I saw her end us. I saw it happen. I did my best to straighten my face and got back into the car. It took seconds to undo months of the trust we built. In those seconds all hope for my newly paved road had been obliterated by the tinderbox that was my wife.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kat spat out while I stared in the direction Abbie fled as Kat ranted. There was only one reason I picked her up and explaining myself to her wasn’t a part of it.
Abbie was gone in every sense of the word. There was no use trying to catch up with her. She would never forgive me. And I couldn’t blame her. I was selfish to make us happen.
Months of indecision to come forward and do the right fucking thing had ruined everything. Despite her pleas to keep things as they were I should have manned up and demanded we exchange truths.
Still, I knew the one I harbored would be far more of a game changer than hers. I would never be able to make her understand. And seeing Kat and me in that capacity, as a couple, even though it was a lie—Kat’s lie—would do the most damage.
“Jefferson, I told you to bring the SUV. I told you I needed to pick up some things.” I wiped an open palm down my face.
I’d been so close to the unattainable, the impossible. Of breathing life again, of having her. All I had to do was be honest, but honesty could never have saved me. She’d judged me standing there on the sidewalk. She snapped our connection and erected a wall leaving us both standing on opposite sides with no way through. I was shut out the minute she saw me, but that meant nothing to my heart.
I would fight with every ounce of my being to get her back. I would make her understand, no matter how much pride it cost me, no matter what I had to reveal to her.
Even with that mindset, even as I tried to convince myself that I could tell Abbie anything, I knew the whole truth would be the hardest thing for me to give her.
“Once again you’ve tuned me out. Just forget it. Jesus, you’re useless. Just take me home,” Kat snapped. “I’m so sick of this.”
I ignored her, while I looked for any sign of Abbie. When Kat’s shrieking could no longer be overlooked, I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself.
“Today you’re going to sign those papers, Kat. I’m tired of asking. I’m telling,” I said calmly. She waved me away with her hand and opened her purse. I snatched the pill bottle from her hand and tossed it to the back of the car out of reach.
“Stop this car right now,” she snapped. “Jefferson!” She shrieked.
I didn’t answer to that name anymore. That was a nickname a woman gave to a man whom she loved when he was on her shit list. My middle name, a name I never wanted to hear again. A name that had been muddled by wrath, addiction, and hate. The joke hadn’t been funny in years.
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” Kat snapped as she twisted in her seat in an attempt to reach the bottle and I grabbed her coat by the pocket and pulled her back to sit.
I looked for bitterness in my words and found resolution instead. “I’m no one. I was your husband for a few years, and your punching bag for another few. I’m done. I left you a year ago. Your denial is over. We’re doing this.”
She scoffed. “I’m not in denial. It’s you who needs a reality check.”
“I want my goddamn life back, Kat. It’s time you sobered up.”
“Oh, fuck you,” she hissed. “And what was that back there, huh? How do you know Abbie?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” I warned. “I’m moving on and I’m not going to come the next time you call or any other time after for that matter. The only reason I picked you up tonight was to watch you sign those papers.”
Kat was still inching toward the back seat when I scared her with the aggression in my voice. Slowing to a stop at the light, I studied her hostile profile. “Look at me, damn it.”
Her blue eyes snapped to mine and then narrowed.
“Kat, I’m done.”
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you need to get your shit together.”
I couldn’t muster an ironic laugh as I smashed the gas and took off like a shot. She was the perfect picture of denial, hauntingly beautiful without a soul to sell.
“You will grant my divorce today. Write in whatever contingency you want, Kat. Rob me blind. Take it all, you have the house, take the rest. Take half my stores. Take everything you think you’re entitled to, but you don’t get the rest of my life.”
Her eyes clouded with anger, not fear, or regret, feelings I’d hoped and prayed to manifest in the endless months I tried to save my wife and my marriage. “You don’t mean that. You’re just . . . tense.”
For the first time in years, I exploded. “I’M FUCKING DONE WITH YOU! You’re a drug addict and you’ve emasculated me at every turn since the night you got hurt. I don’t love you anymore. Our marriage is over. You’ve turned us into something too riddled to fucking figure out. I can’t do this anymore. I won’t.”
