My Peace (Beautifully Broken #5)

by Courtney Cole

  But some women, their instincts to be mothers overtakes everything else.

  That’s what happened that night.

  I’m sure of it.

  She fought for that snot-nosed kid. And in the end, I asked her why. Right before he rushed in and killed her, I asked her why she was fighting so hard for him.

  She looked up at me, and her eyes were so wide and full of tears. And she said-

  I stop, because that’s the end.

  The therapist looks at m, and I swear her eyes are moist with unshed tears.

  “What do you think she said?”

  I shake my head, and put the page down. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you?” she asks.

  “No, I don’t. Maybe she said that she loved me.”

  That thought constricts every one of my muscles, and I feel like a snake is trying to squeeze the life out of my body, a giant vise grip and my ribs… they can’t breathe.

  I suck in a breath.

  The therapist lays a piece of paper in my lap.

  I look down.

  It’s a small torn piece. It matches the journal page.

  The missing piece.

  My heart pounds. “Turn it over and read it,” she says softly.

  With shaking fingers, I do.

  “He’s worth it.”

  34

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “And she said… he’s worth it,” I repeat, and my heart. God, it feels like it’s going to explode with an emotion I don’t recognize.

  “You’re worth it,” the therapist tells me simply. “Your mother knew it. She knew that you were so valuable, and so loved by her, that she would willingly give her life for you. She wanted you to live. She wanted you to thrive and be healthy. Because you’re worth it.”

  “I’m worth it,” I say aloud, and the words feel foreign. I’m almost thirty years old, and I never once have felt like I’m worth it. I realize that now, in this very heavy moment.

  “You’re worth it.”

  I stare at the therapist, and she stares back.

  “Do you believe it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That is your task,” she says finally. “To get to a place where you believe you’re worth it. Until you do, you won’t have peace.”

  “My name means peace,” I tell her, off-hand. “My mother always said I was her peace.”

  She nods. “I know.”

  I don’t remember telling her that, but I don’t say it.

  “I know your wife feels like you’re worth it,” she says. “And your daughter. And your unborn baby will someday feel it, too. You are a good man, Pax Tate. I knew you would be, and you are.”

  I stare at the floor, and tears threaten to fall. I don’t know why. Hearing someone say that I have value… it has power.

  “Give your wife the chance to love you,” she suggests. “She loves you more than anything, and you love her, too. That is what life is all about.”

  She stands up.

  “Our sessions are over,” she says. “You’ll continue with the group sessions for the rest of your stay here. It’s been very nice to speak with you. Can I hug you?”

  I nod, and she bends, pulling me into a warm hug.

  She feels soft and familiar, and when she turns to leave, I realize something.

  She smells like honeysuckle.

  “You never told me your name,” I point out as she leaves.

  She pauses, staring over her shoulder.

  “No, I guess I didn’t.”

  She’s gone but the scent of honeysuckle remains, and I’m stunned, and it’s a coincidence.

  “It’s a coincidence,” I say aloud. “I’m losing it.”

  I’m just taking old feelings and pinning them on her, like wishful thinking.

  I spend the afternoon thinking about the things she said, and pondering. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do have value.

  Maybe I am worth it.

  After group, I pull aside the main counselor. “I’d like to have one more individual session with my therapist, if that’s possible,” I tell her.

  She stares at me, confused.

  “You haven’t begun your individual therapy yet. That begins in week two.”

  “But… I’ve been speaking to a woman,” I tell her. “Slim, blond, middle-aged, classy-looking.”

  She shakes her head. “We don’t have anyone here who fits that description.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask weakly.

  “Quite,” she nods.

  Somehow, I make it back to my room on my weak legs, and it still smells vaguely of honeysuckle inside. Light and soft, not the cloying scent that Natasha had worn. I look around, at the four walls and empty room.

  “This can’t be,” I say aloud, because saying words aloud gives them power.

  But I know for a fact that I’ve been speaking with someone. I’m not imagining it.

  I’m shaky as I sit on the bed.

  I’m shaky as I remember the past few days, and how familiar and warm I had felt while speaking with her. She made me feel comfortable. Safe. Secure. Like my subconscious was picking up things that I wasn’t.

  I am overwhelmed. And while I’ve never believed in anything unexplainable, I want to believe in this. I want to believe that my mother was here.

  It gives me hope, and hope is priceless.

  I pick up the torn paper lying on my nightstand.

  He’s worth it.

  Maybe I am.

  I pick up the phone.

  I call my wife.

  35

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Mila

  “Babe?”

  The voice coming from the phone is surreal. Husky.

  “Pax?” I sit in the nearest chair, and my fingers immediately begin to shake. “Are you ok?”

  “Yeah. I… I don’t know what to say. I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too,” I tell him quickly. “Are you ok?”

  “I’m an addict, Red,” he says solemnly, but he called me Red.

  He called me Red. My heart sings with the sound of it.

