Not My Heart to Break

by W Winters

  Her eyes stay closed for a long moment and she asks before she opens them, “For what?”

  “For not being too mad.”

  A sad smile graces her lips. “I don’t want to fight. I’m finding it hard to be mad these days.”

  I don’t care for how she says it. It shifts something inside me although I don’t know why. “I got you a gift.” I wasn’t going to tell her but seeing her like this, I had to say something to make the smile turn genuine.

  “What is it?”

  “It comes in the mail, so you have to wait.” The answer makes me feel like an ass and when she rolls her eyes, that makes it worse. “It’s flowers. Every two weeks, flowers will come in the mail.”

  “Really?” The interest in her voice and the sweet blush on her cheeks make it worth it.

  “Really.” I add, “They had options for the kinds you like and I picked the wildflower type and roses too. I know you like a mix, but you always smile at the roses too.”

  With sleep in her eyes, her hair still damp from a shower and wearing nothing but my t-shirt and a pair of short shorts for bed, Laura looks up at me and instead of saying a word, she steals a kiss.

  It’s quick and in return I give her a smile; the kind you feel in your chest. That’s all I want. That warmth in my chest, that love from her. It’s fucking everything.

  “Better?” I ask, feeling the weight of the world leave my shoulders.

  “A little.” She bristles and adds, “I still don’t like being alone here.”

  Rubbing my neck with my free hand, the one not wrapped around her waist, I answer her, “I know. It won’t happen often. And you’ll like it here more when you move your things in.”

  I anticipate her arguing based on her initial reaction, judging from the small gasp of protest that leaves her and the way her lips part, but she hesitates and then closes her mouth, opting for a small nod. “Yeah,” she says, stretching forward and then standing. “You’re right. I need to move my things in.” Her tone drops, as does her gaze.

  I don’t know what to make of her reaction. Something’s wrong and off and I don’t know what. She isn’t right. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Fine,” she says as gets up.

  As she makes her way to the kitchen, I see she’s spackled the wall over the hole I punched in it. She cleaned up and that spackle is the only evidence left of anything that started our recent downfall. I hate the numbing prick that climbs over me at the memory of it. I’ll paint it in the morning, getting rid of any evidence at all. Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s what made her react like that.

  “You want a beer?” Laura asks me and when I move my gaze to her, I get a full-on view of her sweet curves as she bends down, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of ginger ale in one hand and a beer in the other, holding it up in offering.

  “Yeah,” I answer, readjusting on the sofa. She could do anything, anything at all and it would be sexy as fuck. But offering me a beer in short shorts has to be at the top of my fantasy list now. “No wine?” I question her as she closes the door with her hip.

  “My stomach is messed up. But I’ve got it when I’m ready for a glass.” Her tone is flat and sleep weighs down her eyes. With the ice tinkling against her glass, she sits back down, sipping her drink and passing me my beer.

  It’s quiet as we both have a drink in silence. I fucking hate the odd tension between us. “Are we okay?”

  “What?” She’s confused at first and I simply wait for her to answer. “Yeah, we are.”

  “I just want to feel like we’re okay and something… I want to see you happy.”

  “You’re sweet.” She smiles up at me, squeezing my hand. “When did that happen?”

  “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

  “I don’t feel sweet.”

  I lean down to kiss her, just once, a small peck, but keep my nose touching hers. “Still taste sweet,” I whisper against her lips. All I’m rewarded with is a small smile that doesn’t last long. “I know things are off right now, but give it time. Everything will be better. I promise.”

  “You’re making a lot of promises,” she says and her voice is soft, low, and full of doubt. Doubt that wouldn’t be there if we were as good as she keeps saying we are.

  “And I aim to keep every one of them, Babygirl.” That nickname does it every time. Her eyes light up, her lips turn up, everything goes up and everything is better when I call her Babygirl.

  It’s only a flicker though and then she falls back into this state she’s in… It drives me crazy.

  “Tell me what’s wrong. Tell me now,” I demand.

  “I just really want to go back to what we were. What we had, you know?” she asks me and the sincerity, the desperation is too much. Her voice cracks and she closes her eyes as she adds, “Can we just pretend to go back and never go through all of this?” She opens her eyes when I don’t answer and says, “I just want to go back to the very beginning. Back to you being on my porch steps.”

  “I never left.” I answer her with all that I have. If that’s what she wants, she can have it and more. There’s an emptiness that she used to fill. Even when I didn’t have her, I could still feel her there. She’s slipping again. I can feel it but I don’t know why.

  Her response is somber as she sets down the glass in her hand. “Right, I’m the one who fucked that up.”

  “Hey, don’t do that. I’m just saying, I never stopped…” I trail off although the words loving you are there. Right there, but I still can’t say it. Not when I feel like there’s something between us and I don’t know what it is. “I was always yours,” I stress. “Whatever else I am in this life won’t ever hold a candle to that flame. I’m nothing if you’re not there, so I pretend you’re waiting for me at that door. It’s how I got through it and I never left. In my head I was always there, so close to seeing you again.”

