voice moving through the house. “I’ve got it.”

  The door opened, and I listened to muffled voices, allowing them to blend in with the sounds of the television—the sounds of badassery. Sleep was close; it was dangling before my eyes, dancing seductively, until I heard the voice of a ghost. At least a ghost of my past. My eyes bolted open, and I struggled to sit up, my bare feet resting on the cool, hardwood floor. My heart leapt into my throat as I tried to convince myself I had fallen asleep—that this was all just a dream.

  “I told you she’s not in, and you need to leave,” Lukas growled.

  “Is this how it is now?” the voice answered. “You live here, answering for her? You fucking her too?”

  “It’s not your business how the fuck things are.” Lukas’ anger was palpable; I could imagine the vein throbbing in his forehead as it did when he felt I’d eaten one too many Cadbury Dairy and Milk bars—which I typically downed in pairs. “Get off the property; you are unwelcome here.”

  I stood from the couch, my mouth dry, and my hands shaking. Reaching back, I grabbed the throw from the couch, wrapping it around my shoulders, hiding my bump. I walked slowly toward the entry, the raising voices becoming clearer.

  “I am not leaving until I get to see her!” That voiced pulled at the strings that bound the pieces of my jagged self together. After all, it belonged to the man that was responsible for breaking me in the first place. “I’ll be goddamned if you are the one to keep me from her!”

  “How about I call the cops?” Lukas taunted. “Would you like that, you fucking drunk?”

  I approached Lukas slowly, placing a gentle hand to his shoulder. His back became more rigid, tenser. He couldn’t protect me forever. I knew that a day would come when I’d have to face this, face him. I had just prayed it would come much later, when I wasn’t still so fragile. I’d hoped to avoid him until I had found the strength to hate him like I tried to convince myself I did.

  “It’s okay, Lukas,” I sighed. My heart raced in my chest as he turned back to me, his dark eyes pleading. The last thing he wanted was for me to talk him down, to let the man standing on my steps into my home. I knew his fear; I would be a fool not to hold onto the same fear. “It’s okay.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, and I nodded in response before finally looking up into piercing blue eyes. They were eyes that still held the power to steal my breath and quicken my pulse.

  “Come in, Rory,” I invited, walking away from them both, toward the kitchen. My feet padded across the cool ceramic tile, taking me toward the table sitting alone in the corner. I sat and waited for Rory to join me. “Would you like coffee or tea?”

  “No,” he replied as Lukas placed a cup of green ginger tea in front of me. Rory looked at the tea and then to Lukas. “Are you going to keep watch, or can we have a few minutes?”

  “That’s up to her,” Lukas replied, tilting his head my direction, which caused Rory’s brow to furrow with further irritation.

  “Why don’t you go on that food run now?” I suggested, meeting Lukas’ hard glare, knowing what he was thinking. “I’ll be fine.”

  He hesitated for a moment before grabbing his coat from the hook by the door, slamming it hard behind him as he left. Rory and I sat across from one another, me refusing to meet his gaze. My fingers played mindlessly with the handle of my mug as I held tightly to the blanket wrapped around me.

  “He live here?”

  I looked up, finally willing to meet his harsh stare. His
fingers drummed wildly on the table, his nostrils flared in anger. I found anger of my own, my cheeks heating. Rory O’Neill walked out on me. I begged him to change his life, to get the help he desperately needed so that we could have a fighting chance. His response was to run away, leaving me a two-line note. The last thing he had was a right to question my current situation.

  “I’m sorry, Frankie. I’m just too fucked up,” I replied, reciting that note. “Those words void any right you ever had to worry about who stays with me in my home.”

  “Am I supposed to take that as a yes?” he asked, and I let out a long and heavy breath.

  “You can take it as whatever you’d like, Rory,” I answered, taking a sip of tea. “You walked out on me, eight months ago. You’ve never called, written, texted. . . not a thing. Why are you here?”

