The Complete If I Break Series

by Portia Moore

  “So you’re not going to take responsibility for any of this?” she demands.

  “I’m not shirking responsibility. I just want you to understand Cal. Cal married her. I have no idea who she is. I love you. I want to marry you!”

  She’s quiet. I don’t know which is worse, her yelling or her silence.

  I step closer to her, and she steps back. I’m losing her. I can feel it, and I haven’t even told her I have a kid yet.

  “I’m trying to understand. I really, really am. I spent hours online researching this. I even stumbled upon this support group online for people with your condition,” her eyes are watery. “This is just so...” she sighs. “I know that this isn’t your fault, and not something you asked for, but I’m having a pretty hard time wrapping my mind around this,” she clears her throat.

  “I know. Just imagine how I feel,” I chuckle, and she smiles tightly. “If this is too much, Jenna—I wouldn’t blame you if this is too much,” I say, sitting down on her porch.

  “Chris, if this was anyone else, I wouldn’t believe this. But it’s you. You’re one of the most caring, unselfish, honest people I know,” she says, sitting next to me. “Even though you can be a big baby sometimes,” she chuckles and I do too. Baby, ugh; it reminds me. I glance over at her; her shades are back on now.

  “I’m going down to school early to study for my exam tomorrow,” she says. “I was going to stay the night with Kaylie, but I can come back instead,” she continues, and I rub the back of my neck.

  How do I say this? I have to tell her. I can’t hide this from her. What’s the best way to say it? I know she wouldn’t want a long drawn-out speech. She’s standing up, I do the same. She wraps her arms around me, what do I say? I lift her up by the waist and hold her close, like it’s the last time. I’m ninety percent sure this will be the last time I’ll ever get to hold her like this.

  “Chris, we’re going to make this work. We’re going to find you the best doctors and support groups, and we’ll get through this. At least we know now what we’re dealing with. This marriage can’t be legal,” she says confidently. I set her down, and she cups my face in her hands. This is why I love her. She’s able to pull me out of my pity party.

  When I met Jenna, I was on my way from a visit with my mom’s doctor, and the news wasn’t good. Everyone had been coddling me and walking on egg shells around me, given everything that was going on. Even Lisa couldn’t break through, but Jenna was able to. I look away from her, and I just let it spill out.

  “Lauren, she has…” Her eyebrows raise. I know the next sentence out of my mouth is going to change everything. “She has a daughter.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, her eyes widen and her mouth falls open. Her expression is blank, completely blank, but she releases my face from her hands and steps back.

  “What?” she asks, and her voice breaks. “No,” she covers her face, her expression crumbling.

  “Is-is she yours?” she asks me, her voice stabilizing. I look away from her. “Oh. I’m sorry! Is she Cal’s?” she says, using air quotes.

  “I’m sorry.” I know it doesn’t help, but I am. It’s the only thing I know to say to her.

  “Of course you are,” she says, nodding her head. “But I can’t be mad at you, right? Because it wasn’t you, or it was you!” she starts to laugh, but tears are streaming down her face. “I-I just can’t deal with this right now,” she covers her face and begins shaking her hand. “I’ve got to go.” She walks past me toward her car.

  “Jenna, talk to me!” I grab her wrist, and she snatches it away. In an instant, her right hand finds the side of my face. The sting of the slap doesn’t even distract me from the hurt in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she says immediately afterward. “I need time. Just give me some time.” She briefly looks me in the eye before she turns away, rushes to her car, and speeds off.

  Chapter 23

  The meeting with Jenna was an absolute disaster. Granted, I should have had something more to say than, “Hey, the girl you met earlier has a kid, and chances are, it’s mine,” or something like that.

  Something profound and meaningful, but that’s never really been my thing. I try to be honest, no matter how much it hurts, in the least hurtful way possible, if that makes any sense. Still, I could have done more than stand there looking like an idiot and blurt it out like that. I should be thankful. It could have been worse. She still has the ring and hasn’t officially ended our engagement.

