by Aly Martinez
He tugged on my hand. “I don’t think you need to be alone.”
I stared at him impatiently. “You didn’t let me finish. I was going to say start on all of that crap and then come back to your house for that glass of wine tonight after your kids go to bed.”
His eyes flared, but a classic Porter Reese smile split his face. “I approve of this plan.”
“Good. Now, get naked.”
His chin jerked to the side. “I’m sorry. What?”
“I said get naked. There is no way you are getting inside Betty White with wet clothes.”
“I’m almost dry!” he defended.
I smiled—on the day when it should have been impossible. But such was life with Porter.
“Then you can almost ride in my car.”
He groaned.
Minutes later, I laughed as he dug through my trunk, looking for the roll of paper towels that I’d told him were back there.
And then, ten minutes later, after he’d wrapped my driver’s seat up like a mummy, we both climbed inside and headed toward his house, leaving a mountain of guilt on the side of that Georgia road.
As Porter drove to his house, I looked at my phone. Two missed calls from Tom. Two from my mom. None from Brady. Assuming he already knew, I didn’t find this surprising. I made a mental note to text Mom when I was on my way home. She’d pass the info on to Tom.
Porter and I rode in silence. All the words had already been spoken. Well, all except the three that screamed inside my heart. But that wasn’t the day for professions of love.
The sun was just starting to go down. Those words could wait for another sunrise.
And, for the first time in ten years, I had hope that there would be a lot of sunrises in my future.
“What time do you think you’ll be back?” Porter asked when he turned into an upper-middle-class subdivision.
I leaned forward and stared out the windshield as rows of tall houses started to appear in front of us. They weren’t huge like his brother’s plantation home, but they were definitely nice. Plush, green grass covered the front yards while tall, dark privacy fences lined the backs. And, from the basketball hoops to the minivans, the place screamed family.
My stomach fluttered, but I didn’t allow the panic to set in. This was where Porter lived. There was nothing scary about that.
“Um…what time do your kids go to sleep?” I asked.
“Usually nine, but my mom probably let them stay up until midnight last night, so they probably—” He abruptly stopped talking at the same time his eyes narrowed on something in front of him. “What the fuck?”
I followed his gaze. Two police cars were parked in front of a redbrick two-story just around the bend.
“Is that your house?”
Porter didn’t reply as he punched the gas, not slowing until the bottom of my car scraped the bump on his driveway. I cringed at the sound.
He didn’t bother cutting the engine before he was out of the car and racing up the sidewalk.
Confused, I stared at his back.
And then the confusion got a whole hell of a lot worse when Tom emerged from inside of his house, a murderous glare contorting his face. His hand shot out and fisted the front of Porter’s shirt as he shoved him against the brick wall beside the door.
What the hell?
Slinging my door open, I jumped from the car. “Tom!” I yelled, storming up to the porch.
His irate eyes never lifted to mine as he snatched a pair of cuffs from beneath his blazer.
“Get off me,” Porter growled, shoving back before righting himself.
Charlie came jogging out of the house, an older woman with a pale, round face following him. She stopped in the doorway, her mouth opening and closing without actually saying anything, panic dancing in her blue eyes.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Charlie said, grabbing Tom’s shoulder. “You cannot arrest him. You have nothing to go on.”
“Bullshit!” Tom snapped back. “I have enough.”
I stepped around the arguing men, my mind reeling, unable to keep up with the chaos. “What the hell are you doing?” I barked, pressing a hand against Tom’s chest while doing my best to separate him from Porter.
“Get out of my way, Charlotte,” Tom demanded.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on!”
His cold, icy gaze swung to mine, and then his whole demeanor gentled as he said, “Lucas isn’t dead, babe.”
My stomach dropped, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I stumbled, my back colliding with Porter’s front, his arms immediately hooking around my middle.
“What?” I gasped.
“Do not do this until you’re sure, Tom,” Charlie demanded.
“I’m sure. It’s him. You know it as well as I do. Same blood type. Medical history. Everything.” Tom’s jaw clenched as his gaze flicked over my shoulder to Porter, a menacing snarl forming on his lips. “We have reason to believe that Lucas could be alive and that your boyfriend back there knows where he is.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Porter thundered.
But not a single, solitary word escaped my throat.
My old archnemesis, Hope, made sure of that.
Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never harm me.
Lies.
Syllables and letters may not be tangible, but they can still destroy your entire life faster than a bullet from a gun.
One word.
That was all it took to ruin us all.
“Dad?” the little boy called on a broken cry, rushing from around his grandmother and slamming into his father’s side.
Seeing as how Porter was flush against my back, it was my side too.
I moved my arm on instinct, but as I dropped it back down, it brushed against the child’s back.
I stared at Tom as his eyes got wide, and then they got soft.
Soft the way he looked at me. Soft the way he looked at my mom.
Soft the way he would look at my…son.
Chills exploded across my skin, and my nose began to sting.
Slowly, I slid my gaze down to the little boy at my side. He was staring up at his father, fear etched in his face.
