Finding Fate

by Charisse Spiers

  “We got back together.”

  “Yes. You set off his crazy. You’re the only person that could take me from him.” She rolls her eyes, while I’m standing here wondering how the hell he would know we were even back together that night. Until now I was so caught up in everything I hadn’t given it any thought. “Which is stupid if you ask me. Maybe he has abandonment issues that run deep. He’ll never admit it if he does. When he figures out I can have a relationship with both my father and the love of my life, he’ll quit acting like a psycho. In the meantime, we enjoy being back together and wait for his next move.” She kisses me briefly, handing me my keys.

  My mind is still processing all of the possibilities, like could he take her from me again? No one just randomly knows where someone is. Even if he had been waiting for me to come back home, how would he have known she’d been with me? Maybe he was tracking her phone or car. Neither of those things she has anymore, making me relax a little. She playfully shoves me back. “Now go, we have a birthday cake to pick up. It’s our son’s sixth birthday today.”

  Oh yeah . . . That. I’d almost forgotten. Then the thought occurs to me that even though we’ll be celebrating it, someone else is going to be singing happy birthday to our son. They will get to celebrate it with him and watch him blow out the candles and eat the cake. And when he runs to hug Mom and Dad for the cool gifts, another couple is going to be the ones he runs to, taking the credit for his happiness. I wonder if they joke about who he looks like between the two of them as if their DNA created him.

  I blow out. My mood is soured once again. But then Gabby fucking smiles at me, big and bright, her teeth showing, stopping my heart from beating. She’s beautiful. But with that one heart-stopping smile I’m reminded that she’s been carrying this weight alone, and it’s almost like she’s finally in peace. She deserves a break, so I’m going to force a smile and sing over a damn birthday cake for a son that will never know we did it, then shove spoonfuls of it in my mouth while my heart breaks that’s he’s not here, celebrating it with us—his real parents.

  I turn around, letting her get on my back without prompting her. As soon as she’s latched onto me, I shut the door and grab the underside of her thighs, already making my way through the parking lot as the alarm sounds on my truck, securing it. She kisses my cheek and then places hers side by side with mine. “I love you. I’m so glad I don’t have to hide this anymore,” she says, driving the stake into my heart even more. I wish she’d never had to hide it at all. We would have been good parents.

  “I love you to, Gab. Always will.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Gabby

  I look through my basket full of every color fingernail polish a girl could imagine, deciding what I want to go with. Since I can’t leave this darn house to get my nails and toes painted, I’ve had to start ordering my own online, and since colors look different in a photo, I usually order many colors at one time.

  Madden shoves his foot in my rib, which is something he does when he doesn’t like my position. It takes my breath away. I settle on Pool Party by China Glaze—a bright neon pink that makes any pair of hands and feet look fabulous. I should probably go with a more ‘fall appropriate’ color, but given that I’m fifteen and pregnant, this likely suits what any adult is going to think of me—immature.

  I press down on my round belly beneath my rib, trying to move him. He kicks at my hand instead, sending me in a fully upright position to try and stretch my short torso. “You’re just like your daddy already. Stubborn with a temper.”

  I waddle over to my bay window and slowly lower myself, pulling my leg on it to reach my feet. My belly is too big and being folded up this way is hard to breathe like he’s squished against my lungs. This isn’t going to work. I stand again, after finagling a little to push myself off with my hand. The doctor keeps saying she’s going to induce me if he doesn’t come in the next day or so. I’ve stalled as long as I can, trying to have more time with him.

  I glance down past my protruding belly button at my feet that I can barely see. If I have to shove my legs up in the air for all to see, my toes are going to be painted dang it. I’m determined somehow to get down there. Forcing the bottom of my foot on the edge of the bay window seat, I try to somehow go at it from the side, but suddenly my panties feel wet.