  I don’t anticipate her crying. She’s not one to be so emotional but the last few days have been heavy and I wish I could find a way to make it right. Fuck, I’m trying. I’m trying to hold us together and failing. As quickly as I can, I wrap my arm around her but she pulls back, resisting me.

  Her words are muffled angrily. “You can’t say things like that.”

  “Like what?” What the fuck did I do?

  “Like your only good side is me, and that you being with me is…”

  “What’s wrong with that?” The beer bottle clanks on the coffee table as I set it down. It’s exasperating; I don’t even know why we’re fighting right now. We should be good. She keeps saying we are but we aren’t.

  “You aren’t leaving me, right? Because it sure as hell feels like you are.” Panic stricken. As I sit here, I am panic stricken and helpless. When did I become so helpless?

  “I asked you to hold me until the end, right?” she asks and her voice gets tight. “That’s all I want. It’s my only wish right now. I just want you to hold me.”

  “Then why are you so sad? I’ve never seen you like this. I can feel that things aren’t right.”

  She falls forward, her head in her hands and this time when I try to hold her, she lets me. Something is off. Something’s so wrong and I can feel it. I know there’s something she’s hiding.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” I whisper and then add, “I’ll fix it. I promise.”

  “I just want you to hold me, Seth.”

  “I’m so fucking sorry,” I tell her with a ragged voice. I can’t control the emotion inside of me. It’s screaming that I’m losing her even though she’s telling me the opposite. “What can I do? Just tell me; I’ll do it.”

  Seeing her like this wrecks me. She’s not supposed to be sad like this and broken. “I hate myself for putting you through this.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she says and shakes her head, even as the tears fall.

  “It is my fault. It’s all my fault and I’m so damn sorry.”

  She does the opposite of what I expect. She climbs into my lap
and holds me. Her arms are around my neck and her head rests in the crook of it. “I love you, Seth King. I love you.”

  Hearing her whisper that calms me, but only slightly. So long as she’s hurting, I won’t be all right and it only forces the aggression to build.

  “With nothing to fix, what can I do?”

  “Just hold me.”

  My phone goes off at fucking 4:00 a.m. Laura’s asleep in the crook of my arm and the insistent buzzing won’t stop. My eyes are burning from the lack of sleep, but I scrub them with one hand as I slip Laura onto her pillow. She wouldn’t let go of me. She won’t tell me anything else either.

  I’ve never felt so helpless with her.

  I’m groggy as fuck and I can barely see as I make my way out of the bedroom and answer the phone although I don’t actually listen to whoever’s on the other end yet.

  It’s pitch black in my hallway but the second I get to the living room, the lights from the porch make getting to the kitchen counter easy enough. I lean on it and hear the muted “You there?” from the other end of the line.

  “I’m here,” I breathe into the phone, finally lifting it to my ear.

  “Are you listening?”

  “I am now,” I answer Declan and take in a deep inhale, my eyes still half lidded as I lean against the counter. “What’s going on?”

  “You said Walsh told you he looked into you and Laura?” he questions.

  “Yeah.” I perk up slightly at Declan’s tone, but I need strong black coffee if I’m going to make it through this. “What’s going on?” It’s hard to shut off the thoughts about Laura and just focus. I can’t get over this nagging feeling that everything is wrong.

  “There’s no alert, Seth.” My eyes open at what Declan just told me, staring at the coffee maker with the mug in my hand.

  “Walsh said he didn’t know about Laura and me until recently.” I repeat the conflict out loud, “But you don’t have an alert that he searched my name?”

  “Right.” He adds before I can ask, “Or Laura’s.”

  “So go farther back with the dates on the system.”

  “I did that already. I searched for a month. Bethany was curious about you, by the way.”

  That part doesn’t strike me as odd. I bet she hates me for putting Laura through all of this too. So long as she doesn’t tear her away from me, she can hate me all she wants. That makes two of us.

  “Check his work computers. The computers that aren’t registered. Maybe it looks like someone else.”

  “No. No one looked up Laura other than Bethany until Laura was arrested. Not a soul. I wanted to do the search to see if we got any hits. There’s no search for her or any information regarding you that included her.” I’m silent, still trying to process what all this means and Declan keeps talking.

  “It hit me a bit ago that Walsh told you he did. He said he looked you up. I never got an alert. He’s lying.”

  “Could have been a paper trail?” I ask although that’s unlikely. A chill runs down my arms as I hit the button to brew a pot of coffee. Why would he lie about something like that? It doesn’t make sense.

  “No. I looked into the police transcripts in your hometown. Nothing has been moved or requested.”

  “Either he already knew or he figured it out without searching online, and if that’s the case, who did he talk to?”

  “We have eyes on all our men. We’ve had eyes on Walsh. He hasn’t seen anyone.”

  “I know. No one who knows would have told him shit.” I don’t know what to make of it all.

  He tells me firmly from the other end of the phone, “My instinct is that he’s lying. I think he knew about you and Laura all along. He went to her work, he befriended her.”

  “So he’s playing us?” I can practically see Declan nodding the way that he does before he says, “Yes.”

  “And to think I’d just started to come around to him.”

  “You’re a liar. You don’t like that prick.” I huff a short chuckle at Declan’s response. Bringing the coffee to my lips, I take a long sip before asking, “So what do we do about it?”

