Hold My Breath

by Ginger Scott

  “How could you not tell me?” I ask, my words coming out a little angrier. My lip quivers again, this time, it’s the threat of rage. “How could you be so selfish, Will? What are you doing here? With me? Why aren’t you with him—when he clearly needs his father? Oh my god, Will…”

  I fall into the seat opposite of him, sick with grief. I grieve that glimpse of happiness that I just moments ago talked myself into having. I taste the bitterness of contempt. My body aches with torment, trying to connect the man I was starting to believe in with the one unraveling right here in front of me. I don’t know how to do any of it. I don’t know how to even look at him.

  “How could you, Will? He’s your family?”

  His head jerks up the moment I utter that word, and I stare at him hard. His eyes dim briefly, as if I cut him and he were bleeding. He closes them for a breath, his chest rising slowly, his brow dimpled with the pains of getting caught. When he opens to look at me again, though, his eyes are resolute. The pain is still there, but something about his expression has shifted—his face tilted a hair to the left, his mouth pulled up ever so slightly on one side, his breathing calm and slow.

  Pity.

  “He’s not my son, Maddy,” he says.

  The words don’t make sense to me. They battle in my head.

  “But her message,” I start.

  He shakes his head slowly, and I begin to mimic him, shaking my own, until his no shifts into a nod of yes.

  “He’s not…my…son,” he repeats.

  My mouth waters with sickness. My lips wrinkle, and the tears begin to pool, burning my eyes. I don’t touch them. I drown in them. I wait to hear it. I make him say it. If he doesn’t, I may never believe it.

  “No,” I utter.

  His nod remains slow and unwavering.

  “Say it,” I whisper, my throat sore from the pain dying to claw its way out. “Say it!” The second time comes out harsh and gritty.

  “He’s my nephew,” he says, and I fall to my knees on the ground. Will is quick to hold me, but I fight against him, pushing him away.

  “You’re lying!” I cry. “He’s not. He didn’t. You are lying!”

  I push him so hard he falls back on his ass, sitting with his legs out in his fancy suit, his father’s watch and cufflinks on his hands. I know right then he’s right. I know that Will has been operating on duty, and I know that I’ve been mourning a lie.

  “He’s Evan’s, Maddy, and I’m so goddamned sorry,” he says, just as I lean forward and throw up every bit of wine I’ve had to drink.

  “Come on,” he says, his hands swiftly sliding under my legs and around my back. He carries me around the back of the house, into the darkness, to the small hose bib that my mother uses to fill her pail and water the roses. He turns it on and cups his hands, splashing water on my puked-on arms and legs, trying to rinse away my vomit from my dress.

  I weep without sound, nothing but a never-ending rush of tears cascading down my hot cheeks. I’m certain they will leave behind burns, scars that will never ever let me forget how wrong my fucking heart was to choose Evan Hollister.

  “You lied to me, Will,” I breathe out.

  His mouth is a hard line while he washes his hands and lifts my legs one at a time, rinsing them under the water.

  “How could you lie?” I ask.

  He turns the water off, then looks me square in the eyes.

  “How could I not?” he says.

  We both stare into one another raw and broken, our breathing labored, our eyes red, our skin blotched and marked with lost hopes and regret and all of the goddamned what ifs that don’t matter worth shit.

  Will looks to the side when we hear the sound of the door opening, and his eyes flash back to me. Without pause, he lifts me in his arms again, carrying me around the side of the house and to the street. He unlocks his car and sets me down in the passenger seat, then rushes to the other side, stopping to talk to someone I can’t see.

  “She had too much to drink. I’m going to get her out of here, so it doesn’t embarrass her,” he says.

  I hear Holly’s voice respond.

  “I’ll cover for you,” she says.

  In a blink, Will’s in the car next to me, and we’re driving to the club. When we get there, Will stops in front of the building, kills the engine, and squeezes the steering wheel in his hands tightly. His jaw clenches and his face grows red as his hands slam against the wheel three times, the pounding sound making me flinch.

