That's a Relief (Promises, Promises Book 3)

by Victoria Klahr

  “Uhhhhh.” Yes, I’ve clearly resorted to my six-year college education to converse. Clearing my throat, I straighten my shoulders and smile back. “Hey, Blake. What are you doing here? I mean I know you’re here for coffee. Obviously. But you don’t like coffee. And you’ve got quite a bit in there.”

  Oh, my god! Shut the heck up, blabber mouth.

  He grins wider and looks down at the carrier. “Yeah. The boys like the coffee here, so I’m bringing it back to the office.”

  “Seth. Berry Pom Smoothie and Italian Affogato,” someone calls across the bar. I look up into Seth’s gaze and notice his reluctance to leave. He heaves out a sigh and releases me to go get our order.

  Well, this is awkward. Blake and I stand in an uncomfortable silence, and I shift back and forth between each foot. Is that paint on my black flats? Son-of-a—I told him to stop painting in the closet.

  I look back up to Blake and his eyes are serious as he stares at me. Observing me. Looking for the girl he used to know. He opens and closes his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but then rethinks it.

  “Um. I guess I should say congrats?”

  “What?” I squeak, eyes widening. His gaze narrows on my left hand.

  “On your engagement. That’s great.” The wince as he says great isn’t lost on me, though I choose not to acknowledge it.

  “Oh,” I breathe out a sigh of relief. Blake and I certainly aren’t friends, but the thought of him knowing that I was thrilled to be having a baby with Seth makes me a little sick. “Yeah. Thanks. We’re getting married next month.”

  He offers a small smile, but it’s strained. Seth walks back beside me and I relax. He’ll get me out of this, for sure. Seth hands me my drink and kisses the top of my head.

  “I’ll meet you in the car, Pussycat.”

  What? I give him a look. A look that should make him cower in fear, but he turns to leave anyway.

  “He must have known I wanted to ask you something,” Blake says softly, not quite looking at me. Some of his usual confidence crumbles as he stands there, nervous and unsure. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. I know exactly what he’s going to ask. I feel a dozen hundred-pound dumbbells crushing my chest.

  His dark brown eyes, rippling waves of Coca-Cola framed in even darker eyelashes, look at me intently. I pick an imaginary piece of lint off of my dress. “What do you have to ask?”

  He steps closer, and I hold my breath. “I went back to the apartment. After you moved everything. I know you saw it, Jo. Did you open it?”

  The tin. The stupid small Altoids box he left behind for me with a note attached that said: In case you ever forget how much I loved you -Blake. Of course this was right after I told him I was never in love with him.

  I forgot about the tin after Seth proposed to me, but when I woke up the next morning, wrapped in Seth’s arms, I looked straight at my side table and remembered. Seth had just asked me to marry him. The last thing I wanted was to tell him that Blake left me a token of what we used to have.

  But I did. Because Seth and I didn’t lie to each other. I told him what I found and I held the cool metal box between us as we debated what to do with it.

  “You should just throw it away,” Seth said, glaring at it as if his eyes could shoot red lasers and burn it to ash.

  “I don’t know, Seth. What if it’s something he wants?”

  He picked it up and weighed it in his hands. “It’s light. I bet it’s a poem or a picture or something.” But then he shook it and we heard something clink against the side. “Or not.”

  “What if you open it and tell me if it’s something we can throw away or give back?”

  Seth scoffed. “I’m not opening something that asshole left you so you could consider going back to him, Jos.”

  “I doubt it’s a picture of his penis. Come on.” I pouted. “Please,” I begged.

  “Josie, the last fucking thing I want to hear is a comment about his goddamn penis.” He rolled onto his back and covered his face in his hands. Everything was still so fresh and raw. A couple days prior, I had finally forgiven Blake—let go of all the old feelings I used to have and the new hatred that had formed when he walked out on me.

  After a couple minutes of contemplative silence, he looked back over at me. “Look. I don’t want to start our engagement with me telling you what to do. I won’t tell you that you should give it back or throw it away or keep it. I trust you, and I believe you’ll do whatever is right. Or, at least, that you won’t betray me or my trust. So I’ll leave it up to you. I don’t want to be a part of it, though. I can’t handle him trying to get you back, Jos. I hate the guy.”