“Oh, I did this?” She said with an accusing tone. “Me?”
“Jesus Christ, not the blame game again.”
“You are the one who jarred my back!”
“Fine it’s my fault, but your career was already over. You had therapy and a multitude of ways to get healthier since I jarred your back. But you are the one who denied recovery and turned yourself into this fucking mess.”
My words had barely made the air between us as her fist connected with my jaw and I jerked back in my seat scanning the road to get my bearings. I was halfway aware of where we were on the road when she landed her second blow.
“Kat, I’m driving. Stop!” But she didn’t.
The hits just kept coming and I had to force us off the busy street cutting off two cars in an attempt to get her under control. Throwing the car in park, I was blindsided when she connected with my temple.
“Jesus, Kat stop!” I growled as she came at me full force. All of her anger front and center. She struck a few more times before I gripped her hard and shook her. “Goddammit stop! It’s over just . . . stop!” She glared at me, her eyes full of hate.
It was never me she was angry at. It was never me she wanted to hurt, but it was me who dealt with both after she lost the last of her hopes to age and addiction rather than injury which had turned into the perfect excuse.
When I met Kat, she was full of vitality even at thirty-four and had the world at her fingertips. She was a retired gymnast with big dreams of opening a chain of gyms. She wore her future in her smile. We had similar dreams and insatiable appetites for life and more than enough lust between the two of us.
Two years into our marriage she injured her back after she got sloppy drunk and claimed I dropped her while we were having sex on Max’s boat. The truth was she’d lost all mobility by the time she got to me half naked and I wasn’t sober or alert enough to catch her when she flew at me. I shouldered the blame, giving her an out to shield her from embarrassment. We’d even made a joke about it in the hospital, while she waited connected to a morphine drip before she got the news the surgery was inevitable.
She’d blamed me ever since for the agony she endured afterward. In a year of unimaginable hell, I helped her through it all, the surgery, the pain she dealt with daily and the rehab, but the rehab she truly needed never came.
Kat barely let me touch her after the ‘accident’, surgery and recovery. And once her anger surfaced, it was over for us. She’d taken to pills to numb herself and I’d tried to be there until self-preservation kicked in.
The therapist I kept appointments with—that Kat never bothered to show for—said she was in a mental state of paralysis. That her mind couldn’t accept her body’s limitations, so she abused the pills to make herself feel capable again without the pain. Months after her surgery, Kat gave up on her life-long dream of mentoring other gymnasts due to those limitations. She turned up her nose at my every solution.
And still she blamed me, and I let her, but nothing helped. Her misplaced anger only grew, and my resentment began.
All she saw when she looked at me was someone to guilt and all I saw when I looked at her was a woman who had to get off on narcotics to function. And the scary part was that she was functioning, picture perfect to anyone who didn’t get close enough to see the cracks. But those cracks only got magnified by her wrath and I was the chosen one on the receiving end of it all.
I was finished pretending that our marriage hadn’t ended the first time she took one of those pills to get high and escape the reality of her life with me. I was done pretending I wanted things to stay the same, to sink into her pit of despair with her and stop living. I selfishly let myself live while she drowned, hoping I could do it for both of us. But I was empty. So utterly empty.
Three years into my marriage I realized my wife was a spoiled, entitled, wreck of a woman who needed things fixed by everyone else, to feel safe. I couldn’t fix her, so she broke me first with her words and then with her fists.
And Abbie . . . Abbie was much-needed evidence life was still worth living. I wanted to tell her about Kat before we got physical, but I got caught up in our whirlwind and I never wanted out. Being with Abbie gave me clarity. I brought nothing of my life with Kat into the new relationship, and it wasn’t in vain.
I discovered more of who I was without the battle scars of my marriage blurring my vision. And I felt better, though I could never deny my life before Abbie, and I had every intention of sharing that part of it with her. But without that burden of truth, I felt free to be the man I wanted to be with her, where I’d been paralyzed for years with Kat.
I’d already separated myself from my wife in every way. Kat’s denial was toxic, so much so that my final attempt at finishing what I started when I left her backfired into a loss I would never recover from.
I lost Abbie.
Goddammit!
Kat imploded in the seat beside me as I stopped her again from retrieving the bottle from the back seat.
