LOVER COME BACK_An Unbelievable But True Love Story

by Scott Hildreth

  I envisioned spending the evening sneaking away from the party and mingling with him while Jessica drank wine with the owner of the salon.

  “Shit,” I said. “Teddy’s dumb ass is back there in the back.”

  “I’ll be darned,” Jess said.

  “Where are we meeting them,” I asked.

  “In the back. Around the corner.”

  We took a few steps toward the rear of the bar. King came into view. Seated beside Teddy, he looked up and grinned a slight smile. At his side, Basher sat.

  I began to fill with rage. The MC was having a gathering that I knew nothing of. After a few more steps, I saw Mainline. I looked at Jess.

  “Shit,” I said. “Someone’s having a fucking party.”

  My brother came into view. Then, an old friend from school. My head spun. Something was happening, and the sight of it was confusing me. It was a gathering of people who I knew, admired, and loved, but it didn’t include me.

  Disappointed, I took a few reluctant steps.

  Teddy stood.

  “What’s going on, shithead?” I asked in Teddy’s direction.

  He returned an awkward grin.

  I paused and surveyed the group. What the fuck is going on, I thought.

  “Surprise!” Jessica said. “Happy fiftieth Birthday. I love you.”

  It took a moment for what she said to register. When it did, I wasn’t very happy. Anger slowly replaced the disappointment.

  As an adult, I chose not to recognize my birthdays. Having a party to celebrate being one year closer to death seemed ridiculous to me. So, I prohibited it. If anyone knew my hatred toward birthdays, Jessica knew.

  So did Teddy.

  My brother did as well.

  I glanced up and down the length of the tables. Dozens of people, all of which I knew, and knew well, were seated side by side.

  “Happy birthday, motherfucker,” many of them said.

  I looked at Jess.

  She flashed a half-assed smile. “I hope it’s okay. It’s your fiftieth. It’s a big deal.”

  “You did this?”

  She bit against her lower lip and grinned. “I did.”

  The anger vanished. Affection and adoration replaced it.

  “I love you,” I said.

  She kissed me. “I love you, too.”

  I couldn’t have said when the last time was that I had a birthday party, but I suspected it was in my teens.

  I spent that night with the fellas, old friends, family, and the woman I loved, telling stories, listening to lies, and reliving events of my past. When it ended, I had to admit to myself – and to Jessica – that it was the best birthday I’d ever had.

  That night, I realized her love for me wasn’t simply a word that was spoken.

  Her love was true.

  I’d never experienced the depth and honesty of the love Jessica felt for me. Filled with comfort to the point I feared I’d burst, I fell asleep that night with her held tightly in my arms.

  I prayed that night that the few remaining pieces of our life’s puzzle would one day snap firmly into place.

  Chapter Fifty

  I started writing a new series, intending to make it a six-book installment. The Selected Sinners MC Series took place in a rural Kansas town, and was based on the lives of the members of a motorcycle club. The men in the club would all share some of the same characteristics that made my character Mike Ripton popular.

  They would seek vengeance when someone committed an act that either couldn’t or wouldn’t be punished by the judicial system.

  The first book, Making the Cut, did extremely well, surpassing my previous books in sales. The series would go on to win two Amazon Kindle All-Star Awards and provide me with several paid bonuses from Amazon. Thrilled at the performance of the first installment of the new series, I was eager to begin writing the second book.

  My work schedule was often a matter of contention between us. I worked seven days a week, from five or six am until ten o’clock at night. I often lost track of what month it was, and rarely knew what day of the week it was. I had always been somewhat of a workaholic and being self-employed made matters measurably worse.

  The only time off that I took from writing was the morning after I published a book. Jess and I would go to a small diner across the street and have a celebratory breakfast. It soon became a tradition. Jessica had fun with it, often posting photos on Facebook of the food we’d chosen or a silly pose of both of us over our empty plates.

  Eager to get the second book out, I went to work immediately following the traditional breakfast. Jessica complained, wanting me to spend time with her while the children were in preschool.

  I explained that I couldn’t. The success of my new series was something that we, as a family, needed. If we intended to move into a place more suitable for a family, the additional income was instrumental to our being able to do so. In the wake of Sons of Anarchy’s television series ending, it seemed women had a void in their lives that only motorcycle clubs could fill. I intended to fill that void with my books. Capitalizing on the opportunity, I explained.

  I wrote for the next month, barely taking time to sleep. Upon completing the second book, Taking the Heat, I sent it to Amazon for review before publication.

  “When are you going to pack?” Jessica asked. “Tonight, or tomorrow morning?”

  I looked up from my computer’s screen. “Huh?”

  “We’re going to Vegas tomorrow. To get married.”

  “Oh. I was going to pack in the morning.”

  If she hadn’t reminded me, I wouldn’t have known the day arrived. I fell asleep that night, exhausted from the sixty days I’d worked without a break.

  The next morning, we drove the children to St. Louis. I met her mother at the door with a big hug. At that point, I’d been in her company no less than three or four times, each of which began and ended with a hug.

  As we ate with her family that night, her mother asked what I was writing. I nearly fainted. Apparently, forcing myself upon her had worked. She’d done just as I predicted. She found a way to accept me.