  I nodded my understanding and put it back in the side table to deal with later. Seth was important. He was the future. There was no need to look into the past and certainly no need to open Pandora ’s Box when life with Seth was all I needed.

  So I forgot about it. Months of shoving it in the back of my side table, to be forgotten just like the old feelings I used to have for the man in front of me.

  Until now.

  Now I know why Seth left me here with Blake. He put his trust in me that day and backed out of whatever choice I made regarding the stupid tin. He was still trusting me by letting me have this conversation with Blake alone.

  When I meet Blake’s eyes this time, filled with longing for the past and love he hasn’t been able to get go of, I suddenly feel incredibly sorry for him. He grimaces as if he can tell what I’m thinking.

  “Shit, Jo. I don’t need your pity over it.”

  I feel the need to reassure him. “No, Blake.” I place my hand on his arm before he turns away, and his muscles strain as he looks pointedly at my hand. He stops breathing. He’s still as a statue until he meets my eyes again, his longing palpable. Embarrassed, I drop my hand and look away. “I never opened it.”

  He’s silent. Looking at me, willing me to look at him. When I do, the silence continues. The fizz and steam, the grinding and blending, the talking and tapping and music blends together and becomes a distant noise.

  Blake says nothing at all, and yet I feel the weight of his heart in my hands. And despite everything—despite the difference in how I feel with Seth and all the lies Blake and I shared—I remember what it was like to be loved by this man.

  His hand touches my cheek, and instant betrayal crashes into my heart. “You look beautiful, Josie,” he says, his voice low and thick.

  I close my eyes and turn away from his touch. Hot tears sting behind my eyes. I know better. How could I let him touch me? Sure, it was only for two seconds, but that’s still way too long. When I look at him again, he gives me a reassuring smile.

  “You look happy,” he says, shoving his hand in his pocket. He nods as if agreeing with something he’s said in his head. “At peace. Something I couldn’t give you. I really am glad you’ve found that. You deserve that.”

  “Thank you,” I say softly. He steps closer and shatters whatever respect I formed for him by accepting my relationship with Seth.

  “But if that ever changes. If you’re ever unhappy or feeling even a sliver of doubt. If he hurts you or keeps something from you, open that box. Follow it and you’ll know that despite everything we went through I truly loved you. I love you.”

  Feeling the sting of his words like a slap on the face, I take a step back, appalled. “How dare you, Blake?” I give him a scathing look, heat pumping in my chest and throat. “Don’t say things like that. You will never get me to change my mind. Even if Seth and I go through a rough time, I will never choose you. No matter what’s in the fucking box, I’ll never change my mind.”

  Undeterred, but giving me the distance I need, he says, “Well then, I suppose you could still open it and follow it. Though I wouldn’t share it with Seth. It might bruise his ego—not being able to give you everything you ever wanted.”

  I scrunch my face in disgust. “God, I can’t remember one reason why I ever liked you, let alone thought I loved you.”

&
nbsp; He runs his hand over his scruffy face, closing his eyes. “Dammit, Jo. I didn’t mean for this to turn into an argument. I guess I’m just a little jealous to see his ring on your finger instead of mine.” He shakes his head and gives me a contrite look. “I’m sorry. Forget it.”

  He walks away and I follow to go back to Seth. My Seth. The one who makes my heart race with every touch. The one who has loved me for so long, but always seems to have more to give. Out of all the stupid fucking mistakes I’ve made in my life, Seth has never and will never be one of them.

  Before I start to our car, Blake turns back around and shatters me once more.

  “Oh. Josie, I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you this, but be careful out there. My dad’s become relentless with his questions about you. Stay safe.”

  He opens his mouth to speak again, but shakes his head and gives me a sad smile, turning to go to his car. And he leaves me there, mouth slack, one hand moving to my stomach and the other to my racing heart.