  “I want a second chance,” he replied, running a hand through his tousled hair. He’d let it grow a few inches since I’d last seen him, and it hadn’t done a thing to take away from his attractiveness. In fact, it seemed to add to it, making his eyes pop with more intensity, standing out in sharp contrast with the darkness of his hair.

  “I can’t do that. Not after what you put me through. I opened myself to you, told you all of my secrets, my fears, my downfalls. I gave you a part of myself that I’ve never given to anyone, and you just walked away,” I replied. “In what way can you think you deserve a second chance?”

  Rory looked sad and pained as he reached for my hand that rested on the table. I pulled it back out of his reach. I had hundreds of weaknesses, and he was in the top three right along with chocolate and pies. But the key to beating any addiction, overcoming any weakness, was being strong enough to realize it exists and resist it.

  “I went about things the wrong way; I know that,” he sighed. “I left for you, to protect you, and to get myself cleaned up, you had to have known that. You deserved better than the man that I was.”

  I’d be a liar if I said his words didn’t strike a nerve. They did. They struck a nerve, strummed a chord, and soothed that fractured part of my psyche that I’d tried to ignore for the past eight months. The longing girl inside me swooned at his declaration while the angry, self-sufficient woman roared and sharpened her claws. She was the one who responded, knocking the longing girl into a corner.

  “I deserve better than the man that you are, period.”

  He stood from the table, stood above me, pain and fear and indecision making a toxic concoction behind his eyes. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an envelope, holding it out toward me, waiting for me to take it. My fingers tightened around it, felt the thickness, the heaviness, and my anger rose.

  “It’s not all of it,” he explained, sitting back in the chair. “If it takes me the rest of my life, I’ll pay you every last dime.”

  “You think I care about money?” I seethed, tossing the envelope onto the table. “I don’t give dick about the money! It was never about that.”

  “What was it about?”

  “It was about you—protecting you, saving you, healing you! I wanted to save and fix you. All because I was stupid enough to get wrapped up in a make-believe notion of happiness.”

  “Not make-believe, Bubbles. It was all very real. It still is. We had it. We can still have it.”

  “Happiness is the very last thing I’ve felt since you ran away, Rory. Very. Last.”

  “Will you just hear me out? Please, I’m begging you.”

  “I don’t want to hear you out, Rory. You broke my heart, you left me in shambles. And you didn’t even have the decency to call, or I don’t know. I don’t know what I would have expected from you. I thought of you a million and one times since the day you left, and each thought speared me more than the last one. So no, I will not give you one more minute of my time. Please leave.”

  “I can’t,” he answered. “I need you too much.”

  “You already gave me up,” I whispered, my eyes filled with tears I refused to let fall. “I loved you, Rory, and now I love myself enough to know I am not strong enough to survive you twice. I’ll not ask you to leave again.”

  I stood from the table, the room tilting on its axis. I stumbled, the blanket falling to the floor as Rory jumped to his feet, steadying me. I placed a hand to my belly, feeling the baby kicking within. My head hammered, my pulse thumping in my ears. I took a slow and steady breath, in through my nose and out my mouth.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his arm wrapped around my waist. I breathed in deeply, pulled in his scent. He still smelled of motor oil. And I still adored it.

  “I just stood up too fast,” I replied, standing upright. His eyes travelled from my face and over my stomach where they lingered. Shock reflected in his eyes. I understood. It was shocking.

  “When are you due?” he asked, his words tinged with disbelief and sadness.

  “Four more weeks,” I replied, swallowing hard.

  “Is Lukas. . .” I shook my head, waiting for him to say something.

  I debated within that moment hanging between us. I could lie. He already assumed her to be another man’s, and what was the harm in allowing that belief to continue? What justice would that serve? It would be a lie not only to him and me, but to my daughter.

  “She’s yours, Rory,” I admitted.

  He looked at me disbelieving, taking an unsteady step back. His mouth hung agape as he shook his head.

