Fall In Love Again (Serendipitous Love Book 3)

by Christina C Jones

  I blinked hard a few times, then shook my head. “Nothing.”

  “Right. You’ve said yourself, he was nothing but good to you. Treated you like a queen. Since he brought you into my shop for you to talk him into that corny ass adorable macaroni and cheese tattoo, I’ve known that the two of you had something special. And look what happened… five years apart, over some shit you guys could have just talked through. It may not have been immediate, or pretty, or perfect, but… you would have been together.”

  Tears welled in my eyes as I considered Eddie’s words. As much as I hated to admit it… he was… right. All these years, I’d been so focused on my own pain, on my own hurt, on my own anger, that I hadn’t even considered his. Throughout our relationship, and even before, Nixon had always been just… strong. The idea that I had the power to hurt him seemed foreign, but now that I was looking through a different lens, I could very clearly remember the first and only time I’d ever seen Nixon shed tears.

  When we lost the baby.

  I’d been so diligent about my birth control pills, knowing that we were trying to wait until Pot Liquor had been open and running successfully for at least five years before kids became an option. Funny how we discussed that, but mention a ring, and Nixon blanked out.

  In any case, a round of antibiotics that didn’t play nicely with my birth control shot those plans to pieces. But… we were happy. Correction: I was happy. Nixon was over the moon. It was really the sweetest thing, how he would drag me to the baby section in stores, grinning at little bow tie embellished onesies for a boy, and tiny little tutus for a girl. He wanted to look at houses, and start a college fund, and… God his reaction to an “oops” baby was the kinda stuff dreams were made of. And he worked so hard. Many, many nights I had to trick Nixon into bed with made-up ailments. Baby, my back aches, come lay in the bed with me and rub it until I fall asleep, please? Only, he was always the one who passed out first, from pure exhaustion.

  Before the pregnancy, I didn’t think I could be more in love with him, but man was I wrong. That was one of the most truly beautiful times in our relationship, and unfortunately… led to the most devastating.

  I’ll never… never forget the day we went in for a normal appointment, just to check the baby’s development, find out if it was a girl or a boy, since the positioning wasn’t right at the appointment where we should have found out. We were both excited, and Nixon could not keep a grin off his face. He and the doctor carried on a conversation while I lay back, just listening.

  And then the conversation stopped.

  The doctor’s entire mood changed, and when she looked at me and opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t seem to make anything come out… something in me broke. The doctor told me “he” had passed, and I called that bitch a liar. She was lying, because I’d just felt him. Him. She shook her head no, and … I’ll never forget the day itself, but after that moment, the details were fuzzy. Nixon was walking me to the car, because the doctor said something about waiting until labor induced naturally, and then we were home. I woke up, and he was downstairs, in the kitchen, and his face was wet with tears. Then I was drinking every sugary drink I could find, because the baby just needed a little jolt, just a little bit of energy, and he would be moving again, and his heart would start, and he would be fine. And then Nixon had me by the wrists, and his face was still wet, and he was telling me to stop before I made myself sick, but I was already sick because our baby wouldn’t wake up, and why the fuck didn’t he understand?

  Then… I was at the hospital, hooked to machines, while they pumped something in my arm to make me go into labor. I woke up and my stomach was stapled closed, and I didn’t have a baby anymore.

  And I was gonna lose Nix too. I could tell by the way he looked at me, at my stomach sometimes. His refusal to get rid of the diapers, bottles, and toys we’d already started collecting. His seemingly constant need to talk about the baby, the desire to pick a name, bombard me with reminders…. It was all soaked in his disdain for me, for losing his child, and I didn’t want to talk about it. I never wanted to talk about it. I wanted to forget.

  But I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t think of anything else — except how I was gonna lose Nix, because how could he still love me after that? He swore he did. Constantly reminding me that it wasn’t my fault, bringing flowers, rubbing feet, all that jazz. He was just humoring me, until I was “well” again. So I got well.

  And he continued, but I still didn’t believe him.

  If he wanted to convince me that the love hadn’t changed… he had to do it with a ring.

  I shook my head. No wonder I couldn’t see what I was doing to Nix. I couldn’t even see what I was doing to myself. It made me a little sick to my stomach to think of how I’d denied him the opportunity for us to grieve the loss of our child, then tried to force him into giving me a ring, then accused him of not loving me when he didn’t kick up his heels at the idea. It wasn’t fair. Not when I’d barely cared about a ring before.

  I’d mentioned marriage, and knew his views… yet I stayed. I even teased him about it sometimes, just to get a reaction. Marriage was important to me, but our love was so much more than that. Because he made me so happy that it didn’t matter, until I latched onto the idea as necessary proof that he loved me, and… it wasn’t fair. Nixon made some mistakes, but when I stopped focusing on his… my God… what was the saying about sweeping around your own front door first?

  Long after the crew left, I lay awake in my bed, thinking about the possibility of me and Nix… macaroni and cheese back together again. It made me smile a little, then a little more, until I started laughing, thinking about all of the good times Nix had shown me over nearly two decades of knowing each other, and six years of loving each other.