“Can you,” I muttered as I wiped some blood from the fresh cut on my lip and studied the dark purple polka dot next to my eye in the rearview—no doubt a result of the connection from her wedding ring, “for one fucking minute, talk to me like an adult. I’ve been good to you, Kat, even when I shouldn’t have. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“I hate you,” she screamed as she did her best to get a rise out of me.
Defeated, I stayed mute until I pulled over to the shell of the home we used to share before she jumped out. I whispered the truth under my breath. “I hate you too.”
I dialed her father’s number as she ranted and smashed her palms against the passenger window. “Unlock the fucking car!”
It was no use. If I didn’t give the pills to her she would be roaming some shady neighborhood to get a fix in a matter of minutes. Kat slammed the car door after retrieving her bottle and made a beeline for the house.
When she opened the door, she would see the petition for divorce on the counter. I had no doubt the divorce papers would be looked over the way they had been for months. She would take a few pills and make herself busy until she took two Xanax downing them with a glass of blanc to pass out. In the morning, she would take two more pills before her feet hit the floor, and two more with her ten o’clock cup of coffee.
With Kat safely inside, I got out of the car as her father answered. “Cameron?”
“Billy.”
“You ended it,” he said with a sigh.
“It’s been over. I don’t know what she’s told you, but I left her a year ago. I can’t do this anymore. I won’t do this anymore. She’s an addict. She needs your help. And I think tonight is going to be bad.”
“Can you just sit tight until—”
“Listen to me,” I yelled. “I’m done. I’ve bled enough over this shit, Billy. I’m done chasing her around the streets. I’m not taking her phone calls anymore. I’m done. If you give a damn about your daughter at all, get her help. Get her clean.”
“I’m sorry, Cameron. I’m leaving the office now.”
Walking over to the mailbox I tossed Kat’s keys inside before I hopped into my SUV. My plan had been simple. Pick her up without any way of escape and make her face reality. But my plans were as delusional as Kat remained. Tomorrow she would call me without giving it a second thought. It wasn’t that phone call I was afraid of avoiding. It was the one I would avoid that could save her life.
I coughed out my emotion as four years of my life was laid to rest and guilty tears soaked my face, for Kat, for Abbie and for the abomination that had become my life, my marriage, and my new quest for happiness.
Every light on the house went on as Kat moved around in another pill-induced rage. I could hear her screaming at me from inside of the house, daring me to set foot inside.
I wiped the clotted blood from my lip and held it in front of me before I glanced back at the house remembering the day we moved in. So much had changed, except for the number outside of the mailbox on the porch.
The first few years of our marriage that number meant life and the rest of mine. The number was now the bane of my existence. It mocked me and told me I was a fool though a certain level of relief passed over me when I knew I would never have to see it again.
No matter what happened to Kat from that moment on, I wouldn’t be there to witness it. I couldn’t.
And I had to let the fear go and I tried my best as I drove away.
I thought I’d hit rock bottom the first time Kat hit me. I was wrong.
Shivering in my jacket, I watched her approach. She stopped when she spotted me from her gate.
“Abbie,” I said, moving to stand on her porch, my breath blowing in visible clouds of regret in front of me. It was well after midnight, and I hated that I was itching to find out where she’d been. I hated the hypocrite I was, but with her, I couldn’t rationalize anything I felt.
It seemed such a surreal predicament. I’d never felt so out of control in loving someone. I was terrified, and when I confessed as much, and she confirmed I wasn’t alone, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever felt. At that moment, I felt cursed, like I’d lost every right to know anything at all about her.
It was enough to make me lunge for her, to grasp onto her, and beg her for any breath she gave me. In the memory of that feeling, a split second, I went from a man with an apology to a man begging for his ability to breathe. She did that to me. I had to make her understand I would suffocate without her. That I’d been breathing all wrong before we’d met.
I wiped my eyes of the emotion that threatened as she attempted to push past me, and I gently gripped her shoulders and forced her to face me. The skin of her cheeks was splotched red, and tear soaked.
“Abbie, please. I was going to tell you everything tonight. I tried. I swear to God, I just needed to be with you first. Fuck, this is coming out all wrong.”