  She’s asked for time, but time isn’t a luxury that I’ve had much of. Most of it has disappeared in mere seconds. I wish I had more time to figure this out, but it just keeps ticking by, second by second. After yesterday, I’ve decided I won’t waste it anymore. I have to get things done, make things right, or at least try to. As much as I want to block the thought out of my mind that my body is shared with a person who can show up without notice, and screw me royally, I can’t. The faster I can get things in order, the less damage I can make sure he does.

  I get to do all of his damage control. I have to, and that’s what pisses me off. Things can work out. At least I know about it now. Not knowing was the worst part, and as scary as it is, today I don’t seem so out of control as I did when I first found out. I’ve faced some stressful issues, to say the least, but my headaches haven’t made an appearance once, and I’m keeping track of time. I don’t know where I stand with Jenna, but now she knows the truth. All I have left to do now is face Lauren.

  I thought I’d be more nervous about telling Jenna that I had a child than meeting Lauren. But, standing outside of her hotel room right now, I know I was wrong, big time. My palms are sweaty, my heart’s beating too fast, and my stomach feels like it’s in a canoe on the ocean. With Jenna, I know what to expect. She goes from stoic to flying off the handle in seconds. Lauren, I know nothing about, and the fact that she knows me as this man, one whose ass I want to kick, doesn’t help.

  I’ve started to knock on the door several times, but I haven’t managed to do it. I have no clue what she’s going to do when she opens the door: if she’s going to slap me, hug me, or kick me in the balls. I know my parents told her about my condition, but who’s to say if she believes it? My parents did lie to her, and left her in the dark. She’s the one person who was screwed over more than me in all this, and she’s had a kid to deal with in the midst of everything. Then there’s the fact that she knows me as him. I move my fist to the door one more time, and this time manage to knock. I hear the TV on, and then footsteps approach the door. I stuff my hands in my jeans pockets. Whatever she does or says, I deserve it. Cal’s not here to deal with her wrath, so just like everything else, I will. Hopefully, when she’s done, we can try to come up with some way to make this work out for her…for our daughter.

  “I don’t need—” she says as the door swings open. She definitely isn’t expecting me, and the expression on her face shows it once she sees me. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth has fallen open. She’s not moving, like she’s frozen, except her hand on the door knob. It’s shaking.

  “Hi,” I say quietly, forcing sound out of my throat. It’s dry as a desert. My words wake her from her frozen state, because she slams the door right in my face. I scratch my head. I didn’t expect that.

  “I’m sorry for coming like this. I-I just thought…I can come back later when you’re ready,” my voice is shaky and nervous. I shouldn’t have surprised her like this. I’ll wait for her to come to me when she’s ready. I turn around to leave, then I hear the door open.

  “No!” she says frantically. She gives me a nervous smile, moving her hair out of her face. I approach her slowly. The bright sun shining through the hallway window, causes her hazel eyes to sparkle. She looks tired, her eyelids puffy, but she’s still beautiful. The kind of beautiful that intimidates you. At least she’s about a foot shorter than me. I have an excuse to stare over her head instead of directly at her.

  “My parents said you were coming tomorrow, but I thought
we…I wanted to talk to you alone, if it’s okay?” I say, bumbling like an idiot. She looks at me curiously. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, but doesn’t. Instead, she steps back, and gestures for me to come in. I stuff my hands in my pockets as I walk into her hotel room. There’s a bed, a TV, sofa, and a mini fridge. Tissues are scattered on the nightstand, a glass of water next to the tissues. She closes the door and walks over to the sofa, but doesn’t sit. She’s looking at the ground as she folds her arms across her chest. This is a good start, I guess. She hasn’t hit me or started yelling. She’s shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She’s just as nervous as I am.