  I laughed until I cried, because maybe…. that kind of pure, perfectly imperfect love was too far gone to get back.

  fourteen.

  charlie.

  Sirens woke me up.

  I knew they sounded closer than they actually were, but a prickle of goose bumps crossed my skin anyway, and I climbed out bed.

  It was late, a little after midnight. None of the windows in Viv’s apartment faced the right way to see anything other than residential streets, forestry, and a distant view of the water, so I reluctantly pulled on yoga pants and a tee-shirt over my panties and tank top, pulled on my fuzzy moccasins, and headed up to the roof.

  There was smoke in the air, just faintly, but it hit me as soon as I opened the heavy metal door. I closed it behind me, then stepped out further, past the rows of vegetables that comprised the rooftop community garden, and out to where I could see.

  It took my breath away.

  Huge billows of smoke poured upward, in sharp contrast to the night sky, and I could see the lights of at least three different fire trucks reflecting off the windows along the street.

  Wait a minute…

  I took a staggering step back as I realized exactly where I was looking. That was our street, the same area of Urban Grind, the same area as… Pot Liquor. I looked down at my hands for my phone, and when I realized I’d left in my apartment, I bolted for the roof door, bounding down the stairs three or four at a time to get back.

  Snatching my phone from the charger, the first thing I noticed were that there were no missed calls from Nix.

  Things between us, since … new apocalypse had been tense, but okay. We fell back into what we were doing before. Not lovers, not friends, but business partners, and it worked. If there were a fire at or near the restaurant, he would have called me. There was no chance he wouldn’t know about it, because he lived there.

  …unless… he couldn’t call.

  Oh God.

  I called six times.

  He didn’t answer.

  I stuffed my feet into a pair of tennis shoes, and strapped my phone into the zipper pocket on my pants. I think I locked the door behind me, but I didn’t have time to think about it. I got my ass down the
stairs, out of the building, and down to my restaurant.

  I’d barely made it past the flower shop when my lungs started burning from the smoke in the air. Despite the time, there were a lot of people out, either going in the direction of the fire or leaving. They were shaking their heads, talking about how sad it was, saying they’d never seen a building destroyed so badly by fire.

  I walked faster.

  When I got to the intersection in front of Urban Grind, it was completely blocked with fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances. Through the haze of smoke, I searched for a familiar face. When I saw none, I kept moving forward, getting as close as I could before I ran up on the barricade.

  Shit.

  I moved around, trying to avoid the eyes of any of the police working on keeping the crowd back. One of the fire trucks moved, causing a gust as it went, and once it passed, I could finally see.

  The dry cleaner was on fire. Several different hoses still worked diligently to douse it with water, but the entire storefront of the building was gone. There was a gaping hole, where I could still see flames inside, but nothing remained to make it recognizable as the place it used to be. I could just barely recognize the businesses on either side of it. On the right was a small furniture store. Pot Liquor was on the left.

  I felt sick to my stomach.

  I could see straight through the side of the building, into the beautiful stainless steel kitchen. All the tables, all appliances were now shapeless masses of nothing. Above it, the apartment was burned nearly in half. The bedroom was right above the kitchen.

  My chest heaved, and my ears began to close up as I turned around, searching the crowd with burning eyes for Nixon.

  “Nix!” I screamed, repeatedly, even though the yelling firefighters and growing sounds of the crowd probably drowned me out.

  A familiar face from high school walked past me, and I reached out and grabbed, connecting with a handful of his yellow firefighter’s jacket. “Grant! Grant!” He stopped, and instead of yanking away from me, stepped to the side as another group of firefighters hurried around the barricade.

  “Charlie, what are you doing all the way up here? You need to get back! I know this is your business, but we need you to get where it’s safe.”

  “I know, I know,” I rushed out, grabbing his jacket again as he tried to walk away. “Have you seen Nix? He’s not answering his phone, and he lives in the apartment upstairs, and I can’t find him. I haven’t seen him.”

  Normally cheerful, Grant’s green eyes turned a little darker as his expression changed. “Ambulance.” He said that one word, then pulled away, following his comrades toward the fire.

  Why did he say it like that?

  Feeling dazed, I turned in the direction of the ambulances, thinking that if he was still at the ambulance, that meant he wasn’t at the hospital, which meant it wasn’t that bad.

  As I approached, I could see the EMTs rushing around a stretcher, so I headed that way. Right in front of me, they suddenly stopped their frantic movements, and started rolling a sheet over the person’s head.

  I stopped, because I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stand up either. I dropped to my knees, mouth open, lungs burning, chest heaving as they lifted the stretcher, sliding it into the back of ambulance. And then… they closed the door, and I couldn’t feel anything. I started shaking my head, and laughed because… this shit wasn’t real. This was a bad dream, and I was gonna wake up any second…. Now.

  Now.

  NOW.

  I cupped my hand to my mouth as a sob escaped my throat. Squeezing my eyes shut, I doubled over as my chest erupted in pain.

  No, no no no no no.

  This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t—

  “Charlie?”