  “I’m so sorry, Maddy. I never wanted this for you, and I’m just…I’m sorry,” he says, getting out of the car, but stopping before the door shuts completely. “Take all the time you need. I’ll leave the doors all unlocked. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, but make sure you really want to know it.”

  When the door closes gently behind him, I begin to bawl. I don’t stop for hours, and I never go inside the club.

  Chapter Eleven

  Maddy

  There’s something to be said about hitting bottom. There’s comfort in it, knowing that no matter what comes along, nothing—absolutely nothing—can pull you any lower than you already are.

  I thought losing Evan was bottom, and living with the guilt that there was a part of me that didn’t want to marry him—that evaded the conversation that last day, before he left, making sure he didn’t ask.

  That wasn’t even close to the depths I’ve fallen in the last twenty-four hours. I’m so far below bottom, I’ve burrowed into the earth.

  I walked home under the stars. It was after midnight by the time I made it to my parents’ house, and they were still busy entertaining sponsors to notice me. I crawled into my mattress bed next to my snoring best friend, and it’s like she knew, opening her arm and letting me snuggle up next to her. I never slept, and I’m awake now, the morning light not stopping for me or my misery. I’m wrapped in the blanket my mom saves for guests while I watch my friend tug a travel hairbrush through her tangled red strands.

  “You look like Annie,” I say, smiling on the side of my mouth that’s mushed into my pillow.

  Holly doesn’t turn around, but she gives me the finger with her free hand. She hates Annie jokes. She’s gotten them most of her life. She’s exactly how I picture Annie growing up, though—if she became a nurse, drank like a sailor, and brought home strange men from the bar.

  “You ready to be coherent about whatever the hell happened last night? I know you weren’t drunk. And I know you were upset. I didn’t have that much wine,” she says.

  I roll so my face is buried into the pillow, and I pull the blanket around my head, blocking all of the light. I don’t know why telling Evan’s secret makes me feel ashamed, but it does—like I’m admitting I wasn’t good enough for him to remain faithful.

  “Evan…had a baby,” I say, my voice muffled by the mattress and linens.

  “What the shit?” Clearly, not so muffled it couldn’t be heard.

  I roll to my back and kick the blanket down my legs, watching as my friend’s eyes move down my body, to the dress I’m still wearing from the night before.

  “Girl, it’s like, even worse than the walk of shame. You didn’t even get to orgasm,” she says, sitting on the end of the mattress and tugging the end of my dress down my knees. “At least let me make you look modest.”

  I laugh, barely, and pull myself up to sit, pressing my palms into my swollen eyes.

  “You wanna talk about it?” she shrugs.

  The easy answer here is no. I don’t ever want to talk about it. Evan’s dead, and my last four, five…hell eight years may have been a total lie. I want to pretend none of it happened, but then pretending that would erase parts of Will, too. The last several days.

  The last eight years I’ve been noticing him and trying to pretend I wasn’t.

  “There’s not much to talk about, really. I saw a text from the girl to Will, and I sorta jumped to one conclusion, and when he corrected me, I’m not sure what conclusion was worse—the one
I had wrong, or the truth,” I say.

  “I’m only half following you here,” she says, pulling her purse into her lap and taking out a packet of mints. She hands them to me, and I take four. Her eyebrow lifts.

  “I threw up. My mouth tastes horrible,” I say.

  My friend hands me two more, then puts her mints away.

  I manage to stumble my way into the bathroom and splash water on my face, leaving my dress in a pile on the floor, and putting on a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt, twisting my hair into a bun. This is as put-together as I think today is going to get. When I step back into my room, my friend has her keys in her hand, and I frown immediately.

  “I’m sorry, babe. I’d stay, but I have so much to get done before tomorrow. The hospital has been so busy, and I have two tests this week,” she says.

  I sigh heavily then move toward her open arms, letting her hug me.