I swallowed hard, praying the right words would come. Tears clouded her vision and she did nothing to hide her hurt. Every hitched breath, every anguished cry seeped into my chest. I was ruined by her evident pain. So fucking ruined. And I had no way of getting through to her without permission she would never give. No amount of begging would do it, but I pressed on anyway with the glimmer of hope that was us. Everything we’d built. Everything we knew about the other.
“Please.”
The look in her eye leveled me as her hurt morphed into anger and my fear set in.
“There’s nothing you can say,” she cried. “Nothing.”
Her voice was raw when she spoke, inches away but it might as well have been a universe. “Leave and don’t come back. I don’t ever want to hear from you again. Please respect that. Please just leave me alone.”
“Just let me talk to you. Let me explain.”
“Whatever excuse you have, no matter what it is will never be good enough. It’s over. It’s so over.” She choked on her words as my chest sank with the weight of them.
“That’s not us, Abbie. We don’t deal in absolutes. That’s not what we’re about.”
Her lips parted, her eyes incredulous. “Was that always going to be your excuse? This is different, and you know it.”
“It’s not.” If I had any chance of getting through to her, I had to remind her of us. “This is exactly what it’s about. I need you to forget every conclusion you’ve drawn for one second and remember why we started this. Everything about what’s happening right now is then. I left her and filed for divorce eight months before I met you. It’s only been prolonged due to her mental health. Abbie, she’s a drug addict and a liar. I know that sounds like a cop-out but it’s the truth. And I can almost guarantee anything she may have told you about me is a lie. I made a huge mistake by not telling you sooner, but I swear to God it’s over between us. It has been over for years. Kat refused to acknowledge it, and that’s why I picked her up tonight. I wanted our divorce final. So we, you and me, could be free to be what we are. For our future. That’s the only reason. Please believe me. I’m not that kind of man, and you don’t believe it, or you don’t want to. I know you don’t want to believe it. I can prove every word I’m saying is true. I can take those doubts away from you. I can make you believe me, believe in me again.”
I didn’t know if it was the truth, and I hated myself for telling her things that may border on more lies, but I wanted to believe it because she made me believe. Her love made me feel like a king, a god, even if I was the Judas of our story.
I stared into her bloodshot eyes. She loved me, without a doubt, but it was the pain in them that I feared. I knew what it was capable of. It was always the pain that twisted love into a tragedy. Expectations ruined the rest.
“The phone calls,” she said in realization, “this morning, that was her?” Without admission, she jerked away from me, the look in her eyes eating away at me by the second. It was too familiar to me and foreign with her.
She was tearing me apart piece by piece with her anger and it could only destroy us. I knew all too well. I’d lived it.
“I was trying to give you what you wanted. You didn’t want to know.” She couldn’t hear me, she couldn’t hear a single word I was saying. I’d never felt so helpless. Even after all I’d been through with Kat.
“I don’t know you,” she whispered between us. “I don’t know you.”
“That’s not true, you know that’s not true.”
“Of all the questions I should have asked,” she said faintly as a tear trickled down her cheek, the light from her porch highlighting the sight of it as it sliced my chest. “The question I should have asked . . .” she said with a humorless laugh. Her eyes seared into mine, icy blue steel. “Tell me you’re not married, Cameron. Please tell me you’re not married.”
“Abbie, I wanted to tell you, I tried to tell you.”
“You hid behind our arrangement. It’s the same damn thing as lying, and you lied to me this morning! You lied to me and you told me you loved me!”
I swallowed hard, my back pressed against the rock that was my heart and the hard place I’d forced myself into.
“Tell me you’re not married, Cameron.”
“I’m married.” I only let that truth rest a half a second. “Separated—”
It was the sting of her hand and the sound of it connecting that distorted everything. The feel of it altered every intention I had by showing up at her door. The defiant look on her face and challenge in her eyes brought forth some part of me I didn’t identify with and took over at that moment. The shock filtered and remained the only thing I focused on until the anger set in.
The pieces of myself I was most proud of slipped out of my reach as I splintered.
And then I snapped.
“Don’t you ever lay a goddamned hand on me in anger ever again! Keep your fucking hands to yourself, do you hear me!?” I caught her retreating hand by the wrist. “Never again!”