  “I don’t really know what to say to you, or where to start,” I admit, as her eyes meet mine. I look at this woman, who some part of me loved enough to marry. She’s biting her bottom lip, and I notice the small dimple in her right cheek. Her gaze is intense but brief, like she’s trying to see through me, and I look away.

  Does she believe all of this? When she looks into my eyes, I know she’s searching for him. I know, because I was doing the same thing standing in the mirror this morning.

  “Uhm,”she says, her voice trembling. I still don’t have a plan, or something to say. All I’ve done in the first few minutes of being here is to make her cry. I’ve never made so many women cry before.

  “I don’t know what to say to you either, to be honest,” she says, her voice unsteady as she wipes away a tear from her cheek. “Your parents told you everything?” she asks hesitantly. She must really think I’m an idiot for all this time to have passed and I never figured anything out, but I guess it’s better for her to think I’m an idiot than a lying jerk.

  “They told me that they’d been lying to me all of this time. That when I didn’t remember things another person was living my life for me, that they felt they should keep it from me,” It’s not until the words are out of my mouth that I realize how bitter I sound, but it feels good to get it out.

  “The people I trusted most lied to me. My parents, my so called doctor…” I say quietly to myself. Hearing it out loud is almost cathartic. She’s quiet, but I notice her eyes surveying me again. I wonder what it’s like to look at someone you know, and have him not recognize you at all.

  “You can’t blame yourself. It’s human nature to want to believe things are always good. When I talked to your parents, they thought they were doing what was best for you. Your interest was the only one they were looking out for.”

  I look down at her. She’s wringing her hands together, and I can only imagine how hard this is for her. Still, after everything she’s gone through, she says something like that.

  “I didn’t expect for you to defend them. Especially after… They lied to you, too.”

  “I’m not defending them. What they did was wrong. It hurt a lot people. But I don’t think they did it to be malicious or cruel. They thought they were protecting you. As a parent, you’d do anything to protect your child from what you believe could hurt them. If I was in their situation, and I believed that I could keep you safe by lying to you, I would have.”

  I remember the main reason I’m here, and reach into my pocket to pull out the picture of our daughter. Wow, that’s going to take some getting used to. I walk toward her, and her eyes widen. I hear her breathing and notice her hand is squeezing her wrist like some type of stress management technique. I need to get one of those ASAP.

  She takes a step back from me, and I realize it’s probably best if I just show her the picture. After all, I’m some strange guy she doesn’t know, in her hotel room, sort of.

  “My mom said…” I try to think of what would be the least awkward way to say this. I’m her father, she’s my daughter, our kid?

  “Caylen,” she interjects softly, and touches the face on the picture.

  “You named her after him, after Cal?” I’m hesitant to say his name to her, like it’ll set off some type of alarm and send her into some kind of frenzy like she was in the other day. Her vibe now is totally different. Calm, considering the circumstances. She’s not in a no-holds-barred screaming mode. She nods as I take a seat on the sofa.

  “How old is she?” I ask, with a sigh that I didn’t intend.

  “She just had her first birthday three days ago,” she says, sitting on the edge of the sofa. I never stopped to think that she’s been doing this alone. Other than the one I had two days ago, I haven’t had a blackout in almost two years, which means he hasn’t been around. He missed everything, too.

  I turn toward her. “You’ve been raising her alone?” I ask, and she rubs her palm against her thighs.

  “No. My aunt and friends have been there since the beginning, to help me with her. She doesn’t lack anything,” she explains.

  “Except a father,” I say quietly. If we share the same genes, God, she could have to deal with something like DID. “She doesn’t do anything strange?” I ask, and she looks confused.

  “Like what?” she asks, a hint of sharpness in her voice.

  “In general?” I say hesitantly; she’s not getting what I’m hinting at.

  “Caylen isn’t strange!” her voice is definitely sharp now.

  “No, I didn’t mean that. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” I’m backtracking from insinuating her daughter, our daughter, is crazy like her good ol’ dad.

