Breathe

by C. L. Matthews

  “How about we give her some time, and you come see Lo and the kids?” I offer out of nowhere. It stops Toby in his tracks, and he gawks at me as if I’m mad.

  Maybe I’m crazy. Either way, this meet, it’s fate. Has to be.

  “I can’t!” He raises his voice. “She’s a cutter, Jase. She fucking cuts when she’s a mess.” The strain in his eyes has me worried. Lo was suicidal, but her self-harm tended to reside in her own mind. A personal hell of her own making.

  “Then talk to me about her. Settle your mind so I can help and maybe we can come up with some viable options.”

  He nods and starts from the beginning.

  His spitfire reminds me of my own.

  And once again, I finally feel like we’re brothers and not enemies.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Present

  Joey

  I don’t know what brought me here, but I’m here. Hell, I don’t even know why. I was halfway to the cove before turning around, heading right to where I am now.

  The house is massive but so white picket. It’s something that I’ve never cared for. I’m not an extravagant wife, by any means, but this is too mundane for even me. It looks like my dad’s place, and that’s exactly what I avoided my entire life.

  Him.

  Repetition.

  Hatred.

  I stare at the three-story home, seeing the way it seems too peaceful. From everything Francis told me, this is anything but a happy home.

  It’s been five years.

  Sitting in my car for another five minutes, I don’t even notice my passenger door opening, but when it does, a little shriek escapes me. The teenager from Gray’s house sits next to me, a scowl darker than ever covers his face. If I thought the world made me bitter, this little psychopath is something else entirely.

  “The fuck are you staring at my house for?” a gravelly voice barks at me.

  My eyes connect with the figure inside my car, and chills break across my flesh like little pinpricks of unease.

  His dark hair is jagged and unruly like he runs his hands through it in an attempt to make it look as fucked up as his soul.

  His eyes, so heady with hatred and filled to the brim with experience and death, burns me.

  He makes his own marks, and I find it has me shriveling into myself.

  It’s not something I’m used to.

  Little punk kids don’t evoke these reactions in me, but this one does. He digs deep with his nearly black eyes, his pupils dilated with agitation. He makes sure I’m aware that he doesn’t have a single fuck to spare the likes of me.

  “Well?” he pushes, baring his teeth like an animal. He reminds me so much of Toby with that expression. The disgust and repulsion. It’s all too familiar.

  “Needed to talk to Lo,” I offer.

  “If you’re another one of Jase’s whores, you can back the fuck away.” He grips my wrist, as if he has power over me, his eyes—razor-sharp and hateful—bore into mine. “My mom doesn’t need your shit, and he’s done with you all. I’ll fucking make it happen myself.” His hand tightens, squeezing me as if he has a single right. Are people really scared of this asshole?

  I scoff. “First of all, tweener... gross. Second, I’m here for your mother. Third of all, extra gross. He’s not my type.”

  He laughs emphatically, no traces of humor present. “Wallets don’t have to look good to get pussy. They just have to be big.”

  My eyes narrow at the little shit, seeing how much he probably gets away with. If I wasn’t used to dickish behavior, I’d probably be more scared. He’s huge in comparison to me. But I’ve been through it all, and I’m only twenty-two. I’ve lost a child, a husband, my innocence, and my home. This dude—no matter how big of an asshole he is—won’t deter me from my mission.

  “How about fuck you?” I scold. “You’re only two years younger than me, and you act like some big badass. News flash, dickweed, I’m not—” He places a hand over my mouth.

  “No. You listen. In the past five years, my mom has been through so much that I’m lucky she’s still alive and kicking. My piece of shit father destroyed her, and though he claims to be a changed man, we all know people relapse and break themselves. Look at my uncle Nate for that matter. He did so well, but one slip up and he’s back to being an addict. You see, Red. You’re not much different. You have this desperate, almost feral gleam in your eyes. That’s a look I want nowhere near my mom. She’s grown, changed, and fuck, she came out strong. One thing could tip her over the edge, and I’ll kill any motherfucker who dares to risk her life again. Whether you’re here for her or some hush money, it’s not happening.”