  “What. . . how?” He wasn’t asking about the act, he was asking about the fact that we had been protected. But fate had other plans for the two of us.

  “If you remember that infection I had, the pneumonia,” I explained, sitting back down in the chair at the table. “I was on antibiotics for weeks. . .”

  He let the information sink in, turning from me, walking toward the kitchen window. He stared out into the snow-filled yard. He looked so much like the man I had fallen in love with, but he looked different. He looked like he was finally at peace. Rory O’Neill didn’t look tortured and haunted any longer. I didn’t know which version of the man I felt more sympathy for.

  “Were you ever going to tell me?” he asked, his eyes continuing to stare out the window.

  “I hadn’t decided yet.”

  “Why?”

  “Do I really need to spell it out for you?” I asked failing to keep the bitterness from my voice. “You’re an alcoholic and addict. I wanted to protect her from that as long as I could!”

  “Was, Francesca, I was an addict, I had a drinking problem,” he snapped, turning from the window. “I walked away from you because I had to. The only way I was ever going to get clean was if I had no distractions. And I did it for you! You made me want it, you made me worth it.”

  “And you think any of that means dick with the way you left?” I shouted, slamming my palm on the table.

  “It should mean everything!”

  “Everything?!” I replied incredulously, standing once again. “It doesn’t mean a goddamn thing! You destroyed me!”

  “I’m sorry, Frankie. I wish I could go back and change that, but I can’t.”

  “No, you can’t, and I wouldn’t want you to. I am prepared to do this on my own. I don’t want or need you, Rory.”

  “You can’t mean that.”

  “I do, I mean that more than anything,” I replied, my hand going to my forehead. A light throb continued as black dots danced across my vision. “How could you think that I wouldn’t have understood? All you had to do was talk to me—talk—not run!”

  “Everything happened as it needed to, Bubbles. I’ve been sober, one hundred percent, for eight months. I moved from Cyprus, I have a shop up and running, been putting aside a nice little nest egg. I wanted to be able to come to you with something worth having.”

  “I already thought you were worth it, without all of that. I have a steady income, a home, all I needed was you. I needed you to get it together and be there!” I shouted, rubbing at the ache at the top of my stomach, blowing out a long breath.

/>   “And I am together!” he shouted, stepping closer, taking my face into his palms. “I am more together than I have ever been, in my entire life. I pulled my shit together, for you. Don’t turn me away, not now. I’m begging you, Francesca.”

  “I. . .” I began, the room spinning around me. My heart was pounding heavily in my chest, the sound resonating in my ears. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply. “I. . .”

  “Frankie? Are you okay?” he asked.

  I faintly heard his voice as he called my name once more as my body gave out from beneath me, my mind slipping off into unconsciousness. As I felt weightless, my body falling forward, my hands moved to cover my belly, to protect the baby.

  I had woken up this morning, feeling confident, thinking I’d figured out a way to conquer all of my obstacles. Frankie Winters had solved her life’s biggest problems. I was going into single parenthood with my head held high, my feet planted firmly on the ground, ready for whatever would come my way. My business was thriving more than ever; my family was supportive and loving—as always. And then the universe came knocking. I got a cold taste of reality, and it knocked me the fuck out. Literally.

  **

  I stood up from my bed this morning as a man with a plan. It was time for me to finally reclaim the woman of my dreams. I had all the illusions of how it would go. I’d knock on her door, she’d welcome me into her loving arms, we’d have reunion sex, and then my life would be a million and one fucking times better than it had been the day I’d walked out on her.

  That plan was fucked the moment Lukas Pope opened her door. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to knock his fucking teeth down the back of his throat the second he sneered at me. But then she came to the door, looked at me with those luminescent eyes, and my heart began to hum the beat of a goddamn hummingbird's wings. She was the only woman in the world to ever have that effect on me. Maybe that was because she was the only woman I’ve ever really loved. That, and she saved me.