by Julie Bailes
I pick up the phone and dial her number several more times, but still no answer. My last resort is her parents. Thankfully, I’ve called her multiple times when she went home on breaks in college, and I’ve memorized their number just as I have my own. Her mother picks up on the fourth ring.
“Hello?” she answers, her normally peppy and inviting voice sounds hoarse and sad.
“How are you?” I ask, knowing she’ll recognize my voice. It’s not like Sophie had a lot of close friends; she’s difficult to tolerate. Too much awesomeness, or so I used to think.
“A-Allie?” she stammers. Wyatt enters the door as I answer Sophie’s mother.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to call and bother you. I’m just wondering if you’ve heard from Sophie today. I’ve called her several times, and she hasn’t answered. We had it out yesterday, and now she’s not answering her phone; that’s unusual. I mean, we’ve argued before, and she’s always answered my call.” The color in Wyatt’s face drains, and he looks like he’s going to be sick.
Immediately, she begins to sob. I don’t understand. “Are you okay?” I ask confused.
“Allie, Sophie’s ... she’s … oh, God, I can’t say it,” she weeps, pausing to catch her breath.
“Say what? Tell me,” I demand.
“She was in a horrible accident, and she didn’t make it. She’s dead,” she chokes.
The pain never stops, does it? Just like cancer, devastation and heartache come in threes. First round was Dad, Kyle, and Wyatt. Second round: wreck, Blake’s memory, and Sophie’s death. What’s next? It’s never going to stop! Numbers are never-ending, and so is death.
Twenty-Five
~Wyatt~
The last thing I expect to witness is Allie calling Sophie. Suddenly, the phone slips from her hand and horror etches her face. Her head drops and she’s mumbling, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. I run to her and hang the phone up. I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight, letting her soak my shoulder with tears as I run my fingers through the back of her hair. “Wyatt, Sophie’s dead. How?” she sobs.
I’m not sure this is a question she wants answered, or if she just needs me to remain quiet and console her. I kiss the top of her head and rock her from side to side. “I’m sorry, baby. So fuckin’ sorry.” Although my stomach rolls when I hear the mention of her name, I don’t wish death upon anyone—not even Sophie.
“Can you get my mom, please?” she asks, tears strangling her voice.
“Anything you want. I’ll run down and grab her.” I try to stand, but Allie doesn’t let go of me. “Baby, if you want me to get her, you have to let me go,” I whisper, tilting her face to mine.
I take my hands and wipe away her tears, and then place a tender kiss onto her wet, soft lips. She just sniffs and nods. Reluctantly, she loosens her grip and I’m able to go down and get Lucille.
If it were up to me, I’d sit there and hold my butterfly all damned day, but right now, she needs her mother. Plus, I don’t want to be the person who has to tell her that her dead best friend was the drunk driver who ran a red light and caused the wreck. She’s the cause of Blake getting the head injury and losing his memory. It’s because of her that Blaine and Baylee are in the NICU hooked up to God knows how many tubes and machines. Seeing Allie cry makes me weak; it breaks my heart.
I go down to the ER and Lucille’s finishing up her shift. She finishes her chart and hands it over to the nurse coming in, updates her, and finally follows me back upstairs. In the elevator she asks, “Why do you look so nervous? There’s sweat forming on your forehead.”
Raising my shirt up, I wipe off the sweat I didn’t know was forming. “Allie called someone, I don’t know who, and asked to speak with Sophie,” I explain.
“What! You let her call her?” Lucille panics.
“No! I didn’t let her call anyone. I went home for a shower, came back, and by the time I got back to her room, it was too late; she had already asked for her. Like I said, I don’t know who she was talking to, but they told her about Sophie. She’s been sobbing uncontrollably ever since.”
“Shit. Now what, huh? What are we going to tell her?”