  I responded with an abbreviated version of the truth, explaining that I was writing a series about men who rode motorcycles. I purposely left out the violence and the fact they were all well-endowed.

  After giving Lisa a departing hug the next morning, Jessica and I flew to Las Vegas. I was excited for us both. It was Jessica’s first trip to Las Vegas, and I knew she’d enjoy the endless shopping the city of sin offered. I looked forward to the week-long vacation.

  The new book was released while we unpacked our things at the hotel. We announced through social media that the book was available, and later enjoyed a nice dinner together.

  Jess spent the next three days in awe of everything Las Vegas had to offer. We shopped. We ate. We shopped. We ate. We gambled. We ate. We shopped some more. We didn’t, however, take time to make love.

  When Saturday arrived, we got dressed for the wedding. She wore an ivory wedding dress, and I wore a tuxedo, sans the dress shoes.

  Chucks seemed much more appropriate.

  In my mind, I’d married Jessica long before that day. At least that’s what I told myself. The ceremony did one thing, though. It solidified my relationship with her. We were now bound by vows, a contract on paper, and an agreement with God. I knew in my heart of hearts that she took the oath as seriously as I did.

  Finally, Jessica was mine forever. I had a wedding ring to prove it.

  We paraded through the casino, opting to eat wedding night sushi. I held my head high everywhere we went, proud that she was mine, and that I was hers. When the night ended, we returned to the comfort of our hotel room and did what we didn’t seem to have time to do over the previous two months.

  We made love.

  It was different that night. Be it that we hadn’t done so in months, or that it was our wedding night, I don’t know. I did know, however that it was special. A change had taken place.
A significant one.

  The next morning, Jessica agreed. Something was special about it.

  It simply felt perfect.

  With magic in our eyes and smiles on our faces, we ate and shopped our way through the next two days of our vacation.

  Beaming with newlywed pride, we returned to St. Louis. We were greeted by her parents with balloons, streamers, and some fabulous homemade cooking. After a few days of visiting, we returned home.

  Within hours of our return, I was pounding away at book number three of the series. Despite the changes we’d made in our lives during the previous week, some things, I decided, simply weren’t destined to change.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Immersed in my work, the next two weeks passed without realization. While struggling one morning with a difficult scene in the upcoming book, the phone rang. Aggravated, I reached for it. Much to my surprise, it was Jessica.

  “When will you be at a stopping point?” she asked.

  “Two weeks. Maybe three.”

  “Have you got a minute?”

  “Sure.”

  “I uhhm. I took. I’m,” she stammered. “I’m pregnant.”

  I leaped from my stool. “I figured you were,” I blurted.

  “What do you mean?” she snapped back. “That’s your response? I figured you were?”

  “I’ve been thinking you were,” I said excitedly. “For the last week. It’s a wedding night baby.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Do the math, genius,” I said jokingly. “We’ve only boned once in the last two months.”

  “I think I’m much more pregnant than that. Either that, or this one is going to be twins, or something. I’m exhausted.”

  She’d done nothing but sleep since our return from Las Vegas. She was also short-tempered and moody. The changes in her had me hoping she was pregnant. I had a gut feeling she was, and that the baby was conceived on our wedding night.

  “Let’s go to the doctor and find out,” I said. “My bet is that we conceived on February fourteenth.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you when I get home.”

  “I love you,” I said.

  “I love you, too.”

  The elation we’d both exhibited a year earlier was missing. I was still on my heels from our previous loss and couldn’t fathom going through the same thing all over again. I had little expectation that I could live through losing another child. I doubted Jessica could, either.

  Nonetheless, I was hopeful.

  We spent the next two weeks joyous one moment, and fearful the next. Waiting for the axe to one day fall, we sat on pins and needles, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. Four weeks into the pregnancy, Jess made a doctor’s appointment.

  Our visit to the doctor confirmed my suspicions.

  Our week-long trip to the city that never sleeps allowed us to shoehorn many activities, shows, meals, sights, and events into our schedule. It only afforded us one opportunity, however, to make love.

  Our wedding night.

  Upon receiving the confirmation from the doctor regarding the day of conception, I clenched my fist and held it over Jess’ lap.

  She rapped her knuckles into mine.

  The doctor grinned. “What was that about?”

  “Wedding night baby,” Jess said.

  “That’s awesome,” the doctor said.

  “What about the baby’s health?” I asked anxiously. “Is she healthy?”

  “You don’t know it’s a girl,” Jess said.

  I arched an eyebrow at Jess, and then looked at the doctor. “What about the baby’s health?”

  “Everything looks fine right now, but it’s way too early to tell.”

  We explained the miscarriage we’d experienced. The doctor expressed her condolences but offered nothing to comfort us in the way of assurances that this baby would be any different than our last.

  I begged for a sonogram. The doctor refused. She then placed a device on Jessica’s stomach, which produced an audible heartbeat.

  Hearing it was enough to convince me that this time was going to be different. There was nothing to support my belief, but somehow, I knew.

  Two weeks later, contrary to Jessica’s requests, I posted a picture of her on Facebook, and included a hashtag with the photo.