  “She’s been okay an entire year of her life without you making sure she was okay. I’ve made sure she’s okay!” This is going badly. I didn’t mean to insult how she’s raised her. Well, I don’t know how she’s raising her, actually.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it. I-I don’t know what I meant,” I stand up, and offer her the picture. Her angry demeanor changes.

  “I’m sorry. I overreacted. I’m just not used to this. All of this, it’s all—” she stutters nervously.

  “No, it was my fault. I was out of line. I shouldn’t have asked such a stupid question.” I stop her, and she gives me a small smile; her one dimple makes another appearance. I look back at the picture of Caylen. She looks like me, but she has her mom’s dimples and nose. It’s amazing how a little human being can look like a combination of two people. I don’t remember my biological mother or father, so I’m not sure who I look like. I sit back down on the sofa, and a moment later, she sits beside me, the obligatory few inches between us.

  “She has your eyes. They turn like yours do,” her voice is soft, but steady. Her eyes find mine, and for a moment, she’s smiling, a barely-there smile, but still a smile.

  Stay with me.

  It’s like a whisper in my ear.

  The image of her from my dream the other night invades my thoughts. I shake it from my mind. I haven’t thought about it since, but it’s decided to announce itself right here, while she’s on the verge of crying, and I’m whining like a little boy. Get a grip, Chris.

  “I mean I …” she stutters, and her skin flushes a slight shade of pink. It causes me to smile. She really is beautiful. I turn my attention back to the picture in my hand. She’s still looking at me, and it’s scary. It makes me nervous, worried, and excited, all at the same time. I don’t know her, but something about her evokes these emotions that I can’t deal with right now. They probably aren’t mine to deal with. The only thing that makes it feel like I’m not going to implode is to talk, so I do.

  “How are we supposed to deal with this?” I ask quietly. Thankfully, my voice doesn’t give away the energy whirling around inside me like a tornado. “I-I don’t know how to deal with this…” I say, wringing my hands together. I let out a sigh and stand. You don’t know anything about me. I don’t know anything about you. And this Cal guy…” I cover my face. I need to run or hit something. These words are coming up and spilling out of me involuntarily, but the more I speak, the more the energy is released, so I continue.

  “I mean, I have a daughter I don’t even remember!” I laugh angrily, but I continue. “Years of my life! All of these things happened, and I don’t remember
any of it. No one bothered to tell me. What am I supposed to do about this?” I’m pacing the room now, and I want to stop and sit down, and ask her how she’s dealing with this. I sound like a little brat, but talking is the only thing that makes me not want to explode. I’m just trying to express my frustration, but instead I come off sounding like a selfish jerk. “I’m trying. I really am. I thought if I could make the first step by talking to you, that I could do it, but…” She must think I’m a lunatic. But when my eyes find hers, her expression is soft and compassionate. I think she feels sorry for me. All that she’s been through, and she’s sorry for me?

  “I know this is hard for you. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through right now,” she says, her tone soft and comforting, and for a minute, I want to hug her; hugging her will make everything okay. But I can’t, so I don’t. That would be selfish, and would send her the wrong message because when she looks at me...

  “I don’t know anything about you!” After the words leave my mouth, I realize how harsh they sound, but I can’t stop myself from saying exactly what comes to my mind. Her eyes are on mine, and instead of looking away from them, I look into them. It’s not hard to do; they’re magnetic and alluring. But more than that, they’re like open windows, I can see straight through to her soul. Even though she has a small smile on her face, I can see her pain, her hurt, and her hope. That’s the scariest part, because her hope is my demise. She doesn’t know me, or love me, so her hope isn’t with me—it’s with Cal.

  “But when you look at me, it’s like you know everything about me,” I say. She lets out a light breath. My nervous energy seems to be gone. I look away from her and at my hands. Hands that have done things—I have enough trouble with one life. How am I supposed to deal with one I don’t know anything about? One that isn’t really mine?