by Shayla Black
The glass hides my immediate reaction.
I don’t know why she says it when she knows that’s not true. Bad things happen regardless. Bad things have already happened.
When I set my glass down, I smile at her instead of saying just that. The words still exist though. I can feel them in the tense air. I think everyone can.
Until Chloe stands up abruptly and remembers the cheesecake. She’s sweet enough to bring the rest of the bottle in for me too.
“I can’t get tipsy with both of you out of commission,” I tell her, not wanting to keep drinking in front of them.
“Please, have a glass for me,” Aria requests with a yawn.
“I already did,” I remind her. The wine was her idea, and not a bad one.
“Then have another one for me.” Chloe’s cheerful with her pleading eyes and faux pout as she holds out the bottle.
“Well, how can I say no to that?” I jokingly respond to cut the tension in the room more than anything else.
Another round, a plate of sweets, and the story of how Chloe and Sebastian came to be a couple turns the night around. That and the fact that Daniel pulls me into his embrace. My right side is pressed to his hard, toned body, and his stubble gently scratches my hair as he sets his chin on my head and then kisses my crown.
Maybe it works both ways. Back and forth. The rock thing. That makes it difficult, though, when both people are breaking apart.
5
Daniel
Her laugh is addictive. It’s my drug. The way her cheeks flush, the way her back arches just slightly and her shoulders shake so gently—it all soothes something inside of me that I don’t even know is broken until that sweet sound seeps into the crevices and calms the hurt that follows me every day.
That’s how I knew I loved her.
The sad, pretty girl who was always around when we were kids smiled easily enough. It wasn’t real though. It was a smile that wanted to be more. She wanted to laugh.
And everything inside of me wanted to hear it. I needed to hear it.
Just like I needed to hear it tonight. Everyone else’s laugh turns to white noise, just like the clinking of the silverware on empty plates and the dull hum of Aria saying something to Carter. All I can hear is Addison’s laugh. All I can watch is how her shoulders curl in, and instinctively, her hand finds my lap.
I’m quick to catch it with my own, to squeeze it gently. When she leans into me, humming a small good night to Chloe as she leaves, I kiss her hair and try to memorize everything about this moment.
It’s perfect like this. This is how it should be all the time. She should laugh every day. She should smile and reach out to me while she catches her breath with the soft murmur of happiness lingering on her lips.
Every day.
It’s easy to say we’re broken. It’s easy to feel the pain. To hold on to this though — the moments I feel what’s really between us — to let ourselves feel it, that’s the easiest thing I can do, and the hardest just the same.
“Night.” Carter’s voice is accompanied by a tight squeeze of my shoulder as they walk behind us.
Addison makes a move to clean up the dishes but Jase reaches for them first, clearing the table and collecting the few remaining dishes in one stack balanced in his left hand. “I got this,” he says with a smirk and winks at her. “You cook, we clean.”
“Thanks,” she tells him and he tells us good night, exiting the room, leaving us to head to bed.
The sound of an empty room is the worst sound. I’ve spent too much of my life in quiet spaces.
“You had a good time tonight.” I hold Addison’s hand as we walk, not wanting to let her go just yet. There were good moments and bad ones too, but I don’t mention the tense ones.
Carter or Jase…whoever it was who thought to have the dinner tonight, was right. We never had dinners growing up, not like this. Not after our mom died and everything happened. I could hardly stand to walk into the eat-in kitchen, let alone sit at the table with hope like I did tonight. “We should do it more often.”
“Yeah. It was fun,” she tells me as we walk down the quiet hall to our wing. The walls are decorated with her photographs. Moments she thought were worthy of capturing on film. Before we get to the bedroom, she stops, lifting her hand from my grasp to touch the edge of a carved black frame mounted against the walls, which are painted a pale dusty blue.
“This one’s my favorite of the ones I took while we were away,” she says softly.
Her fingertips trace over the glass and down the alley that led to the bar where she first saw me again after so many years had passed.
While we were away. Is that the way she thinks of it?
“I think I like the others better.”
“What others?” she says and turns to me quickly, her hair swirling from her shoulder to tumble down her back. Her genuine curiosity makes her eyes widen slightly and it forces my lips to curve up.
“The ones of you in my bed,” I answer her and then quickly nip her lower lip as lust just barely reaches her eyes. My blood simmers with desire for her and the need to touch her always.
“You’re bad, Daniel Cross,” she whispers playfully with passion in her voice as I open the door behind her while letting my lips caress the crook of her neck.
Her eyes are still closed when I pull back. She swallows with a gentle hum and lets her head fall back to rest against the molding that lines the bedroom door.
I find myself trapped in her words. You’re bad, Daniel Cross.
She knew it all along. She can live with that. She can love me still, even knowing all the wretched things I’ve done. It’s this world though, the world she fled and the world I dragged her back to, that’s doing the harm.
I want so badly to blame it on that when I brush the loose strands of her hair off her collarbone with the backs of my fingers so I can kiss her there. I wish I could blame it all on this place. It’s only when I stop touching her that she opens her eyes.