  “Look, I’m not sure I understand everything, but I do understand one thing that I don’t think you should lose sight of,” she says.

  “What’s that?” I ask, my face muffled against her shoulder.

  She pulls back from me, but keeps her hands on my arms, squaring me to look her in the eyes.

  “You and Will have been making each other happy. That guy has made you light up in a way I have never seen, and if he’s been keeping a secret from you about his brother, maybe it’s because he didn’t want you to feel the pain it may cause,” she says.

  I breathe in deep, and her eyes stay open on mine, her face serious.

  “Maddy, Will’s not the one who cheated on you,” she says, stepping into me and kissing my head.

  My mouth twists, and I nod slowly. I know she’s right, but the fact that Will didn’t let me know any of this—that maybe he knew all along—still feels ugly. If the roles were reversed, and a girl he had been with for years was having a relationship with someone else on the side, I think I’d have to let him know. Especially if that girl was my sister.

  I walk Holly to the front door and see her off. The rest of the house is quiet. The mess from the party is still scattered around the kitchen and the borrowed tabletops placed around the main room, so I go to work in the kitchen, opening a bag and dropping in napkins and beer bottles, doing my best to set them inside gently, avoiding the clanking sounds.

  I’m so quiet while I work that the small tapping on the front door makes me jump. My hand clutches my chest, and my mind races to the obvious conclusion—it’s Will. I move to the door silently, still not sure if I’m going to open it and dive deeper into the gaping wound opened only a few hours ago, when the quiet knock comes again.

  With a sigh, I set the bag down in the foyer and slip on my flip-flops, not wanting to talk about any of this inside. It takes my mind a second to catch up to the fact that it isn’t Will at my door, but instead, his uncle.

  “Duncan, uh…hey; I’m sorry I kept you,” I say.

  His head falls to one side, and his eyes crinkle behind his glasses with his gentle smile.

  “I wasn’t sure if anyone was awake, even though it’s nine, and why waste away a day like this, huh?” he says, his arms stretched out to his sides, a small velvet box in one palm.

  I step out on the front walkway to admire the blue sky. It’s bright out, a slight breeze tickling the crisp summer leaves of cottonwood trees that line our street. It sounds like the ocean. I turn back to look at him and smile.

  “You’re right. It would be a waste to miss this one,” I say.

  His eyes hover on mine for a few seconds, and I can tell he knows things. I get the sense that he and Will are close, so he’s probably known things a lot longer than I have. Uncomfortable with that thought, I flit my gaze to his palm, to the small box that’s held shut with a rubber band. I nod at it.

  “Oh, yes. That’s the reason I stopped by, actually. I finished the watch your dad wanted me to take a look at,” he says, propping the package flat in one palm so he can slide the band away and open the lid. A golden pocket watch rests surrounded by chain, the hand moving in time around the face. I recognize it as my grandpa’s, so I look to Duncan for permission, taking it from the case and holding it closer when he nods that it’s okay.

  “That one’s rare,” he says.

  “That’s what my dad always said,” I say, holding it to my ear. I grin at him when the ticks reverberate in my head. “That’s why he’d never let Mom toss it or donate it.”

  “Oh, God. I’m glad she didn’t. That watch there goes for about five or six thousand dollars on the auction sites,” he says, and my eyebrows react, shooting up my forehead as I hand the watch back for safekeeping. Duncan chuckles, but takes the box firmly in his hand, fastening the band around the lid before handing it all to me in one, safely packed piece. “It’s worth even more because of this box, actually.”

  I chuckle, now holding the box.

  “Anything else you want to make me afraid of holding over concrete?”

  He laughs in response, and shakes his head.

  “No, I think that’s about it,” he says, stopping with his head turned slightly to the side, his eyes blinking. He has more to say, and I know it’s about Will, but Duncan isn’t one to force his opinion into things. Where Will and Evan’s dad was always bold and loud—quick to brag and forceful with dominating conversation—Duncan is reserved.

