by K. S. Thomas
“So, this style of decorating...it’s a minimalist thing?” I don’t know why I can’t just ask a direct question. But then I also kind of feel like this tour should be guided. He’s here. Leading the way. Why isn’t he pointing and explaining as he goes, and to your right we have what was once the formal dining room before the Grinch came one Christmas and took it all away. I don’t know. Something along those lines anyway.
“Miranda took all the furniture when she moved out. According to the divorce agreement, she was allowed to take only her personal items upon her departure. I’m guessing she and the judge had vastly different ideas about what constitutes a personal item, regardless, I didn’t give a shit about any of it, so I let her.” He continues to walk through the empty space and rounds the corner into a large living room spanning the entire side of the house and matched in size by a balcony visible through the wall of windows and glass doors.
Miranda. His wife. Why do those three words make me want to throw up?
“How long were you two married?” I ask. Because if we’re doing this, we’re really doing this. And I’m going to need to know. All of it. Otherwise, I’ll just make up my own shit to fill in the blanks, and that’s got bad news written all over it.
“Five years. Well, would have been that year anyway.” He stops in front of one of the glass doors and gazes out at the ocean. “We got married right after I graduated college. We’d been seeing each other off and on for a few months when she found out she was pregnant.” He turns toward me. “At first I just figured we’d work things out as we went. I mean, I wasn’t worried about finances, and even though I hadn’t been planning on it at that particular time in my life, I wanted to be a dad, so it was easy to accept the news as good. But Miranda was in a panic about the whole thing. Said her father would disown her if she had a baby out of wedlock and not getting married was not an option.”
I get it. Miranda was a controlling, manipulative, whiny bitch and I already hate her ass. Of course, my opinion might be slightly tainted. “And what? You were like, that’s cool. Fuck it. Let’s get married?”
He chuckles. I think I actually surprised him this time. “Yeah. Something like that. I was barely twenty-two. What did I know? My parents got married at nineteen. Had Hannah a year later. The concept wasn’t completely foreign to me.”
We’re having one of those awkward reality moments where he’s old and implying I’m an ignorant kid without realizing it. So I remind him. “I’m twenty-two.”
He shakes his head at me. “Only in this lifetime.”
Fair enough.
Apparently feeling that he’s answered my question about his marriage sufficiently, he begins to move again. When we turn the corner once more there’s some sort of a family room, or I’m guessing anyway. The main wall is covered in family pictures, so whatever was in here wasn’t a movie room. That one I can rule out. There’s no wall space left for the screen.
It takes me a second before I realize this is the part of the house I stumbled upon that night in the stairwell on my way to the deck. Even though most of the frames are still intact and on the wall, several more are in pieces on the floor.
“What happened in here?” My voice is barely audible. Mostly because I’m a little scared to ask.
“Me.” It’s a straightforward answer and he bends down to pick up the frame at his feet. “Just couldn’t take it, you know? First my dad and sister die in that crash. Then my grandfather. It was already taking all I had to try and take care of the business by myself, not to mention, Sid.” He’s staring down at the picture in his hands, but I don’t think it’s really what he sees. His voice sounds like he’s ages away. Back when everything first happened. “The irony was priceless, really. Hannah and Sid putting off their wedding all those years in hopes that my mother would come around and attend the wedding.”
“Your mom wasn’t going to go to their wedding?” My parents hated Jackson. They still would have shown up if I had decided to marry him.
“My mom hadn’t spoken to Hannah in nearly seven years. Not since the day she told her she was engaged to another woman. My sister never gave up though. Every Saturday morning she would call her and leave her a lengthy voicemail pretending they were having the same weekly chats they’d had all her life before my mother found out her daughter was a lesbian.” The sound of disdain is abundant in his voice. “You know, if my parents hadn’t already been divorced, I think my father would have left my mother right then and there. Didn’t matter though. She was already gone. Already living in New Hampshire with her thirty-five year old boyfriend. Anyway, after the accident, my mother finally deemed my sister worthy of a visit. Even if it was just to attend her funeral. Honestly, I think Hannah would have preferred she’d just stayed away. She did nothing but make everything harder on everyone else. Especially Sid. Then, after my mother found out Sid was set to inherit Hannah’s trust and the shares she owned in the company, things only got worse. My mother flipped. Hired a lawyer. Tried everything she could to get my sister’s will deemed invalid. Didn’t work of course, but I still had to take the time to go to court and make sure it didn’t. Sid was a mess. And she didn’t care about the money, so she was ready to just sign whatever my mother wanted her to. But Hannah would never have been okay with that.”
When the silence starts to rest in the air, I squeeze his hand gently. “You’re a good brother, Riker. A good man.”
He turns and I’m shocked by what I see. The beast of his grief has been completely unleashed and it’s tearing him apart from the inside out. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Except continue to coax it out and set it free.
“What part did Miranda play in all of this?”
His gaze drops down to the frame again. “What part? I don’t know. The villain maybe? No, that was my mother. Evil cheating bitch, I guess.”