We? When did this become a ‘we’? I had no knowledge of this information until recently. Why should I have to explain anything? I refuse to stomp on something that’s already completely broken—her heart. “We? I’m not telling her; Lucille, I can’t. You tell her and I’ll comfort her, just as I did when Phil died. I’m not a good bearer of bad news. I’m the rock she leans on.” My voice betrays me and turns pleading instead of demanding.
“Fine! You big chicken,” she hisses.
We go to Allie and when we open the door, her bed’s empty. Not again. Skimming the room once again, I don’t see her, but what my eyes catch are small drops of blood trailing from her bed to the bathroom. I follow the few droplets and see her leaning over the toilet, gripping her side as she heaves. The side of her gown’s saturated with blood. “Allie, baby, come here,” I urge, reaching out and resting my hands on either side of her hips as I pull her back gently.
“Stop, please, I need this,” she says between sobs.
“Need what? You need to throw up?” She hasn’t eaten anything, so she shouldn’t be sick to her stomach.
“No. To feel the pain,” she heaves.
The fuck she does. “You don’t need to feel pain, Al. You’ve been through enough. Please, get back in the bed, and I’ll get the nurse to come in and clean you up.” The more she heaves, the more blood she loses. She shakes her head. “No. I want to feel it. I deserve to feel the pain I’ve inflicted on others,” she expresses.
“Are you fucking crazy? Allie Grace, if you don’t get your ass back in that bed, so help me God—”
“So help you God what, huh? I betrayed Blake by being with you. The last conversation I had with Sophie, I told her I hated her. I was an evil bitch to her. I said things I didn’t mean. I just wanted to hurt her the way she hurt me by sleeping with you. I didn’t mean any of it, Wyatt,” she cries.
“You hear me right fucking now. You didn’t betray Blake. You surrendered to your heart’s desire. And as for Sophie, she knew you didn’t mean any of it.”
She turns around, and I have to catch her when her legs go weak. She can’t walk, and I’m scared of hurting her even more if I pick her up. “Lucille, wheelchair,” I call over my shoulder. I get Allie into the chair while Lucille calls the nurse.
Between the three of us, we get Allie back in bed and cleaned up; they have to come in and stitch Allie’s wound back together. After ten minutes of denying it, Lucille’s able to get Allie to agree on taking an anti-anxiety medication. Xanax, maybe? Whatever it was, it helped Allie calm down.
“Did you know about Soph?” she asks Lucille.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Lucille replies.
“What happened?” Allie asks with a hitch in her voice.
Lucille looks to me for answers. I shake my head to let her know I’m standing my ground; I’m not telling her. She glares at me evilly, and then begins to explain. “Allie, love …
Sophie was the driver of the car who caused your accident.”
Allie physically blanched. “What? No, she wasn’t. I talked to her on the phone just minutes before the wreck. There was honking of horns, something I would’ve heard if she were close by. It wasn’t her,” Allie argues.
“I’m sorry, but it was. Allie, her blood alcohol level was triple what it should have been. She was on the verge of having alcohol poisoning. She died on impact,” Lucille explains, tears threatening her eyes as the information tears her daughter to pieces.
Allie looks to me in disbelief. “Is it true?”
I nod. “You knew and didn’t tell me?” she asks.
“He didn’t know until a few hours ago. I begged him not to tell you until I was near,” Lucille chimes.
“No! She can’t be gone. I spoke to her just moments before the accident. I would have heard the horns that were honking
in the background,” she wails. “Please, God, no …”
Lucille rubs Allie’s back while I pull her head to my chest and comfort her until she cries herself to sleep. I lay her back gently and tuck her in. Lucille tells me to stay put; as if I’d leave. She tells me she’s going to pay Blake a visit. I climb in behind Allie and hold her. And for the first time for what seems like years, I sleep.
***
Today, Allie gets to go home. Unfortunately, Blaine and Baylee have to remain here at the hospital. The doctors say they’re progressing and doing better than expected. They’re both breathing on their own, but they’re still too small. All they have to do is fatten up a little and they’ll be home. I know Allie’s depressed because Blake won’t go down and see the twins; he’s waiting for a DNA test, which really pisses me off, but I’m trying my damnedest to be understanding. Allie didn’t ask for this. All he has to do is go down, take one look at Blaine, and he’ll know he’s their father, fucking dick.