  “That’s why I’m calling you. I thought you’d want to take the lead on this. Get ahead of it.”

  “Another gift?” I question and make my way to the sofa, taking a seat. Before he can answer, I tell him, “I told you, apology accepted, it’s all behind me.”

  It’s quiet for a moment before he asks, “You sure?” Thinking back to the barn, I flex my hand and then crack my knuckles.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Still,” he says on the other end of the line, “what do you want to do about Walsh?”

  “He knows more than he’s letting on. We all do. We keep our cards close. I don’t trust him and I want him gone as quickly as we can get him out of here.” I think out loud, “Marcus is supposedly leaving, maybe Walsh goes with him. I don’t want anything to do with either of them.”

  “They both have their sights set on you. The question is, why?”

  Laura

  Life is an oddity when you’re waiting to see a doctor who is, more than likely, going to inform you that your death is coming shortly. The days blur together because every so often time pauses while you remember, and then it goes on, but in the back of your mind you’re caught in that thought.

  It’s a constant. I can’t shake it and it’s wearing away at me. To the point where I made the damn appointment, even though I’d rather just hide. I’d rather pretend I don’t know that I have heart failure. Apparently I’m shit at pretending.

  “Hey, it’s just a checkup,” Bethany says sweetly beside me and I smile as she pats my shoulder. She does a little circle with her hand and then pats me once more in finality.

  “Haven’t you ever heard, doctors make the worst patients… and nurses aren’t much better,” I joke back at her, forcing myself to be the person she knows me to be. That’s the way I’ve been with Seth too. I think they both see through it. I wish I was a better liar for their sake.

  The waiting room is virtually empty. It’s just us in the back row of these rather uncomfortable seats, closest to the magazines. There’s a pregnant woman a row up. She’s been on her phone the entire time; her hand is rubbing circles over her belly. It’s calming to watch.

  A single laugh is belted out by Bethany in response and then she flips the page to her magazine. “Speaking of that, I need to schedule a checkup too.”

  “Ooh, hypocritical much?” I taunt her.

  The magazine makes a slapping sound as she tosses it down on her lap. “You look like you’re going to an executioner, not a doctor.”

  My smile falls and it happens so fast and honestly that I don’t have time to correct it.

  “Hey,” she says and her voice falls gently as she leans in, her hand on my thigh. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I lie and at that moment my heart sputters, like it’s scolding me for doing so. I have to clear my throat and pick up my coffee, which is the cue for her to remove her hand. “Just a lot on my mind.” It’s a lame excuse, but Bethany buys it.

  “It’s Seth, isn’t it?”

  “What?” The word is only a single breath. I can’t even take a sip of the coffee. Why would she think it’s Seth?

  “You used to tell me everything. Literally five months ago, you described the worst date with at least decent consolation sex. You’ve been with Seth for like… weeks? And you haven’t told me anything.”

  “It’s been almost a month,” I say, correcting her. “He’s not like the other guys. This isn’t a one-off to have drinks over and laugh at. He’s not a date… he’s… he’s more.”

  “But you aren’t happy,” she emphasizes.

  I’m happy with him. I don’t know how to tell her how wrong she is. “I’ve changed and I know that, but it’s not because of Seth. I promise you.”

  “If you don’t want to be with him, don’t. He can’t force you—”

  “I love him,” I say, cutting her off. I�
�m not angry at her; I’m shocked, though. “I’ve always loved him and even though…” I trail off because I don’t even know where to start. Our love story isn’t a straight line, it’s chaotic scribbles on a page. It’s fucked up. “I need him right now. Why would you question that?”

  “You haven’t seemed right. Something’s going on,” she presses and I don’t know what to tell her. I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t tell anyone. Not yet. I can’t make it real for them like it is for me.

  “Will you give me some time?” I ask her. “I just need time to figure it all out.”

  Her smile is small but genuine, and I get another pat too. “Of course.” As she’s telling me, “All the time you need,” a nurse calls out my name.

  “All righty,” she says then stands with me and tells me she’ll see me at work. I hate that I’m lying to her and to Seth, or at least lying by omission to hide the truth. I make a promise to myself as I watch her go before handing the papers to the nurse, that I’ll tell them. I’ll tell both of them everything the moment this appointment is done.

  I can’t keep lying and pretending.

  “Miss Roth?” The doctor is short like me, although her shoes add at least two inches. Cheater. “Right this way.” She’s professional but walks quickly, as if she’s in a hurry. It only makes me more anxious. She doesn’t speak the entire way to the room, which is in the farthest corner of this place, adding yet again to my anxiousness.

  “I’m Doctor Tabor.”

  “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” Formalities take precedence although internally all I can think is that it is not, at all, nice to meet her.

  “I see you’ve already had your blood taken?” she questions and I nod, my fingers drifting on the small bandage in the crook of my arm.

  “I don’t know why it was necessary.” I didn’t ask the nurse when she told me. I was too busy talking to Bethany who looked like she wanted to pry, but didn’t.

  “So, I had a look at your charts,” she begins as she’s closing the door and before I’ve even had a moment to sit.