  He stares at me for my reaction, but I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.

  “I’ll remove my hand if you don’t scream. If you do, well, I have a knife in my pocket I’m not afraid to acquaint you with.” Raising his calloused palm, I stare at him in incredulity.

  How can someone so young be so bitter?

  “I’m Toby’s wife,” I mutter, finally letting that information out. Technically, as of two hours ago, I’m his no one, but on paper, he’s definitely still mine.

  He doesn’t show his shock, but I’m sure it’s there. His eyes aren’t as narrowed and his anger isn’t as deep. It’s almost lighter. Like he realizes I’m not a threat.

  “You’re the Joey?”

  “You’ve heard of me?” I mumble, feeling emotions bubble inside me. How would he possibly know? Toby hasn’t kept in contact with Lo or Jase. I’d know. I’ve tried getting him to reach out often enough.

  “Uncle Tobes always calls me. We haven’t lost touch. He keeps me sane when my father is around. I’ve nearly killed him several times.”

  He jokes about murdering his dad like it’s nothing, but I see the rabid look in his eyes. He’s not even joking right now, and that awareness scares me shitless.

  “I had no clue,” I let out. “We got into a fight over your mom, and I wanted to ask her what to do. She’s my idol.” The words slip out, and I nearly regret them before seeing his rapacious smile.

  “Toby says you’re a top chef. There’s no one better to admire than my mom. She’s fucking glorious.” The pride in his eyes and voice has me tearing up again.

  Fuck.

  My heart aches with nostalgia. Would my child have been as loving and fiercely loyal to me as this kid? Would they have loved me endlessly?

  This kid has my heart in a vise, and he’s not even mine.

  “You’re a great son,” I cry softly, the words as broken as I feel.

  “Why are you getting so emotional?” he asks, looking at me like I’m an alien.

  “No reason,” I bite out, wiping my already fucked eyes.

  “You already look like a goddamn misfit from a Tim Burton movie, might as well just go with it,” he mocks. It must be his personality, but he’s a serious dick. Except when it involves his mother.

  “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

  He smiles. It’s not really a smile, just a slight tilt to his lips. Almost boyish, almost homicidal, but all him. “Everyone is going to hate you,” he snarks. “Everyone except me, and I don’t even like you.”

  “Fuck off,” I hiss.

  “Let’s go inside. Meet the dear ole fam.” He hops out of my car before I can respond and is trailing to the house. He doesn’t wait for me, so I’m stumbling over myself to keep up. He must find me amusing because in the next instance, a dark chuckle escapes the Satan spawn.

  When we reach the door, he doesn’t hesitate to swing it open. His eyes are haunted when he walks inside. He must have memories here he doesn’t like to relive. Honestly, I know the feeling.

  “I’m not usually here, but I heard a little storm is visiting for spring break, and I couldn’t resist.” His euphemism is lost on me for only breaths before that scene comes to mind, the one I walked into. He calls Gray his storm. It’s not a bad name, but it definitely isn’t in kind either.

  “Why
do you hate her?” I ask without thinking twice about my life.

  “She fucked up, and I intend to make her pay.” Shaking my head and knowing better than to meddle, I follow him through the foyer to a living room. It’s vast, the ceilings are vaulted, and I can here dishes rattling. He looks back at me and points his head in the direction of the sound.

  Walking the distance to the kitchen, I see my idol. She’s holding a huge baking sheet of asparagus and onions. It smells divine in here. Like olive oil, oregano, and parmesan cheese.

  “Mom,” Ace calls out, scaring Lo. She startles a moment before setting the hot pan down.

  “Jesus, Ace. Be less invasive next time, huh?”

  Her voice is as soft as I remember it. She has this kind way of speaking, like she’s a goddess who has more emotions inside her than a psychiatrist’s office.

  “Oh! Josephine?” she asks, almost like her mom brain is a permanent fixture. I wouldn’t know. “I was so worried about you!”