  Did I pee a little on myself again? Ugh! Gross. I toss down the unopened polish and walk to my panty drawer, the wet ones already being shoved down my legs just before reaching in to pull out a clean pair. When I open them and bend forward to step in one leg hole, a stream of something clear drizzles out of me like chocolate syrup off of a spoon. It reminds me of baby oil gel, like it’s somewhere in the middle of a liquid and true jelly. Every time I make a major movement more comes out, and each time it’s higher in volume. That can’t be pee.

  The conversation I had with my doctor about signs of labor and explaining my water breaking comes back to me. No. I’m not ready. Dad will be pissed if my water breaks all over the floor since it’s carpet. Grabbing the top item out of my laundry hamper, I shove the bundle of fabric between my legs and reach for my phone, before hobbling out of my room into my bathroom to get in the bathtub.

  The pinch of a cramp tightens in my abdomen, bringing my hand to the site of the pain on my belly. I breathe in and out, until finally, it subsides. I slowly lower to my knees. If I tell my dad, he’ll take me to the hospital. I’m not ready to go there. I don’t want to give him away. He’s mine and Maddox’s. I’ll just have to sit here and wait. Worst case, I can lay in a warm bath, or deliver him without any help and maybe Dad will be forced to let me keep him. I can do this.

  Toes pressed against the back of the bathtub, I lean forward on my forearms over the ledge of the tub, phone in hand as I stare down at our picture on the screen from the day he left. I could call him, and if Dad asks, I can tell him I dialed Maddox’s number out of habit tying to call him. I just want to hear his voice. I want to know he’s okay. I want to know if he still misses me after this much time. I want him here with me. He deserves to know. We should get to keep him together.

  Tears sting my eyes, fear of getting Maddox arrested running rampant through my mind. I can’t do that to him. He doesn’t deserve it. A sharp cramp like something balling up inside me brings them forward, spilling from my eyes. I grit and yell through it. It hurts. God, it hurts. I’ve never felt this kind of pain. I’m scared.

  It finally relaxes. I lay my forehead on the fiberglass, spreading my legs wider, trying to catch my breath for the next one. Amniotic fluid is constantly draining out of me. I was expecting it to be like dumping a bucket of water one time. Another contraction starts. I cry harder, wanting the pain to go away. I don’t want to do this alone.

  I place my hand on my belly, forcing myself to withstand the heavy cramping that feels more like someone twisting my guts around. I’m starting to sweat. I move into a frog stance when my knees start hurting. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, even though no one can hear me. “I hate keeping a secret from you. Please don’t hate me if you ever find out what I did. I love you so much, Maddox. I wish we could be a family.”

  “Gab.” I blink. “Gabby.” A hand waves in front of my face. “Gabby.” Why does he keep calling my name? “Gabrielle,” he barks, his tone harder, as he places his hands on my face and starts wiping at something wet. What is that? “You’re freaking me the fuck out, baby. What’s wrong?”

  “Huh?” I look into his glossy eyes like he’s seconds from crying. “What are you talking about?”

  “You just zoned out on me and then suddenly started crying. You called out my name and started mumbling shit about keeping secrets. What secrets? You’re freaking me the hell out.”

  “I was daydreaming of the day I went into labor. I wanted to call you so bad, but I was scared if I pushed my dad, he’d really do it. I didn’t want you to go to jail. I’d been laboring in the bathtub for three solid hours when my dad came home and saw my face blood red and soak
ing wet from how much pain I was in. He was mad at me for not calling him. I could tell it was hurting him to see me like that, but I just wanted a little bit longer with our son. I screamed and begged to just let me deliver him. I promised I’d take care of him like I was asking for a pet. He carried me to the car with a towel wrapped around me. I was five centimeters by the time I got to the hospital. Do you know how it feels for the best and worst day of your life to be on the same day? Everything about it was a nightmare from beginning to end . . . except when he was born. I heard him cry. I watched him breathe, knowing he came out of me. I saw firsthand the miracle of life. We created a beautiful person together. I loved him unconditionally within milliseconds. Then, as quickly as he came into the world, he was gone like he never existed. The reminders were left behind though. The stitches, the bleeding, the pain in my vagina once the medicine wore off. The milk coming out of my breasts. The one person that could have helped was you, and I wasn’t allowed to speak to you.”