  “I know,” I tell him. “But we can deal with it. We can, Pax.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I abandoned you. I’m so sorry. For everything.”

  My throat chokes up. “Does this mean you’re coming home?”

  There’s a pause. “Yes. If you’ll have me. As soon as I’m done with the program.”

  I cry now. I can’t help it. I sob and my shoulders shake, and Pax tries to comfort me from the other end of the line.

  “Babe, it’s ok. Don’t cry. I don’t want you to cry.”

  “What changed?” I’m finally able to ask.

  “It’s hard to explain,” he answers. “My mom… she just told me that I’m worth it. The journal… Leroy kept a journal. And in the end, he asked her why she was sacrificing herself for me, and she said that I was worth it.”

  “You are,” I tell him quickly, and God, this makes my heart break. “You are.”

  “So,” he continues. “I’m going to try to come to terms with that. To really understand, I mean, deep down, that I have worth and value. I don’t think I’ve ever believed that was true.”

  “Even after we’ve been together?” I ask, confused. How is that possible?

  He’s slow to answer. “Not deep down,” he says. “I think I’ve always felt like I didn’t deserve you. Or anything good, actually. That I’d just lucked out that you loved me.”

  “That’s not true,” I argue. “I’m the lucky one, Pax.”

  “I love you so much,” he tells me, and his voice is broken. I try to imagine what he’s doing. He’s sitting, I think. Hunched over the phone. “I can’t believe I’ve done this. I can’t believe I’m here.”

  “Babe, this wasn’t your fault. Please believe that.”

  “I’m trying,” he answers. “Will you come on visiting day? To see me?”

  “Try to keep me away,” I tell
him through my tears. “I was already planning on being there.”

  We talk for a little while longer, and my heart threatens to explode with my love for this man. Everything else that has happened fades away, and all that matters is Pax.

  “The baby?” he asks. “It’s ok?”

  “Yes. We’re both fine. Zuzu is fine. She misses you, but I told her that you’re getting better.”

  “I am,” he tells me. “I am. Tell her I’ll be home soon.”

  “I will.” My throat chokes up again. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too.”

  We hang up, and I suddenly feel stronger than I ever have before. We’re going to survive this. Pax will survive it.

  * * *

  I’m waiting in the commons room of the rehab facility ten minutes before visiting hours begin. I’m fidgety and my foot taps on the floor.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  A voice from behind me. My husband’s voice.

  I turn, and leap from the chair, and throw my arms around his neck.

  He smells like wood, and the outdoors and man.

  He laughs into my hair, and his hands are stroking my back, and his arms are strong.

  “I missed you,” he tells me, his lips against my cheek. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Trust me, you couldn’t have kept me away.”

  “I know. I tried that before. It didn’t work,” he agrees.

  I snarl at him. “Don’t do that again. Whatever happens, we face it together. Do you understand?”

  He nods. “Yeah. I do.”

  I hold his hand as he gives me a tour, showing me the grounds and his room.

  “Is everything all right at home?” he asks as we sit on his bed. I nod.

  “Yeah. Roger is fussing about like a woman.”

  Pax laughs. “I told him to keep an eye on you.”

  “Sasha is trying to hire a new housekeeper for me, but I’m not ready yet,” I tell him. “I just… I can’t.”

  She can’t open our home to a stranger again. I completely understand.

  “At some point, we’ll need one, if we stay in that house,” I point out. “It’s too big to manage alone.”

  “Do you want to stay there?” I ask him. He shrugs.

  “I don’t know. Do you? You were the one locked in our room.”

  “For some reason, I haven’t struggled with that,” I tell him. “The only thing that bothers me is the living room. Sasha had the rugs replaced, because of the blood, but I’ve kept the doors closed and we don’t go in there. It feels….well, it’s got bad energy.”

  “I’m going to talk to my father,” he decides. “We’ll see what can be done.”

  “I don’t care about that right now,’” I tell him. “I just want to spend time with you.”

  He pulls me into him, against his chest, and he holds me there. I listen to his heart for minutes and minutes, before I speak again.

  “I want to come to therapy with you,” I tell him. “I want us to face this together, as much as possible.”

  He’s quiet, then he nods. “If you’d like.”

  “I would.”

  So that’s what we do.

  I come for therapy with him three times a week for the remainder of his three-week stay in rehab.

  He has to do PT on his knee during the day, and individual sessions as well, so he stays busy.

  Every day he gets stronger. I see it. It’s a visible improvement.

  His father visits him, and when he drops by the house afterward, he’s pleased.

  “He’s better than I’ve ever seen him,” he announces as he sits at the kitchen table with me for a cup of tea. “He looks so healthy.”

  “He is healthy,” I say proudly. “He’s doing so well.”

  “Did he tell you that I attended therapy with him?” Paul asks me. This is news. I shake my head.

  “No.”