  “Well…thanks for the watch,” I say, holding it up between us. “I’ll put it somewhere safe inside and show my dad as soon as he’s up. He’ll be thrilled.”

  “Glad to help. It’s kept me busy. Let him know I’d be happy to fix anything else, while I’m here. I’m going to have a few days on my own this weekend, but I guess…you already know that,” he says, his mouth curved the slightest amount.

  Duncan knows things.

  I look down to regroup, glancing back at my visitor through my lashes.

  “I’ll let him know,” I say, my words focused on repairs and watches and nothing else. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  I turn, cradling the box against my chest, reaching for the door, and pushing it open to disappear inside and avoid everything else for a little while longer. But the quiet and reserved Hollister stops me with one last piece of information.

  “He headed out to that lake you two love so much. About an hour ago…in case you were wondering,” he says.

  I’m starting to think that rather than reserved, Duncan is better described as calculated. I turn my head to one side, enough that I see him in my periphery, his hands in his pockets, his mouth a tight line, satisfied at the bait he’s left on his nephew’s behalf. I nod once, then push the door fully open, closing it quietly behind me.

  There is never a single second when I doubt that I’m going. The moment Duncan told me where Will was, I knew it was his way of forcing us to talk. I’m sure his interest was in his nephew’s corner, probably wanting to ease Will’s guilt, to force him to have to confront the one person he’s lied to, to find closure, and finally clear his conscience. But I think there’s also a part of him that knows I still have questions. Duncan has always been so kind to me, and I think maybe he’s in my corner a little on this, too.

  I put the watch on the counter with a note for my dad, then finish picking up the tables, leaving the rest for my parents to handle when they wake up. I grab my keys, wallet, and phone, and I toss them all in the passenger seat of my car, pulling away from my parents’ house a little faster than I should, my speed picking up with each mile I come closer to the truth. For something that hurts so much to face, I’m racing to it at an alarming speed.

  Will

  I’m not sure how she made it home. I’m not really sure if she made it home. I drove by her parents’ house, though, on my way to the lake, and everything was calm and quiet. If Maddy were missing, I’m sure there would be visible commotion, which leads me to believe she probably walked.

  I don’t like that she walked…alone. But I know after the wound I made, I was less welcome than a predator in the dark.
>
  This lake has always provided me with answers. Maybe it just always gives me a place to think—forces me to think. I can’t be near this water without seeing Maddy, hearing her laugh. She’s all around me, and the more places I let her in, the less places I have to hide.

  Telling her the truth was the single hardest thing I’ve ever done. Seeing her face when she realized exactly what I meant, broke me. I instantly wanted to take those words back. I’d rather her hate me, think that I was the one who was hiding Dylan, hiding a relationship—I’d rather be the cheater than have her think that someone could have done that to her.

  That Evan could have done that to her.

  My back aches from this position I’ve been sitting in for the last hour, so I kick off my shoes and walk to the water’s edge, searching for stones. When I gather a few, I throw them as hard as I can, counting the times they skip along the surface. I was the one who taught Maddy how to skip stones. Not Evan.

  I pick up another handful, but I pause, closing my eyes, my breath rushing out all at once until I feel it boil to the top, and I let out a growl of a roar, cocking my arm back and thrusting the rocks into the middle of the lake, the stones pelting the ripples left by the breeze.

  “I hate you!” I yell.

  I yell it out here, where there is no witness but me. I yell at my brother, for leaving me with this. For making this mess to begin with, and for leaving me!

  My hands find my face, and I rub my palms along my eyes, my energy to do anything waning. I have no idea how I’m going to get on a plane in four days, let alone drag myself through three days of practice. I might not have to if Curtis decides I’m too big of a risk to take…or if Maddy tells her dad what degenerates the Hollister brothers really were.

  My feet start to kick at the water’s currents, and I lose myself in the swirls I leave along the shore, my feet creating chaos in something otherwise calm and perfect. That’s what I am—I’m chaos.