  “Gab,” he says, his voice raw, still holding my face. “I’m trying to be strong for you, but you’re making it really damn hard. I have a top out too.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I did things out loud. I’m always alone on his birthday.”

  He pulls me against his body and wraps his arms around me. “You wouldn’t have been alone had I known.”

  I hug him tight. “I know. I miss him,” I finally admit. I never get to say it out loud. It feels good to get it out.

  “Me too, and I haven’t had to deal with it as long as you.”

  I breathe out against his stern chest. “I suppose we should light the candle.”

  He lets me go. I turn toward the kitchen island, my eyes instantly setting on the cake I ordered at the bakery. I always order it instead of just picking out what they have made. Even though I have no idea what he’s into, it makes me feel like I’m putting thought into it. I take in the sheet cake made of an outdoor scene with different colored airbrush and icing, filled with roads and streams and little pieces of plastic equipment sitting about like dump trunks and back hoes and track hoes. There is even black crumbly stuff—probably crushed Oreos—that look like mounds of dirt.

  Maddox comes closer, his front against my back, and places his palms down on the stone counter. “I like the cake.”

  I grab the corner and pop the clear plastic lid out of the track to remove it from the bottom, and then set it to the side. “I wish I knew if he did. It’s always a shot in the dark, but I at least try.”

  “You would have been a good mother,” he says, making my lips tremble and my vision blur as I pick up the candle and open the cardboard box it’s in, because I know Maddox isn’t the type of guy to say things he doesn’t mean. He doesn’t hand out compliments like candy, and that’s the mother of all compliments considering everything.

  “Where should I put the candle?” I ask, ignoring his comment, because my heart will always be broken that we didn’t get to try. A chance is all I wanted. I hold it over multiple places in the air, testing it out visually before breaking through the surface of the perfect cake.

  He wraps his hand around mine, stopping me. “Gab, stop trying to look like we have it all together. In the long run it’s not healthy. Neither of us would have given up that baby. We may not have had a lot for a while, but we would have raised him on love and hard work. It’s okay to not be okay.”

  I draw my arm back so I don’t drop it on the cake, and I give up, sobs tearing through my throat one after the other, the waterfall of tears along with it. His arms come around me from behind, locking me against his body. “The damage was done the day you found out you were pregnant. You were robbed of your teenage years either way, but you would have been a good mother, despite your age, and you’re going to believe it just like you believe I’d be a good father. No one is going to be the mother of my kids but you. We’ve never stopped loving each other. I don’t regret making a baby with you. I swear to God, though, if I had it to do over again, the only thing I’d change was me leaving. I would have turned around and picked your ass up, we would have crossed many state lines, and we would have gotten you emancipated minor status. We’d be long married by now, probably have an army running around because I can’t stay out of you, and we’d be celebrating another year older with our firstborn.”

  “My heart—” I cry. “Feels like it has holes.” I fight for air. “You fixed one. I need you. I hate pretending. It’s exhausting. I can’t help that I love you. I knew the second I saw you that I did. I’ve been freefalling ever since.”

  He spins me around and lifts me onto the bar, his face matching mine even though he hasn’t made a sound. “Nothing will ever top the way you make me feel. I’m done wasting time. We have one life. We’re going to make it count. We’re going to prove to the world we’re going to make it. And the ones that try to stop us—we’re gonna roll right through them. Fuck ‘em all, baby. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. At the end of this we’re gonna be at the top, still loving each other. My heart and yours—perfect complements. It’s time to accept we’re just one of the lucky ones—found it fast and made it forever.”