“So that’s why you two split? She had an affair?” He’s still not looking at me, but I’m not taking my eyes off of him.
“That was part of it. Yeah. Not the worst part. But definitely a deciding factor.” His gaze is still glued to the frame in his hands and a tear drops down onto the glass. His heart is breaking all over again. Maybe he hadn’t loved her when they first got married, but five years is a long time. Feelings change. Evolve. Clearly he was devastated when his marriage fell apart. “After everything else that had already happened that year...”
“I get it. Then you lost her and it broke you,” I whisper, trying my best to hide my own hurt. This isn’t about me.
“It wasn’t losing her that broke me.” He hands me the frame he’s been holding this whole time and starts to walk away.
Automatically, my view drops from the back of his shoulder blades to the picture in my hands. Two small faces are smiling up at me through shattered glass. A little girl with white blonde curls and a little boy with the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. This wasn’t ever about her. It was about them.
Chapter Fifteen
Riker
Of all the rooms in this God forsaken house, this is the only one Miranda left fully furnished. I haven’t stood inside these four walls since the day I came home from the hospital and realized this room would never be lived in by the baby we’d both spent the last seven months waiting for.
I remember sitting in that rocking chair in the corner. The same one we’d had in Harlow’s nursery and then again in Mason’s. I’d spent countless nights in that rocker, swaying back and forth when Harlow was teething. And then again with Mason when he was refusing to sleep in his crib for more than thirty minutes at a time.
I’d brought the rocking chair into this room right after I’d finished painting the walls. Teal. Miranda’s request. The rocker was the first piece of furniture in the room and I’d placed it right beside the window, imagining the nights I would sit in it again, gazing out at the stars and giving the newest member of our family his or her first astronomy lessons.
The last night I sat in here, I spent all night staring out
that window. Asking the stars. God. For some sort of an answer. Some reason I could comprehend. It never came. And I never stepped foot in this room again. Until today.
Quinn’s standing in the doorway, scared to come in. I know I’m putting a lot on her all at once. But we’re running out of time. The only way she’ll ever feel truly safe with me is if she knows all there is to know. Maybe then, she’ll finally be able to trust me and let down her guard.
“You never talk about your kids,” she whispers.
“I don’t know how.” I’ve tried. Countless times. I hate not talking about them. Never saying their names. Never remembering the funny things they said or laughing about the crazy things they did. It’s like they never even existed. And maybe that should make it easier, but it doesn’t.
“Do you ever see them?” She’s taking a tentative step inside. Like the floor might give out under her, or the walls will collapse around her. It’s not the room making her feel that way. It’s me. I don’t know how to stop it. These feelings have been buried since they first attempted to take me out. Forcing them down and locking them up was the only way I could even function. Unfortunately, now that they’re seeping through, escaping and overriding everything, I have no idea what I’m truly up against.
“I’m not allowed to see them.” I need to sit, but the only chair in the room is the rocker and sitting in it might actually kill me right now. So, I lean against the changing table. It’s better than nothing. “Harlow was about to turn four and Mason was one when Miranda found out she was pregnant with baby number three. Timing couldn’t have been better really. I needed something positive in my life. Something I could look forward to. And while other lives had come to an end, here was a brand new one just beginning.”
She’s following my example and resting against the crib across the room from me. Judging from the way her knuckles are turning white, her grasp around the railing isn’t just intended to steady her. She’s holding on for dear life. So am I. I’m gambling. And I’m no gambler. But there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll either wind up with her. All of her. Or...nothing.
“For a while, everything seemed to be looking up again. The pregnancy proved to be the perfect distraction from all the shit going wrong in my life. Then, when she was seven months along, we had a scare. Wound up in the hospital where we were told that Miranda was suffering from severe preeclampsia. When the doctor explained that we needed to consider the possibility of inducing labor her first response was that she needed to inform the father of what was happening,” I take a long breath and exhale again. After years of blocking this moment from my mind, it’s hard to face again. “I was standing right beside her when she said it.”
***
Quinn
“It wasn’t your baby.” As soon as I say it, I want to slap myself. Like he really needed to hear the words out loud.
“Nope.” His sad eyes travel the walls of the small room. “Turns out, neither was Mason. Or Harlow.”
This time I keep my mouth shut. Mentally I’m screaming. Furious at this Miranda person. This phantom wife who took the man that I...that...the man he was, and took everything from him that mattered. She was the reason he’d run off to the desert to die. It was her.
“Apparently, when Miranda and I first started seeing each other, she was also dating this guy, Colton. Then, she found out she was pregnant and decided between the two of us, I was the more reliable income source since Colton was two years younger and still going to school. So, she married me. And had Colton’s baby.”
I still can’t fully wrap my brain around all of this. It’s probably a good thing. “She knew the whole time?”
He nods. “Yep. And he was in on it, too. The whole time.” He laughs. Probably because it hurts less that way. “See, he was going to pilot school. And lo and behold, she became a flight attendant. Maintaining their relationship became a piece of cake when he graduated and they started working for the same airline. Meanwhile, I stayed home taking care of their kids.”