  And it clicks. The last two weeks finally make sense. The way Dad and Seth would stop talking as soon as I entered a room. The way Seth holds me tight when we walk outside in the dark. The moments I’d catch Seth looking in the distance, jaw set, grinding his teeth before he noticed me watching him, flashing a charming smile to negate any fears I may have had. The reluctance to let me go anywhere alone without him or Dad or Brooke or Brandon.

  And I break. The. Fuck. Apart.

  Michael.

  Michael’s out.

  I collapse to my knees and vomit in the middle of the parking lot.

  Part II

  “Sometimes I think,

  I need a spare heart to feel

  all the things I feel.”

  ― Sanober Khan, A Thousand Flamingos

  Chapter 11

  Seth

  I watch them in the side mirror, Blake walking out the door and Josie close behind, and I know the instant something is wrong. Blake faces Josie and says something before turning back around to go to his car. She stands there, drops her coffee, and grabs her chest. I can’t see her face but I know something terrible was said. As I’m jogging to her, she falls and throws up on the pavement.

  “Josie!” I fall to my knees next to her and pull her hair out of the way. She doesn’t care. Pays no attention. When she’s done, she rocks back and forth, fighting for breath. She chokes on the air in her lungs and makes heartbreaking mewling sounds.

  “Josie, baby. Do I need to call an ambulance? Should we go to the hospital? What’s wrong?” I grab my phone out of my pocket and start to … I don’t even know. Call her doctor? The hospital? I don’t know what to fucking do. Guttural noises rip through her trembling body. My hands shake as I pull up the keypad on my phone.

  “Seth,” she chokes between breaths. My eyes jump to her and my chest is being crushed by a car compactor, suffocating and immobilizing me. Her steel-blue depths are wide, bloodshot with terror, color drained from her face. Horror. I see every demon in her eyes.

  “Oh, god, Josie. What’s wrong? Please tell me.” I’m choking over my own words, pulling her into my arms to help stop the shaking—to try to piece her back together. Without her forming a coherent sentence, I decide to take her to the hospital. I pick her up and buckle her into her seat, rushing over to the driver’s side.

  She rocks. And rocks. And chokes. And shudders. And Trembles. And moans. And cries. And every breath is torture. She sucks it in at the last second—right before she passes out from lack of oxygen. And nothing I say, nothing I do reassures her that she’s going to be okay.

  As much as I don’t want to accept it, I know I’ve seen this before. I remember the image of her in the corner of the hospital room, red gown askew and hands grabbing her wild hair as she cried and rocked herself. It was the last time she spoke before going silent for almost a year. She cried and muttered things I would never understand. But some of them I could.

  “I should have died.”

  “I want to die.”

  “Go away. Go away. Go away.”

  And she’d scream while scraping and wiping her skin, trying to get rid of the filth of her rapist.

  “Oh, Josie,” I whisper, trying to focus on the road, but needing to comfort her. “He wasn’t there, was he? Josie, look at me. I need to know. Was he there? Did he try to hurt you? What did Blake say? Did he hurt you? Baby, talk to me. Please, calm down. Come out of it.”

  Nothing but sobs reach my ears. Slamming my fist on the steering wheel, I push on the gas. Why the fuck did I leave them? I abandoned my pregnant fiancée for five fucking minutes and she comes back broken. The last thing I want to be is overbearing, so I told myself I’d let her have a minute to talk to him. A minute for him to ask about that stupid motherfucking box he had the gall to leave in her apartment. A minute for him to turn her from jovial to hysterical.

  After I park in the crowded ER parking lot, I come over to her side to get her out. She refuses to move and pulls back.

  Between sharp intakes of breath and sobs, she shakes her head. “No.” Huff. Sob “No, Seth! Don’t take me in there. No. No. No. Please. Please. Please.”

  I cup her face in my hands, rubbing my thumbs over her cheekbones.

  “Josie, I can’t let you sit in here and suffer. I can’t watch it. It can’t be safe for the baby. Let me take you in.” I reach out for her again and a feral look contorts her features.

  “No, Seth,” she yells. “I’m not going in. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay,” she repeats softly to herself, trying to convince herself that she’s fine. I’m stuck. Frozen in uncertainty. Do I let her work this out herself and risk her and the baby’s health? Or do I bring her in and suffer her anger?