  I lean in, our mouths centimeters apart. “Then let’s tear off the rearview mirror and run.” I kiss him, because that’s what you do when you love someone—you never get enough.

  Twenty-Eight

  Landon

  “Oh, come on! Asshole,” I shout at the television from the couch, PlayStation remote in my hand with the urge to sling it at the screen from my loss. Instead of picking my dead ass up and playing another round, I fall back against the back of the couch, bored as hell. Constantly surrounded by people and the one time I get a house alone—something I’m used to—I’m losing my mind. I’m confined to a rig around guys twenty-four-seven at work for two weeks at a time. I usually prefer to be alone for the most part when I’m off, at least during the day. Normally, I’d be in a tree stand hunting at least once a day during November.

  I don’t know what the hell they’re doing to me. Or why I continue to agree to come here where everyone is coupled up and going at it all the time instead of going home where I want to be. It’s a mystery to me. I like having my own space, no itinerary or coordinating plans with roommates, and sitting on my back porch at night with drinking buddies while we talk shit well into the night.

  Maybe you come because you’re only twenty-four and act like you’re sixty at home . . .

  My phone vibrates on the glass coffee table in front of me, lit up with a text notification on the screen. I toss the controller aside and pick it up.

  Trinity: Are you back in from work? Was going to see if you wanted to come over tonight . . .

  I laugh out as I reply. Once a whore always a whore.

  Me: No can do, slut. Not in Mississippi at the moment. You’ll have to find someone else to service you while your husband is off making you money.

  The text typing bubbles start up immediately.

  Trinity: Lol. You’re an asshole.

  Funny thing is, she thinks I’m joking.

  Me: Doesn’t stop you from bouncing on my dick.

  A knock sounds at the door at the same time her message comes through.

  Trinity: Not my fault you have a big dick and know how to use it. Don’t make me sound bad. I told you we have an open relationship at the moment until we know if we want to split up for good or not. When he’s home he does his own thing—girls included. He’s fine with it as long as I do it when he’s gone so he doesn’t have to see it, which works perfectly because he’s on the opposite shift as you. Come on, it’s been over two weeks. You were fine with someone else until you found out we’re married.

  Me: You usually hit me up when I’m drunk. Secondhand pussy is as good as any when I’m intoxicated.

  Trinity: OMG! I’m not double-teaming. We aren’t having sex with each other until we figure things out, hence the open relationship. I’ll make it worth your while. I have some new neon pink lingerie that compl
ements my blonde hair and makes my rack look great.

  Another knock sounds, reminding me everyone is gone. I stand and head in that direction as I respond.

  Me: Hope you stocked up on batteries for your toy. In Miami. Will text you when I get back.

  I grab the door and open it, still looking at the screen as the message comes through.

  Trinity: You suck.

  Me: Sucking is your job.

  “You must be one of my sister’s little live-in projects. Name? I’ll try not to forget it.” I glance up at the sound of a female voice dripping in sarcasm, my eyes hitting a pair of blues that are very similar to Presley’s in color and shape, but then they descend, confirming that’s pretty much the only similarity. This one looks like she could be the older one. She’s hotter too. Brown hair the same color as mine at the top, but halfway down starts turning blonde, until the bottom half from her chest to below a large rack is almost white. Nose ring in a small nose. Plump lips coated in lipstick to make them look fuller. Tan skin. Tiny little body. Low cut shirt. Based on the amount of cleavage, definitely a pushup bra. Skin-tight jeans. Heels. Christ. She looks like one of those girls you see in a lingerie magazine. How old did they say she was again? My eyes return to hers. “Are you deaf or just slow, country boy?”

  My cock jerks. Oh. She’s one of those—Grade A bitch. I straighten, sliding my phone into my jeans pocket despite it vibrating, suddenly much more interested. “Last I checked my hearing and brain worked just fine. Who are you? No one here will be needing your services. They’re all married.”