I’d seen Travis before, but right then, with hope tinting my vision, I was looking at him for the very first time.
My straight, raven hair.
His father’s dimpled chin.
He wasn’t a baby anymore.
He was standing there.
Air in his lungs.
A pulse in his veins.
Alive.
One word.
“Lucas,” I breathed.
* * *
“Catherine, wait,” I called, tucking my wallet into the back pocket of my navy slacks. I glanced down to Hannah, who was cooing in her infant car seat and enjoying the ride as I carefully jogged out of the cardiologist’s office.
“Buckle up, Travis!” Catherine snapped, her voice high and agitated.
“Why can’t I ride with Dad?” he whined, slamming his door.
Turning sideways, I shuffled between the parked cars, reaching them as she put it in gear. Quickly, I patted the hood of her car before she had the chance to back out.
She jumped, and her chocolate-brown gaze swung to me.
Lifting Hannah in the air, I clipped at the windshield, “Forgetting someone?”
Her eyes flashed wide, and her mouth formed the word, “Shit.” After putting the car back into park, she swung her door open and climbed out. “I thought you had her.”
“I did have her. But I have to go back to work.”
She stomped over and took the baby carrier from my hand before going back to the car, snatching her car door open, and loading her inside.
“Dad! Can I ride home with you?” Travis yelled through the open door.
I bent low so I could see him. “Sorry, bud. I have to get back to work.”
His face fell and a pang of guilt hit my stomach.
“How about, when I get home, we play some video games?” I offered as a substitution.
His face lit. “Okay!”
Our conversation was cut off when Catherine suddenly slammed the door. She reached for the handle on the driver’s side, but I caught her arm.
“Are you going to be pissed all day?”
She angled her head back to look at me, attitude etched on her face. “Yeah, Porter. It’s safe to assume I’m going to be pissed all day.”
I groaned. “Christ, Catherine. He doesn’t agree with your plan. I’m thinking we should listen to him. After all, he is the doctor.”
Her glare turned murderous. “And he’s my son!”
No one wanted to hear that their child needed a heart transplant, but we’d known that day was coming. Travis was four when I’d entered the picture and he’d already been diagnosed. Catherine had told me then that, with the right medications and treatments, he’d get better. But one trip through Dr. Google and I had known she was wrong. Dilated Cardiomyopathy wasn’t something that could be cured.
Treated? Yes. Managed? Yes. Fixed? Only with a transplant.
But, for four years, she’d convinced herself otherwise. She’d spent countless hours scouring the internet, looking for information on Travis’s condition. She binged on success stories and failures of children with a similar condition to the point of obsession. Just that morning, she’d presented the cardiologist a proposed treatment plan, complete with drug names and dosages that she believed would cure our son. It had not gone over well when I hadn’t backed her up.
“You have no idea how much it’s going to hurt to lose him. I’m going to die right along with him. I can’t…” She trailed off when her chin began to quiver, and she nervously glanced over her shoulder to where Travis was sitting in the back seat.
“Hey,” I breathed, wrapping her in a hug. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Is it?” she croaked.
“Yeah. It is,” I lied.
“I don’t think so.” Her shoulders shook as she broke down in my arms.
It was rare for Catherine to show that side of her emotions. But, then again, she hadn’t been sleeping well since Hannah was born. While my baby girl was healthy as a horse and slept like a dream, Catherine woke up numerous times a night to check on her. I’d spent a small fortune on at least a dozen different monitors and booties that supposedly triggered an alarm if the child stopped breathing, but nothing could quell Catherine’s fears.
I hadn’t thought much of it in the beginning, but the older Hannah got, the worse Catherine got too. Any time I woke up in the middle of the night, Catherine was always awake, staring into the baby’s bassinet, her hand resting on her chest as if she were waiting for it to stop moving. She’d smile and play it off, saying that she liked to watch her sleep, but I knew it was more. Though, any time I tried to talk to her about it, she’d brush me off and make an excuse to change the subject.
“What if he dies before they find a donor?” she whispered into my neck.
My arm tensed around her. “Catherine, honey. He doesn’t even need the transplant yet. We still have options.”
Her breath shuddered. “I can’t lose him again, Porter.”
“Nobody is losing him,” I whispered adamantly. “I swear on my life Travis isn’t going anywhere. Let’s listen to the doctors and try to be optimistic before we worry about a transplant.”
“You don’t understand,” she cried. “If anything happens to him—”
I leaned away to catch her gaze. “Nothing is going to happen to him. You have to stop acting like the transplant is a death sentence. It could save his life.”
“It could also kill him. And then where would that leave me?”
Her. That was where all of these conversations went. How would his death affect her? Forget about the rest of us. Hell, forget about Travis actually losing his life.
It was always about Catherine.
Frustrated, I blew a ragged breath out and released her. “We’re all going to be fine.” Looking over her shoulder, I found Travis’s dark gaze aimed at us, so I shot him a placating smile and added a wink to sell it. Then I whispered to Catherine, “You need to get it together. He’s watching us. We can’t expect him to be strong if we’re breaking down.”