  She can’t be mad at me forever. It should be a no-fucking-brainer. I’ve known about our baby for three days and I’m so in love with it already. I can’t risk the baby’s health. I reach inside the car again and carry her in my arms, wincing every time she lands a punch against my chest—not from the pain of the impact.

  “Seth! I’m—” Sob “—begging—” Sob “—you.”

  I smooth down her hair and try not to let her change my mind. My heart is in excruciating pain. Am I betraying her by bringing her in? Will she forgive me? How many times have I heard Josie tell me that she never wanted to go back to a therapist? How weak and helpless it made her feel?

  Everyone is quick when we get inside. Maybe they didn’t want a hysterical woman in the waiting room or maybe it’s because she’s pregnant and that takes priority. I don’t give a fuck. I just need Josie to calm down. To be okay.

  I’m allowed in her room, but I’m no help. Nurses and a doctor scatter methodically around the space taking her vitals, talking in smooth hushed voices, and plugging her to a machine. And I stand still. Turned to stone by the horror. Josie stops thrashing, but her eyes don’t hide the shock.

  They ask a million fucking questions I don’t want to answer. I want to pull her in my arms and take this all away.

  Age? 25. Date of birth? March 29th, 1989. Pregnant? Yes. How far along? Nine weeks. Any complications before today? No. How long has she been like this? Half hour. Has she done this before? Yes. How often does this occur? Not in the last year. Before that, a couple times a year. Is she on any medications? Zofran. How often does she take it? She took one today. We just got the prescription.

  And it goes on and fucking on. My brain wants to tell them all to shut the fuck up, but I don’t. I don’t do anything. I shove down my fear, my terror and pain so Josie doesn’t see it. I can’t let her see. I can’t let her know the truth of how terrified I am, because when her eyes catch mine, I know she’s looking for strength. Someone who can help her through this. And if I cave to the dark evil swirling inside, she won’t get that from me. She’ll see someone just as broken as she is—and for a totally different reason.

  Guilt is a living thing, bred of insecurities, trepidation, and shame—a dull hook that shoves its way into your skin and drags you do
wn slowly. My guilt rages.

  When the doctor puts an IV in her arm, she finally settles down. They tell me what they’re giving her, but I can’t hear it over the roar of blood crashing in my ears.

  Then it’s just me and Josie. I finally move to bring a chair next to her bed and continue pretending that I’m strong enough to protect her, save her, help her. Which is hard to accept through the hysterical laughter and constant jabs of my conscious mind calling me pathetic in my head.

  Her head lolls to the side to face me. With every blink, it takes longer for her to open her eyes. Right before the last blink, she speaks.

  “You knew,” she whispers, her voice so soft and sad I barely hear her. “You knew, Seth.”

  Anguish becomes a whole new experience. Fire-tipped pokers strike my chest and throat. God, I betrayed her. I deceived her for almost two weeks because I was too scared to hurt her. To ruin the good life we’ve built.

  My brain relishes in a new reason to call me a deplorable, inadequate person.

  ***

  Soft fingers rove through my hair, startling me from my sleep, but not enough for me to process where I am. I ache all over. My neck is killing me, my back feels like it will break if I move, and my ass hurts as if I’ve been on a twenty-four-hour car ride. A sweet, soft hand rubs my neck, and it no longer matters how my body feels, because I’d know her hands anywhere.

  I know something terrible has happened and I refuse to let the knowledge seep back into my consciousness. At least for a little while longer. Just a few more grazes of her hand.

  Groggily, I turn my head and realize I fell asleep in my chair, bent over so my head rests next to Josie’s cheek on her bed. She stares at the ceiling, absently touching me while she loses herself to her thoughts.

  “What’s going through your gorgeous head, pretty girl?”

  She turns to face me and smiles sheepishly, blushing a beautiful red on her tanned cheeks. Her eyes glaze over and she looks back up at the ceiling. A poster with clouds and a bright dumbass smiling sun that reads: What a lovely day!