Abbie shrieked in surprise and cowered in fear as she watched me stand to my full height while I seethed with outrage. The pain that radiated from her palm streamlined to the inner workings of my chest, seeped and dripped like acid burning a hole straight through me.
I felt like the monster her eyes accused me of being. Anger blistered me from all sides as my love for her spilled over my face and the incredulity at what she’d just done. Salt dripped into the cut in my lip as my wrath came out, along with years of unchecked anger.
She stammered out an apology. “C-Cameron, I shouldn’t have done that,” she said as she looked up at me as if I were a stranger.
I shut my eyes tightly as she whimpered in fear. When I opened them, I was no more. Fist clenched at my sides, I lashed out. “Fuck it, fuck it! To hell with you! Believe whatever the fuck you want to believe about me. I’ve done nothing but love you since the minute I fucking met you!”
I stormed off, my eyes cloudy and my heart erased as she sobbed out my name behind me to . . . what . . . stop me? I would never know because I sealed the door on us the rest of the way, for her, for us both. I thought I was done with being miserable, but with one strike of her hand, I was done with it all.
Staring out the window I could pinpoint the street where she slept. The address where I’d made some of the best memories of my life. It was only fitting that I watched from afar. I welcomed the pitch black I stood in while I sipped the bottle and the burn crept in with the warmth that covered me.
But it was a false substitution.
I didn’t care. I wanted to be free of the gnawing in my chest.
I had four months of something bordering the perfection I swore didn’t exist with a woman who fit me. She was the epitome of everything I’d ever craved. And just as easily as she came in and stole the biggest part of me, she took it with her. All I wanted when I met her was a little bit of peace. I still wanted it, but I only seemed to find it with her.
With things as they were, I knew peace was lost. And my soul wasn’t going to rest without her. I’d never been so exhausted in my life. She’d unknowingly pushed me past what I was capable of. I had nothing left, where I had so much inside before. For her. Because she brought me back from the brink and made love beautiful and simple. And I jumped at the chance at something so pure with her.
Maybe we were better off as strangers. She should hate me. I was guilty in an unrepairable way. I hated so much of what I saw in my reflection off the glass I stared through. I could still feel the sting of her hand, but it wasn’t my face that ached.
On Christmas morning I woke up in her arms, her fingers on the back of my neck, her healing touch my new addiction, her smile erasing the days I spent without her. The last few years of my life bearable by the minutes with her.
Why were the best fucking things in life always so short lived? Good one minute, and then stripped away in a blink. It always seemed the case, especially when it came to the women in my life.
My mother’s friendship and sudden absence, the truth of who my wife was, and the loss of the woman I was meant to love had the same type of effect. A common bond they all shared to let me know I wasn’t ever in control.
All I did was fight for the happiness I wanted to deserve. When the fuck was it going to be my time? And hadn’t I given enough flesh? I could have sworn I paid for my sins, apparently, I hadn’t shed enough. But life could take it all if I could have her back. The irony was, there was no deal to be made, no one to barter with and I knew the why.
This time, I did it to myself.
“Fuck you,” I muttered to the bastard that watched me swig the bottle. Posing was how I kept it together. It was in my posture, the way I dressed, the way I pretended not to care, not to need, when it was all I’d ever done. I was just as much of a hypocrite as my wife. She was the queen of liars, and I her loyal subject. No matter how much of her I’d thought I’d shaken off in the last year, she had mutated me to the point of keeping up appearances.
When my mom died, I kept busy, using small talk to tune out the pain. I did the same thing when Kat and I started having problems. It was easier to cope when you were busy asking questions about someone else’s life. A way to escape your own. I had a constant need to connect. Abbie had that same need. Nothing alike but hearts in common.
‘Sticks and stones’ was never my motto. The phrase had never been a part of my vocabulary. It meant nothing to me growing up. I’d never dealt with the kind of things I’d had to in the past few years with Kat. I was the golden boy, the poster child. I resembled a carefree man most of my life. I had no issue getting the vote, the friends, or the women.
But I only excelled because I worked hard for it, sometimes twice as hard. And I rewarded those who pushed me by pushing back and doing better. I made few enemies and I was never afraid of shadows because I cast my own.