  “Yes?” I mutter confused.

  “Honey, why do you look so distraught?”

  “Mom, this is Josephine Hayes.”

  As he says my last name, Lo’s face hardens in a sad way. Like memories flow into her, hitting her where it hurts more. She’s so soft around the edges, so seeing this much pain on the surface seems unnatural.

  “Hayes,” she repeats softly, bereft, and almost faraway.

  “Toby is my husband,” I mutter. It sounds like a thousand light bulbs bursting, until I’m met with only silence. It’s like being buried six feet deep and the only noise is the breath leaving your body as you suffocate slowly.

  It’s a painful pause.

  Stifled and stagnant.

  I hate it.

  “You didn’t mention that when we met,” she mutters poignantly. In her eyes, I see a deep-seated emotion. I’m not sure what that is because I don’t know her well enough to tell one from the other, but it’s not a kind one. Is she jealous? Was I wrong in thinking she was over my husband? Does she still love him?

  My heart feels like it’s on a spindle, being spun by Rumpelstiltskin, not made into gold though—made into deadly strands of hopelessness.

  If she still loves him, that means he could go back to her.

  Why does it matter? You left him...

  Even walking away, I don’t want him with her or anyone else. The thought spears me, hurting me deeply.

  “I didn’t want you to refuse to see me. Regardless of how it looks, I really did want to ask you for advice. It was cut a little short by Toby.”

  “He was there?” she hisses, gripping her chest. I turn to Ace, his face blank and expressionless. Smart kid. Holding it close to the vest.

  “He was about to yell. I could see it on his face, but I didn’t think it was a good time. Being you were with his child in that coffee shop.”

  Her eyes narrow into slits. They are deathly like this.

  Ace clears his throat from behind me. “I think you should go,” he states, his softer tone from earlier vacant in the words.

  “No, she can stay. Seems like your uncle has been up to a lot. And Josephine here has been digging a little too deep.”

  “Is Lev really Toby’s?” Ace asks. The smallness in his voice is one of a son getting news he wasn’t expecting. News that’s unsettling and turbulent, throwing him out of orbit. I’ve really fucked them both tonight. All for some goddamn reason that makes zero sense.

  “Ace, please go make sure Jazzy bear and Lev are washed up.”

  Shut down.

  His face darkens as he grinds his molars. His hands ball into fists, and I just know he’s on the verge of an explosion. So much like his uncle in that way.

  “No one in this household but my husband and I know that information,” she scolds, washing her hands and leading me into the dining area. “When Toby and I had our affair, we were stupid.”

  I want to cry, seeing as she has a child with my husband and not even I—his wife—get that kind of blessing. It shouldn’t hurt because this was before we met, but fuck, it hurts so badly.

  Tears prick my eyes.

  “I didn’t intend to discover that information. It fell on my lap,” I explain. “It broke me. I-I...” Tears flow freely, and the deadness inside me leaks out all over. It’s painful. “We miscarried almost two years ago, and it’s just... I needed something to bring us back together.”

  Her features soften, and she’s reaching for my hands. “You’re a strong woman, Josephine. There’s nothing like losing a child.”

  As she says the words, I can see the honesty, the pain, the reality of that simple statement. She lost a child, and she still hurts.

  A strangled noise leaves my throat as I break down. “I’m sorry for coming here. I don’t know why I did or what led me, but I couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t stay there with him... not after what he’s done.”

  She pulls me into her arms like I’m her child. She holds me, shushing me, rocking me and loving me in a way my mother never has. I cry and cry, feeling my body shake with agony.

  “It hurts so much,” I sob. “Why me? Why us? Why is this happening?” My heart hammers inside my chest, bleeding as my soul is letting loose all its burden in this woman’s arms.

  “Let it out,” she coos, holding me. “Cry all you need, sweetheart. This kind of weight isn’t meant to be held in.”

  As I start hiccupping, she lays a gentle kiss to my forehead, just like Francis, just like Toby.