  #babymomma

  The book world went wild.

  “What if—” Jessica began.

  I pressed my index finger to her lips. “It’s going to be just fine.”

  Having told my fans and followers, we had no choice but to tell our families. We told her parents by phone, and then made the trip to my parent’s house on the following Sunday. After taking our position in the usual places, we made the announcement.

  “Mother!” I shouted. “We’ve got an announcement.”

  She glanced to her side. “Okay.”

  “Are you listening, Pop?”

  “Like Dumbo the elephant,” he said. “I’m all ears.”

  “Jessica’s pregnant,” I said. “We’re going to have a baby.”

  “Oh,” my mother said. “I already knew that.”

  I looked back at her in complete shock. “What?”

  “I had a dream. Last Wednesday. I told your father.” She glanced at my father. “When was it, Dave?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Wednesday.”

  She grinned, and then rubbed Jessica’s shoulder. “I’m so happy for you.”

  My mother claimed to be clairvoyant. I never disputed her claims. She had several circumstances over the years that were inarguable.

  My father cleared his throat, commanding our attention in doing so. As Jess and I both met his gaze, he smiled. “Congratulations.”

  “It’s a wedding night baby,” I said.

  “Gave her the wedding night dick, did ya?” he said with a laugh.

  “David Wilson Hildreth!” my mother shouted.

  He chuckled. “She always hears the bad, and never hears the good.”

  A few days later, I told the older children. Erin was excited to the point of coming home from college, and Derek was excited about having a baby brother. Alec gave congratulatory comments to us both, but his sincerity seemed lacking.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if the animosity it seemed Alec felt was a result of Landon, Lily, and the new baby getting what he felt he was cheated out of when I went to prison. Before I left, we were inseparable. After I returned, he never quite had the time to spend with me that he once did. Initially, I dismissed it, assuming it would change in time.

  Based on his actions, I wondered if time had the capacity to heal all wounds. As Jess progressed through the pregnancy, I prayed for two things.

  Acceptance from my eldest son, and the baby’s health.

  If I could somehow obtain those two things, my life – and Jessica’s – would be nothing short of perfection.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  With the first trimester over, and no complications noted by the doctor or Jessica, we loaded the kids in the Jeep and headed for Disneyland. I found the twelve-hundred-mile trip relaxing. I’d been on the exact same route no less than a dozen times as a child. At the end of each trip, I always returned to the coast. This time, I’d be returning to the Midwest.

  If I had my way, I’d only be returning there once. I intended to talk Jessica into moving to California. Working from home afforded me an opportunity to work from anywhere. Kansas had changed drastically since my childhood. The Midwest now manufactured more methamphetamines than anywhere in the United States.

  I looked at things no differently than my father did forty years prior. Distancing my children from the drugs and crime that plagued the Midwest was my main concern. Providing them with an education, doing my best to separate them from drugs, and minimizing their exposure to crime was my responsibility as a father.

  As we entered California, the weather forecast changed. Los Angeles was being drenched by rain. We chose to stop in Palm Springs, a city in the desert southwest o
f the Joshua Tree National Park.

  We enjoyed time at the swimming pool, sunbathing, and seeing the sights the surrounding desert had to offer. While driving through the city, I pointed out several homes I’d found online that were for sale.

  Each got the same response. I don’t like it here. There’s no beach.

  Her response, in many respects, was perfect. Certain that once we were in Los Angeles Jess would see things differently, I waited for the weather to change. In a week, it did. We packed up our belongings and headed to Los Angeles.

  Jessica’s anxiety hit an all-time high when exposed to the LA traffic. The ninety mile-an-hour bumper-to-bumper traffic was more than she could handle. Before I had a chance to ask, she made clear her thoughts.

  “I hate this place,” she complained. “This traffic is dumb.”

  She was right. The traffic in LA was dumb. After our Disneyland vacation, I planned on going to San Diego. I wanted to show Jessica and the children where I played as a child. Mission Beach’s Belmont Park, Point Loma, Balboa Park, the San Diego Zoo, and Sea World were on the list of places to go. I hoped her opinion of California changed once we were out of LA’s traffic and away from their fast-paced lifestyle.

  The children found Disneyland fascinating. It didn’t seem as enchanting to me as it did when I was a child. I found myself wondering if an adult’s eyes saw things differently than a child’s. I wondered if my father saw the park the same way when he took us through it when we children.

  One of the many sacrifices, I decided, that a father makes for his children. I feigned excitement as we went from ride to ride and from park to park. After two days, I was exhausted. I longed to return to what I had always considered my home town, San Diego.

  On our way to San Diego, we stopped in Huntington Beach to meet someone who saw our trip’s route on Facebook and wanted to meet us. Then, we drove to San Clemente and met with my niece, and her boyfriend.

  The drive along California’s Pacific Coastal Highway was breathtaking. For a few hours’ time, Jess and the kids had a view of California’s coast that could only be obtained along the PCH.

  When we arrived at the hotel I’d chosen online, it was late that night. It was so disgusting that I didn’t allow the children to take their shoes off. After a thorough inspection, I demanded that they sleep on top of the comforter.