“You never even suspected?” I’ve never been cheated on. Surprisingly. But I always wonder if cheaters are really good at hiding their secrets or if those being deceived have an instinct to look the other way. Sort of out of self-preservation.
“Not even once. I should have. Our marriage was far from perfect. If anything, it was practical. We got along well enough. Had sex just often enough for me to believe I conceived three children and other than that, we were getting what we needed elsewhere. Miranda with Colton...me with the kids.”
Those last four words stay with me. Repeating themselves over and over, until they’re ringing loudly in the back of my mind, drowning out every other thought. Only I can’t let him know. Not now. He can’t see that the revelation of his past has just wiped out any chance of us ever having a future. Hope. That small, yet mighty, word. It’s gone now.
“What did you do after you found out?” I’m forcing the words to come out. Making myself go through the motions so he can too. If nothing else, I’ll see this through with him. I’ll be there for every step as he faces the grief he so clearly still carries. Maybe then...maybe after me, he’ll find someone who can make him happy again.
“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know what to do.” He pushes off from the changing table and starts to walk over to the window. “In the end, I didn’t need to. Colton was making good money by then so there really wasn’t any reason for Miranda to stick around here. She filed for divorce. Tried to have the pre-nup my dad insisted she sign, to protect the family business, thrown out, but couldn’t because the judge wasn’t an idiot. When everything was said and done, she got nothing. And she got everything. My name was taken from the birth certificates. Their names were changed to Colton’s. The five years I spent as a father were completely erased. And...so was I.”
“I’m...so sorry,” I stumble over the words as I walk across the room to meet him.
He turns toward me. “Don’t be.” He takes both my hands in his and kisses them softly. “No matter what happens between us. Don’t ever be sorry, Quinn. These last few months with you have changed my life. Made the difference between existing and living. You did that for me. And that’s not something I ever want you to forget.” It’s as if he knows.
“You don’t know how much I wish I was someone else. Someone better. Someone who actually deserved to hear all of the amazing words you say to me.” Tears are rolling down my cheeks but I don’t stop them. I don’t want Riker to let go of my hands. Not yet.
“If you were anyone else I wouldn’t be standing here right now, Quinn. I wouldn’t be ready to let go of a past I thought I’d never be able to face again, let alone part with.”
I start to tell him he’s crazy for thinking that, but he stops me by devouring my mouth with his, drinking me in and draining me of every thought and emotion other than how completely consumed I am by him.
“Riker,” I breathe his name against the softness of his skin because it’s all I can say. All I can think.
“Stop. You’re thinking too much. It’s done. You. Me. Us. It’s done,” he whispers back. “So, just let me hold you. Please.”
And I do. I slide into his embrace, pressing myself to him as tightly as I can, until my racing heart meets his and finally slows itself to join the calming rhythm coming from his chest.
We stand there together. Both silently letting the tears fall. Both knowing this moment will change us. And neither of us is ready for it.
When we finally leave behind the wrecked remains of what was once a happy home, we’re both quiet, hardly speaking to each other at all. Breakfast has fallen by the wayside. Neither of us is thinking about food anymore.
“I could call Sid. Tell her I’m not coming in today. We could just...be. Lie in bed. Go for a walk. Whatever you want.”
I watch him sitting on his mattress, already dressed and ready to go. He needs to show up to feed Nox this morning. Just like he always does. He knows that. I know that. He’s just scared to leave
me. And that’s something we both know as well.
“Sid needs you. Nox needs you.”
He gets up and crosses the small room in two steps to get to where I’m standing with my shoulder leaning against the wall. He kisses me. “But I need you.”
And I need him. God, I need him.
“Then stay.” The words trickle out of my mouth before I can do anything about it. I have no business asking him to do something I can’t do in return. I can’t stay. I want to. More than ever before. But I can’t. Not anymore. Not now that I know.
The day passes in a blur. Both of us too wrapped up in the aftermath of our own emotions to verbalize anything that isn’t completely necessary. By the time night falls, we’re still not saying much and even when we make love, the usual screams of ecstasy are replaced by hushed whispers and quiet moans filled with the intensity of our feelings and the ache of knowing it’s really just a long, passionate kiss goodbye.
It takes forever before Riker finally falls asleep and it’s close to five in the morning when I’m tip-toeing out of his apartment with a small bag and Harley at my side. The door clicks shut behind me and I’m walking out on him. Doing exactly what I always knew I was capable of. And I don’t feel a single solitary thing outside of the cold hatred which fills me up entirely, nearly suffocating me as I begin the shameful trip back home to Kirsten’s. Of all the despicable things I’ve done in my life, this one will top the list as long as I live.
Since Kirsten isn’t exactly expecting me back, the bed in the downstairs room is completely stripped. Not wanting to wake anyone at this unfortunate hour, I curl up in one of the recliners in front of the movie screen and Harley does the same. I swear, even he’s disappointed in me. He just keeps staring at me, and his disapproval rips at my conscience, which is already in shreds without his help.