“Oh, God forbid he learn that his mother is imperfect.”
Grinding my teeth, I bit out, “That is not what I meant. No one is saying you have to be perfect.”
“I need to go,” she snipped, snatching the car door open.
Fuck. Now, she was pissed again and upset.
I didn’t dare say anything else as she climbed inside. I’d already set her off; there was no point exacerbating it.
Digging my keys out of my pocket, I walked to my car, the heavy weight of guilt settling over me. I hated that she was hurting, but it was virtually impossible to deal with her when she got like that.
Our relationship had changed so drastically over the years. I told myself that it was to be expected in marriage. Especially when you threw in the stresses of a sick child, an unplanned pregnancy, and then the exhaustion of having a new baby.
But, if I was being honest with myself, we’d been falling apart even before that.
I loved my wife, but it wasn’t like it used to be. Love was now a conscious decision rather than a feeling.
I climbed into my car with a sick sense of dread rumbling in my stomach.
I needed to go back to work, but my conscience wouldn’t allow it.
My family needed me.
My wife needed me.
So, when her car turned left out of the parking lot, mine did too.
Traffic was light, and it didn’t take more than ten minutes to get to our exit.
“Hey, Karen. It’s Porter. I’m not going to be back today,” I told my secretary as I followed Catherine off the highway.
“Oh no,” she said softly. “Doctor’s appointment didn’t go so well?”
“Not really, and I think it’s best if I take the rest of the day…”
The words died in my mouth as I watched in horror as Catherine’s car drifted to the shoulder. My skin tingled as I waited for her to correct it, figuring she’d only looked down for a moment or maybe turned to hand something to the baby.
But not even her brake lights flashed before she hit that guardrail. The sound of metal hitting metal was piercing, but knowing my family was inside that car made it deafening. My stomach clenched as I lost sight of them over the side of that bridge.
It all happened so fast I almost didn’t think it was real. I slammed on my brakes, my phone flying out of my hand as I came skidding to a halt.
Darting out of my car, I raced toward the cement railing. I’d driven over that bridge every day for over two years, but in that moment, I couldn’t remember what was beneath it. All I could imagine was my family careening into oncoming traffic or a bed of rock below. As messed up as it was, a blast of relief tore through me when I saw her car sinking. Water seemed like the best-case scenario.
Catherine could swim.
So could Travis.
But Hannah….
I took off at a dead sprint, racing down the rocky embankment. I slipped about halfway down and slid the rest of the way on my ass, but I didn’t let it slow me.
“Catherine!” I bellowed as I dove into the frigid water, fully clothed.
Adrenaline had taken over.
It took no less than seven hundred years for me to reach that car. And with every second that passed, when none of their heads popped up from beneath the surface, a part of me died. I was vaguely aware of people yelling from the bridge above me, and then I caught sight of a man diving in from the opposite side of the banks. But I was too focused on my never-ending journey to reach my family to find any relief in the fact that people had stopped to help.
By the time I got to the car, the front end was underwater, the roof only partially visible and the bumper stuck up in the air like a buoy.
>
My heart was beating so fast I feared it would explode. And that would have been fine by me, as long as it lasted long enough for me to pull them to safety first.
“Travis!” I frantically tried to pull open his door to no avail. “I’m coming, buddy. Hang tight!” I yelled, clueless if he could hear me or not. But I needed him to know I was there. I slammed my fists against the window, but the only thing that broke was the flesh on my knuckles.
My mind swirled to figure a way in until I heard his garbled cry.
“Dad!”
My heart stopped, and the world shattered around me.
“I’m right here! I’m gonna get you out!” Cupping my hands on either side of my face to block the sun out, I peered inside the back window.
Catherine was holding him, his back to her chest, a trail of blood pouring from her eyebrow. Travis’s head was craned back, his hands flailing against the surface, and his mouth hung open, gasping for air as the water rose around them.
“Catherine!” I screamed, beating on the glass. “Unlock the door. Give him to me!”
But she didn’t move. Her cold, glassy eyes stared back at me as her chin disappeared under the water.
“No! No! No!” I chanted. Scanning the inside of the car, I noticed the front windows had been opened an inch and water was pouring in through them.
After sucking in a lung full of air, I went under water. The river was murky and I could only make out shapes rather than details, but I managed to find the front door. Hooking my fingers over the top of the glass, I pulled as hard as I possibly could, using my feet to add leverage. It shattered in my hands, the bite of the glass not even registering amongst the adrenaline.
After climbing into the sinking car, I headed straight up to the air pocket.
“Get out of here!” I yelled at Catherine, shoving her and Travis toward the window.
Panic ricocheted through my system when I saw Hannah’s car seat completely submerged. Frantic, I went straight to her and began the tedious task of getting her out with shaking fingers. Each strap and buckle becoming a victory all of its own.
When I got back to the pocket, I pushed Hannah into the air. She wasn’t conscious, but I prayed that air would miraculously fill her lungs. My stomach dropped when Catherine was still there, Travis kicking and flailing in her arms, his face almost completely under water.