  “I did. Twice. He had some pent-up issues with me, issues he didn’t even know he had. After Susanna died… I wasn’t very available to him. I’m sorry for that. I wasn’t handling my grief, and it affected him. It has affected you, as well. I’m terribly sorry for that.”

  I reach out and squeeze his arm. “You didn’t mean to hurt him,” I say, and I completely believe that. “Grief does strange things to a person.”

  “It does,’ he agrees. “It really does. I was hurting the most important person in my life, and didn’t even realize it.”

  “Well, from now on, we only go forward,” I decide, sipping my tea. “And we don’t dwell on the past. Is that a deal?”

  “Absolutely,” Paul agrees. He pauses. “Also, I looked at William’s will again. There’s a clause in it concerning force majeure.”

  “Force majeure?” I stare at him.

  “Yeah. It’s a set of unforeseen circumstances that might prevent someone from fulfilling a contract. It’s usually something natural, like a hurricane or something. But sometimes, in a case like this, it can be applied.”

  “A case like this?”

  “William stipulated that you had to live in his house. Given the circumstances that you were held captive in it, and someone died in it, I believe that force majeure would apply. I know that William wouldn’t want to force you into staying there under these conditions. I’m going to speak with the judge overseeing the estate, and see if he agrees. If he does, you can sell, and buy a new house, while Pax can still take over his grandfather’s business and fortune, as planned.”

  Relief floods me. “That would be a blessing,” I tell him. “I hate it here.”

  “I know you do,” he answers. “But hopefully soon, we’ll get it straightened out.”

  We finish our tea in silence, and as Paul stands up to go, he turns to me.

  “Thank you for loving my son so much,” he tells me, and his voice is a little choked up. “You’ve given him the life that I always dreamed he would have.”

  “He’s given me the life I always dreamed I would have,” I tell him. “So I’m grateful to you for bringing him into this world.”

  He hugs me, and then he’s gone.

  I watch Zuzu through the window, running and playing with Chelcie, and I cup my belly with my hand. Soon, she’ll have a brother or sister to play with. And we’ll be in a brand-new home, with a brand-new beginning.

  36

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Pax

  Three weeks of therapy has passed slowly and quickly at the same time.

  I would be lying if I said I didn’t crave heroin. I do. It will be a struggle for some time to come. I know that. But I also know I’m strong enough to withstand it.

  I’m worth it.

  I believe that now.

  I’m ready to go home to be with my wife and daughter, and at the same time, I’m afraid. I’m afraid of failing them.

  I take a deep breath as I pack my bag.

  I put the picture Zuzu made for me on top, where it won’t get crumpled.

  When Roger comes to pick me up, Mila isn’t accompanying him. My father steps out of the car. I’m disappointed, but try not to show it. He laughs.

  “Expecting someone else?

  I grimace. Was it that obvious?”

  He smiles. “You’ve been away from your wife for weeks. Trust me, I understand. I’m taking you to her though. She wants you to come to her.”

  “Where is she?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “Mila does love surprises,” I nod. I’m so happy to be leaving and going home, that I don’t even mind not knowing what’s going on. The car glides away from the curb and my father chats idly about business, and I only halfway listen.

  I’m going home to my wife.

  That’s all that matters.

  I’m strong enough for this, I remind myself for the twentieth time today. I’m strong enough.”

  The car weaves among the traffic to the other side of the city, and then out of traffic into the outskirts of town. We pass through a gate, gua
rded by a security guard. It’s a housing development, with homes spaced very far apart from each other.

  It’s nice. It’s upscale.

  My curiosity is piqued.

  We pull into one long driveway, a drive paved with stone. The car weaves up the curve, and stops in front of a beautiful house.

  Not small, not too large, it’s perfect. It’s exterior is stone, and it’s solid and graceful. I lift an eyebrow at my father. He shakes his head.

  “Go find out for yourself.”

  Roger opens my door and I’m out the door. My knee is still stiff, even with the PT, so I can only move so fast, but I get to the front door as fast as I can.

  Mila opens it before I can ring the doorbell, her face radiant.

  “Welcome home, babe,” she says, gesturing me in with a grand sweep of her arm. “I hope you love it.”

  I’m speechless as I enter, treading over gleaming wood floors. It’s comfortable here. Very nice, yet still very comfortable. We pass through a formal dining room and a butler’s pantry and into a large kitchen.

  “Your father made it so we could sell your grandfather’s house,” Mila tells me. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve bought this one. I wanted you to come home to a new start. Someplace we can start fresh with new memories, not ugly old ones.”

  “I’ve never been happier,” I tell her honestly. She grins.

  “Let me show you our bedroom.”

  She leads me into the master suite, and it’s awash with grays and creams, the light streams in, and it’s all very soft, very sophisticated. “The shower is extra tall for you,” she tells me, as she leads me in. And it is. It’s the perfect size for me, and there’s a soaking tub for Mila.

  “We’re going to be happy here,” I tell her. She nods.

  “Yes, we will.”