  “How is Toby handling this? He’s really good at soothing heartache,” she admits with a bit of nostalgia. Even that hurts, and I’m sobbing more.

  “H-He hates me. He’s never around. Instead of being here, he cheated,” I bawl, feeling my body lock up from lack of oxygen.

  “Sweetie, I need you to calm down. You’re having a panic attack.” I try breathing. I try to stop the rapid rising of my chest, and I try not to feel the onslaught of emotions.

  “C-Can’t.”

  “Inhale,” she instructs gently, and I do. “Exhale.” I let out the most ragged breath. “Now, breathe.” I do it again. “Just keep doing that, just like that. Deep breaths.”

  It takes a couple of minutes, but I’m finally calming down.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize with guilt riding me. “I had no intention of unloading on you.”

  “Don’t apologize, honey. Broken people find broken people. It’s a matter of fate.”

  I stare at her in awe. She could be so angry right now, but she’s not. She’s looking at me with love and understanding, and it doesn’t make any sense.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because my broken sees and recognizes yours. You’re my family now. Family soothes family. We’re meant to be there for one another and make sure to heal where we can.”

  “I wish I didn’t lie to you. It feels so wrong.”

  She eyes me with understanding. “If I was in your situation, I’m not sure the outcome would be different. When I lost my daughter, I’d have done anything for a connection and answers, but I shut down. It’s taken years, but I’m finally healing. Therapy helps a lot, and medication for my suicidal tendencies and depression. It’s slowly fixing the damaged pieces.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever feel whole again.” She rubs my arm softly, squeezing. It’s such a motherly thing to do, and I feel myself warming up to this woman even more.

  “You will. You’ll feel complete, even if the child isn’t one you give birth to.”

  Adoption.

  What Toby and I had originally agreed upon before everything went to shit. I nod, knowing what she means. “I just want to be a mom.”

  The pain in my voice scares even me. It’s on the verge of full desolation. When I stand, she holds my arm. For the first time in ages, my arms are visible.

  Scars upon scars.

  Blood upon blood.

  Sadness upon sadness.

  Hopelessness upon hopelessness.

  “This isn’t the answer.”
Her voice is far off. “It may ease some pain at first, feel good even, but it’s a short-term remedy, and it fuels the destruction. Next time, when the need arises, draw on your skin. Every place you want to bleed, write things. Words, objects, hell, song lyrics work. Just don’t use the blade anymore.”

  I nod at her, absorbing her advice.

  “I’m a little broken,” I whisper.

  “All the best people are.”

  As soon as those words leave her, a very tall, very attractive, and very intimidating man walks in. His eyes land on his wife, and he must see something there. Because in the next second, he’s rushing to her, cupping her jaw, looking at her as if she stole all the stars and put them in her eyes so he’d never have to look elsewhere again.

  I want that.

  I miss that.

  Fucking Toby.

  They kiss passionately. The grip he has on her jaw reminds me so much of my husband that longing hits me between the ribs. I miss him. His touch, his love.

  Fuck me.

  It’s impossible to look away as they make love with their mouths. I should, but I can’t.

  “Could you not?” Ace barks from the same area his dad came in. I stare at him as he rolls his eyes slowly. It’s apparent there’s more than the normal amount of bad blood between him and his dad.

  “This is—” Lo starts introducing me.

  “Joey, Toby’s wife,” he answers for her. His darkened expression rakes over me. “Guess we’ve found you without actually trying.”

  “What are you talking about?” I say at the same time Lo says, “How did you know?”

  He turns to her. “You’d be amazed, but after a really big argument where we barely stopped ourselves from hitting each other, we discussed the past five years of his life.”

  I balk.

  Lo’s jaw drops.

  Ace grimaces.

  “Please don’t tell him I’m here,” I cry, to which Jase narrows his eyes.

  “Whether you want me to tell him or not, he’s already on his way.”

  “What?” Lo and I both hiss at the same time.

  “He wants closure,” he explains to the both of us. “I decided to give an inch and invited him over.”