A hint of a smile plays at her lips when she finally looks back at me.
“Come to bed with me.” I give her the command when we get into the bedroom. With the curtains parted, there’s no need to turn on the light. It’s dimly lit, but enough so that I can see her perfectly when my eyes adjust. I can see her standing in the doorway, slow to follow me and hesitant to do what I told her.
Hesitant to come to bed with me.
All she’s thinking about is the sex. It’s not because she’s uncertain if it’s safe; the doctor said it was last week. Our first time getting pregnant was an accident. She’s questioning if we should try for a baby on purpose.
Whether or not we should try again. Whether we should use protection.
Whether she wants this like I do.
Whether she wants me still… I know that’s a question that drifts into her mind when she looks at me like that.
That part of me that doesn’t know it’s broken until she heals me… it’s screaming in pain right now.
“I think I just need to sleep. There’s so much on my mind.” Her excuse falters in the air as she heads to the dresser, taking off her earrings. I can hear them clink in the small ceramic trinket bowl.
“Tell me,” I insist and then clear my throat, pretending like I haven’t been devastated every night she’s looked at me like that and made some kind of excuse. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I haven’t processed everything.”
“You can talk it out with me.” I ignore the thump in my chest as I speak. The battering of something hard against my rib cage aches with every small movement.
“Like you talk things out with me?” She turns from the dresser, tense and on the angry side. She seems to realize her quick temper before I can react, crossing her arms over her chest. “Sorry,” she apologizes in a hushed murmur. When did it get to be like this? Where we can’t talk. The start of a conversation turns into a fight, even if we know we need each other.
Tucking her hai
r behind her ear, she looks me in the eyes and says, “I know you would… if…”
I close the distance between us and make my way over to finish the thought for her and say, “If that’s what you wanted.”
“Right,” she breathes, the tension leaving her, her arms falling to her side the moment I place my hand on her hip. “It’s my fault,” she tells me with a harsh swallow.
“Come here,” I tell her and my words come out low and rough. There’s an edge that’s demanding, I know there is. It’s a part of me that I’m trying to soften for her. It’s still a part of me though.
Falling into my chest and pressing her body as close to mine as she can, she breathes so softly I almost don’t hear the admission just under my chin, “I don’t know what I want anymore.” I tighten my hold on her, wishing I could go back to moments ago. When she was laughing and reaching for me. She confesses, “I’m scared.”
It’s the first time she’s shown me this raw sincerity since we lost the baby.
“It’s all right to be scared.” With my arm wrapped around her lower back, I splay my hand against her shoulder and rock her slightly, just slightly. She pulls back a tiny bit, only to see me, her chest to mine. I watch as the moonlight filters in from the subtle movement of the curtains, reflecting in her gaze. There’s so much vulnerability there. Even now. Even after all we’ve been through. How much more can she take?
“Kiss me.” I give her the command and her posture relaxes, her composure softening the instant her eyes close, and she stands on her tiptoes to bring her lips closer to mine. I keep my eyes open. I watch as she reaches up with both hands, twining her fingers behind my neck as she pushes her lips against mine. She doesn’t hesitate this time.
“I love you,” she whispers against my lips, peeking up at me through her thick lashes. The curtains sway and bring with them a sudden gust of late-night air, carrying the faint smells of early spring with them.
“I love you too,” I tell her, but it’s not enough. They’re only words that don’t compare to what I feel inside.
I’m sorry I put her through all of this. I don’t admit it though, because more than sorry, I’m selfish and I wouldn’t change it. That’s the most fucked-up part. I can’t live without her. Even knowing how it breaks her.
“Get ready for bed,” she tells me with a weak smile. The smile that’s not a smile. The fake one she’s always had.
I’m still fully clothed, shoes and all.
The wooden floor creaks in time with her deep inhale as she turns from me and I do as she wishes, letting her take the lead although I don’t know how long she’ll want it.
“Tell me something and I will,” I barter with her.
“I feel lonely,” she tells me with her back to me and I can only watch as she pulls the sheets back, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Lonely. Lonely like the quiet halls I hate. Even though I’m right here, it’s still lonely. I know she’s right.
“Lonely?” I repeat as I drop my watch to the dresser, letting it fall where it may with my gaze still pinned on Addison as she strips down slowly, leaving a puddle of clothes at the side of the bed. She does it every night. She has for the longest time. In the morning, she’ll gather them and drop them in the basket. When she has energy; that’s the excuse she gave me when I teased her about it before. The memory kicks my lips up into a small smirk, but it fades when I catch her profile in the dark room, the pale light showing me the lack of playfulness, the lack of happiness she’s always held on to.
The months we’ve been back here have worn her down.
“There are moments when I’m okay but they’re so fleeting. Recently,” she adds quickly. “It’s been a lot to take in.”
“You don’t like being back here, do you?” I question her and that gets her attention.