  Opening my eyes, I looked up to see Roman standing over me, and before I could say anything he was kneeling down, pulling me back up to my feet.

  “Are you okay?”

  I couldn’t manage to do anything except shake my head, and that deepened his frown of concern. He was in the middle of asking me if I was hurt, and already dragging me toward the EMTs when I finally found a voice through my tears to mutter Nixon’s name.

  “Oh. Have you not been able to find him?”

  What?

  Roman made a slight shift in his direction, pulled me around a throng of people, and there, alive, was Nixon. He was shirtless, barefoot, and streaked with soot and ash, but he’d never looked better to me. The heaviness in my chest lifted, and the tension in my shoulders melted away as a fresh round of tears — grateful tears— began to stream down my face.

  Nixon sat at the edge of the open back of the ambulance, and the EMT next to him appeared to be checking his vitals. As Roman and I approached, he looked up, and the pure anguish in his eyes made my steps falter. His gaze dropped to the ground as the EMT stepped away, and it wasn’t until we were right in front of him that he glanced up again, then focused on me, shaking his head.

  “Baby…. I am so sorry.”

  I frowned. “Nix… what are you talking about?”

  “This fool,” Roman said, leaning over my shoulder, “Had to get pulled out of the building twice by the firefighters. He’s crazy as hell, but he was quick with those fire extinguishers. Kept it from being a lot worse than it could have. I was heading to get him something to put on, and then I need you to take him home.”

  Roman stepped away, leaving us to stare at each other.

  After a moment, Nixon shook his head again, pushing out a sigh as he looked toward the smoky sky. “I couldn’t do anything,” he said, his eyes focused upward. “By the time our smoke alarms went off, the fire was already too big. It was too late.”

  “But Roman said—“

  Nixon scoffed. “Roman is being nice, because he sees how pitiful I am right now.” He shook his head again, then finally looked toward me. “It’s gone, baby. With the smoke damage, and the water damage… they’re gonna call it a total loss.”

  I took a deep breath, then sat down on the edge of the ambulance beside him, looking out at the all the people still roaming around, staring at the remnants of the fire. When I turned my gaze to him, he was staring out as well, so I put my head on his shoulder. I was sure it would hit me later that the restaurant we’d worked to make a success for the last nine years was gone, but right then… the only feelings I could muster were ones of extreme gratitude that he wasn’t the one laid out on that stretcher.

  “Mr. Parker,” Nixon said, answering my unspoken question. Garret Parker and his wife had opened their dry cleaner just a few years before us. She died the same year everything with Nix and me went to shit, and Garret became even more ornery and mean than he was before. Still, I hated knowing that he’d died.

  Nixon grew quiet, and I could tell he was retreating into his thoughts, so I left him to that, but kept my head resting on his shoulder. Roman came and brought him some clothes, then walked us back down to Viv’s building. He helped me drag him up the stairs, then made a quiet departure, leaving me to the work of getting Nixon into the shower, and the fresh set of extra clothes Roman left.

  He was mostly silent, but pliant, and I couldn’t help grinning at his willingness to let me shower him. We both knew he could do it himself, but for some reason… I just wanted to. I felt like he needed it. Or maybe I needed it, needed to take care of him, to assuage the guilt I felt over my revelations the night before, in my conversation with my friends.

  I stripped down to my sports tank and boy short panties, stepping into the shower with him. He kept on his boxers, and said very little as I soaped and lathered him with my Dove body wash. He groaned in appreciation as I took my time over his back, chest, and arms, scrubbing away the black lines of soot and ash, leaving behind clean, golden-brown skin and the occasional tattoo. A few were newly acquired ones that he’d gotten since our breakup, but I didn’t take the time to explore. It was late, and I was tired, so I knew Nix was probably exhausted.

  After finishing all of
his less intimate areas, I stepped out, leaving him to complete the rest while I changed into fresh sleep clothes of my own. His clothes were already in the bathroom with him, and after a brief moment of deliberation, I put out extras pillows and blankets for him on the couch. Not that I wanted him to sleep out there. Honestly, I wanted him close, but didn’t feel right making an assumption my bed would be his choice. We hadn’t talked about anything… he could still be angry for all I knew.

  When I was done setting up for him, I climbed into bed, turned on the dimmer lamp, and lay in the semi-dark with my tablet while I listened to him finish his shower, pee, then wash his hands and brush his teeth. After that, I smiled at the various bumps and thumps of him getting dressed, then restoring the bathroom to order before he opened the door.

  Those sounds, which I’d listened to almost every night for nearly four years of our relationship, were like music to me, so incredibly intimate and familiar it made warmth blossom in my chest and stay there. Instead of going into the living room, where I’d set up a place for him, Nixon climbed into bed beside me, and I had to suppress a smile. Close like this, I was inevitably drawn into looking into his eyes. His deep hazels were darker than usual, and filled with sadness, and hurt, and anger, and a whole host of other things that I wished I could take away.

  But I couldn’t.

  As much as I loved Pot Liquor, Nixon loved it more. He was the one who’d been there nearly every day, while I was out in California, and before and after. PL was Nixon’s home, and his life. And now it was gone.