Clair advised Allie that she’s going to stay in town for a while with Blake at his condo until he’s ready to be on his own. She asked that Allie and the babies stay in the house her and Aken purchased for them, but she declined. She said she’d consider it after Blaine and Baylee are released. Allie’s tried to see Blake several times, but he’s refused to accept her as a visitor. He’s digging himself into a big, black hole with Allie, because each day she’s away from him, she’s falling deeper into me.
Sophie’s funeral is tomorrow, but Allie refuses to go. She can’t tolerate seeing another loved one lowered into the pits of the Earth, again. She explained how hard it was seeing Kyle be buried, and I can hardly tolerate listening to her explain the agony. I wish I could’ve been here for her and Lucille, but I had no control; I had to finish my term.
Allie and I go down and spend a few hours with the munchkins before it’s time to go. She pumps while I snuggle with Baylee. Although it’s only been a week, she’s so alert. Her eyes watch my mouth as I speak, and she grips my pinky with strength. Blaine’s the same, but a tad stronger and more curious. He’s almost 4lbs and Baylee’s right behind him. Once they’re over 5lbs and they’re able to maintain their weight, we get to bring them home. Leaving them behind isn’t easy. I may not be their biological father, but I’ve been here for them like Blake should be. As of now, I’m their daddy; I’ll care for them as long as Al will allow me. I’ll protect and provide for them.
Time passes quickly, and before we know it, visiting hours are over and it’s time to go. Allie struggles to be strong as we drive away from the hospital, blinking back tears, inhaling and exhaling slowly. “They’ll be fine, babe; trust me. Whenever you want to see them, all you have to do is say the words and we’re there. Okay?” I reach over and tug on her chin. “Smile, butterfly. Each day that passes, we’re one day closer to bringing them home,” I say, hoping my words cheer her up. I don’t receive the smile I was shooting for, but at least I get a small twitch. If she hadn’t had that surgery, I’d reach over and tickle the smile right out of her, but right now, it’d do more damage than good.
Once we’re home, I help her up to her room and get her settled in. I accompany her to the bathroom as she showers. I sit on the toilet just in case she needs me. When she’s finished, I hand her a towel and help her step out of the tub. She brushes her teeth and hair then dresses in loose basketball shorts and a tank. I go over to her bed and turn down the covers.
“No, I’m not sleepy,” she advises, walking out of the room and down the hall toward Kyle’s room. I follow behind her and watch as she climbs into his bed. “The scent’s fading,” she murmurs.
His scent? “Oh yeah? What scent?”
She snuggles under the covers and begins to sniff the comforter. “His scent. He never lay in his bed unless he showered first, never. It smells clean, like cool ocean body wash he used. And his pillow used to smell of mint toothpaste, but not anymore. You have no idea how badly I wish he was here.”
Hell, I do, too.
She lifts the cover. “Will you lie next to me, please? I don’t want to be alone.” I slide off my shoes and climb in beside her. Our fronts rest against one another, and we gaze into each other’s eyes. I reach up and push back her hair that’s threatening to fall into her eyes. I drag the back of my fingers along the side of her face. Just as I begin to pull my hand away, she surprises me: she grabs my hand, spreads it open, nuzzles her cheek into my palm, then kisses the inside of my wrist. “I don’t know what it is about you, Wyatt Cooper, but I always come alive in your presence,” she whispers, allowing her warm breath to graze my forearm and send chills through my entire body.
Her words set fire to every strand my body is made of. I pull her mouth to mine and rest my lips against hers. “Then when are you going to stop fighting the inevitable, baby?”