Turning to face me fully, she doesn’t even bother to grab the sheets to cover herself as she answers me with shock clear in her cadence. “Of course I do.” She swallows before adding, “I love your family. I’ve always loved them.”
“Things are different now.”
“We’re all different,” she comments without sparing a second between my statement and hers. Her gaze is bold, challenging even. “Just because things are different doesn’t mean the pieces I love aren’t the same.”
I take my time pulling my undershirt over my head and dropping it to the dark wood floor. I strip down to nothing but my boxer briefs before climbing into bed. All the while she watches and waits.
Taking her hand in both of mine, the hand that still doesn’t have a ring on it, I run my thumb across its barren finger and ask her, “Did you feel lonely before we lost the baby?”
“No,” she answers me quickly and with a slight shake of her head. “It was after. Even with everyone around us… even with you, I just feel lonely sometimes. Like glimpses of loneliness. And I don’t know what to do to shake it.”
“You aren’t alone, and this will pass.”
“I know,” she admits. “I know. It will pass, but I just don’t know what to do in between. I don’t know if I’m able to handle it all.”
“Do you still want to marry me? You still want to stay here with me?”
“Yes,” she answers quickly although she’s just as hasty to look down at our hands. Like she spoke without thinking. Like there’s a but.
“Then why no ring?” I ask her quietly and then clear my throat. “Why don’t you want to wear it? I asked you to marry me weeks ago. You picked out the ring, but you don’t wear it.”
“Are you going to wear a ring?” she rebuts.
“An engagement ring?” She nods at the clarification. “Is that what you want? For me to wear a ring?”
Looking past me and out of the cracked window still bringing a gentle breeze, she admits, “No.”
“You have to help me understand, Addison.” The frustration in my voice is clear as I run a hand down my face and reposition on the bed as I pull my hands away. “It feels like…you aren’t completely here with me anymore.” Admitting the words makes my chest feel tighter, makes my hands feel colder and numb.
“I’m trying to be,” she admits with a single harsh swallow.
“I get wanting to wait to try again,” I say, and she tries to interrupt me but I stop her with a finger over her soft lips. “I understand that. It hurts, but I get it. I get that you feel lonely, because I do too. That’s what happens when you lose someone. And we did. But I don’t understand not wearing my ring. I can wait for you to come back to me and deal with this together; I just need to know that you will or what to do to help you. Losing the baby… I know it’s because of everything else. I know it has to do with being here and that you don’t love it.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I just don’t know my place.”
“It’s next to me. That’s your place, with me.” My words are rushed and full of frustration.
She starts to speak again, but she has to close her eyes and swallow thickly first, reaching out to me. A moment passes with an uncomfortable pang in my chest. The soft tips of her fingers run down my rough knuckles, tracing scars before she kisses them.
“I want you to wear the ring I got you.” She nods once but she still doesn’t speak, and she doesn’t take her gaze off my knuckles. “I know it’s harder, being around my family when the last time you saw them you weren’t with me.” My words make her still. Every piece of her is frozen as I speak the truth she doesn’t say out loud. That’s why she’s not wearing the ring. It has to be because of that. We came back to the place where she didn’t belong to me.
“You’re mine now. You’re going to find your place and I’ll figure out how to help you. We’re going to get married. We’re going to have a baby one day.”
The mention of a baby breaks her composure and I hold her tighter when her face crumples. Kissing her hair, I breathe the words, “I love you and you love me; there’s no reason the world should
n’t know that. There’s nothing to hide.”
“It’s not about hiding, it’s…it’s just everything is…” She trails off as she struggles to voice another word and attempts to move away from me, but I put my hand over hers.
“Just tell me,” I say.
“It’s never going to just be us. Our past…even right now. It’s more than just us and I am struggling.”
“Because of Tyler—”
She cuts me off before I can say more. “No. Your other brothers. Your life. This life.” Breathing in deeper, heavier, she focuses on keeping her breathing steady as she looks me in the eyes to state, “You come with a lot of baggage, Daniel Cross. Some of it, I carry too.”
“If this isn’t what you want, you shouldn’t have come back.” I can’t describe the way my blood chills and everything hardens. My jaw, my stiff back, the thump in my chest that quiets to a dull ache.
“I know, it’s all my fault.” The hurt in her voice reflects in her gaze.
“Stop saying that. We’re in this together. None of this is your fault.”
She looks like she’ll say something, but all she does is nod slightly, refusing to open up and tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of hers.
“Don’t keep it from me.”
“I’m struggling to handle it; I need help.”
“Tell me how.”
“I just can’t wear your ring,” she confesses weakly.
“What part of not wearing my ring is supposed to help you?”
“Are you so dense, Daniel?” The contempt is unexpected. “You gave it to me after I found out. You gave me a ring because I was pregnant. That’s the only reason. And we never should have gotten pregnant. It was an accident. I wasn’t ready. It’s my fault!”
“Addison—”
“I’m doing my best and I’m highly aware that it’s not good enough. I couldn’t even carry our baby,” she says, and the last two words are a strangled mess between the shuddering sob she holds back.