Her breathing spikes, and I know she’s hungry for my tongue to dance with hers. I attack her mouth, kissing her with all the love I hold for her. My tongue caresses hers with long, passionate strokes. “I can’t,” she breathes between kisses.
“Oh, but you can,” I confirm against her mouth. Her hands glide up and down the back of my head, and her fingers tangle into as much hair as she can grasp.
We kiss until we can’t breathe. We come up for air, and she does what all women do: she thinks. “We’re not meant to be together, Wyatt. We had our chance,” she pants.
“We’re meant to be. Can’t you see it? This is fate laying it out in the open, baby. You and I, we’re each other’s forever.”
“Fate? He’s lying in a hospital bed with no memory of who I am or the babies we made. If this is fate, I want no fucking part of it,” she seethes. And just like that, she rebuilds the wall I’ve slowly demolished.
“Don’t tame your love for me, Al. Let it loose and just love me,” I beg, desperate for her to stop pulling away from me.
“I can’t have this conversation with you.” She removes herself from the bed and leaves the room.
This time, I don’t chase after her. She’s in denial and under a lot of stress. And while I plan on battling her for her love, I won’t begin that war today.
Twenty-Six
~Allie~
The last few weeks have been exhausting. Mom, Wyatt, and I have been to and from the hospital multiple times a day for the last four weeks. Blaine got to come home last week, and he’s been a demanding little munchkin. He wakes up every three hours like clockwork to nurse. Actually, it hasn’t been too bad. After I nurse him, Wyatt changes him and puts him back to bed. Surely, it’ll be easier to care for him when Baylee’s home and we don’t have to split time between the two of them in different places. Despite Clair being persistent in her attempts to get me to stay at the house she bought for us, I’m staying with Mom until I’m comfortable being on my own with both babies. It’s been six weeks since I delivered, but I’m still not one hundred percent. There are some things I still need help doing: carrying the babies to the car because I’m not allowed to lift them, bathing them, feeding them, and just caring for them in general.
Wyatt’s more than I could have ever hoped for. He stepped up and took on the daddy role for Blaine and Baylee; temporarily, I hope. He helps me without me having to ask. He gets up in the middle of the night and early morning to help me with Blaine. No matter what time it is or how tired he may be, he’s always there. I’m amazed at how wonderful he is with the babies. I’m delighted, but sometimes sad, mainly because I know Blake would be just as great a father as Wyatt is. But also, I can’t help but think of how great Wyatt would’ve been with Lacy and how our family would’ve turned out. Fabulous, no doubt.
“You want to help me find a place to live?” he asks, driving us to the hospital to get my baby girl.
Find a place to live? He already has a place to live. “What do you mean? Are you moving out?” I ask.
“Well, yeah,” he answers. I knew it was too good to be true, it always is. As I cross my arms and stare out my window, he reaches over and tuc
ks my hair behind my ear. “Now, now, calm down. The court told me in order to begin seeing Lacy; I have to get my own place. You know, prove she’ll be staying in a stable environment,” he explains.
I immediately relax. “I’m sure Clair would sell you hers. I’m not staying there, not without Blake.” Wyatt’s knuckles turn white as he squeezes the wheel at the mention of Blake’s name.
“Why do you get so mad when I bring up the possibility of Blake and me getting back together? It’s possible,” I assure him.
“Because you don’t love him like you love me,” he says matter-of-factly.
“I’ll never love anyone the way I love you, but I want to,” I admit sheepishly.
“Then why do you keep choosing him over me?” he asks frustrated.
“Because, you crushed me the last time you left me. What will happen the next time you decide to give up on me? My heart can’t tolerate the heartache,” I confess. I love Blake, I truly do, but if I’m being completely honest with myself, I love Wyatt more; I always have.
He pulls into the parking space and parks the car. He unbuckles and turns to face me. He takes my chin into his hand and turns my face to his. “I promise you, there won’t be any more heartbreaks coming from me. Your love will be my last. Until I’m laid to rest, my heart will continue to beat for you. Only you,” he promises. Another promise.