I might have been labeled perfect, but I never fucking asked for it. I was the son of an unimpressed father and doting mother. Early on I accepted it and vied for her affection because she made up for the lack of his. Failure was my enemy. I excelled to spite him though I never hated him. I only wanted to save myself the embarrassment of failing in front of him. And now I could never admit where he truly succeeded, and I had failed.
My father had the unconditional and unwavering love of the woman I loved most in the world . . . until Abbie. But even at his worst, my mother remained loving and loyal. I foolishly thought I could have the same thing. I loved Abbie’s flaws, quirks, and her imperfections. More so, her willingness to admit them without disguising them in sex and perfume. It’s what drew me to her.
She’d let me need her. She’d let me love her, and it was reciprocated. I stopped caring who was watching with her. I needed her love over everything.
Maybe I didn’t deserve her as the man I was.
But I deserved her now.
Didn’t I?
I’d played her way, by her rules. I left my baggage at the door because it worked for me on the same level that it did for her.
I was the man she needed me to be, but it was effortless because it was who I was. The man I’d grown into despite my past. And being free of that burden was a God send when all I wanted to do was forget.
Bottle in hand I moved to my bathroom and studied the cut on my lip and the purple and green bruise on my jaw. I was, once again, covered in Kat’s wrath.
Cupping water over my face, I stared at the evidence that wouldn’t be washed away. A day or two and there wouldn’t be a trace of her physically, but the anger that brewed was what fucked with me. It wasn’t hopeless, at least not in the way it used to feel, trapped.
Anger surfaces as I thought of how I had given Kat my life, my time and attention. She’d wasted it, wasted us both. I ran my finger over the faded scar at my temple, a gift from Kat, an everyday reminder she happened.
“Babe, haven’t you had enough of those today?”
“I’m hurting,” she muttered, absently recapping the pills.
“Your therapist said we should do as much activity as possible. Let’s get out today.”
“I don’t feel like it,” she replied low, her resentful eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
“Okay, let’s stay in.”
She sat at the vanity, running a brush through her hair while I lay in bed watching her. The first time she did her morning ritual, I thought it was odd, like out of some old movie where handmaidens would eventually come in to dress her. She’d been raised regal, and over the years I found it a comforting routine, and oddly sexy. I watched her as she combed through her dark strands, her hair cascading down her frame, her porcelain skin covered in silk.
“I know a few things we can do indoors,” I rasped out as I pushed off the covers and walked over to her table to kiss her bare shoulder.
“Don’t feel like that, either.”
“I miss you,” I said softly to her in the mirror.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m right here.”
“Are you?” I pushed a breath out and knelt in front of my wife, stilling her hands.
“Kat, you haven’t let me touch you in months. I’m hurting too.” I slid my arms around her.
She pushed at my shoulders as I kept hold. “Jesus Christ, Jefferson, is your dick all you care about?”
“No, but it would be nice if my wife gave a damn,” I said as evenly as I could manage. Her eyes flared, and I shook my head. “Forget it, I’m sorry. Let’s just do something today, anything you want.”
“I’ve got work to do.”
“Kat,” I reasoned. “It’s Sunday. The office can wait.”
She pushed my arms away and I hung my head.
She resumed with her brush as I sat on my heels. “You’re only thinking of you. What do you expect from me? I’m hurting!”
“Well, that’s surprising considering you’ve taken half a bottle of pills.”
She tilted her head and shot daggers at me. “Who in the hell are you to tell me when I’m not in pain!”
“You don’t sleep, you barely eat, our marriage is suffering.”
“You mean your dick,” she scoffed.
“I mean our marriage! I can’t get a few words past you without you twisting them and throwing them back. You’re always on the defensive. We need to talk about this,” I said, snatching the bottle of Vicodin off the vanity. “This fucking shit is wrecking your brain. You aren’t yourself.”
“Give them back, Cameron. Don’t you dare hang those over my head.”
I shook my head. “I want to talk about this.”
“You’re fucking pathetic, you know that?! The only problem here is you.”
“Oh, I’m pathetic? I’m the problem? When did that happen? I’m not the one numbing myself to the point of being frigid.” Her body went stone still as I reeled it in, because her words hurt, and I could see something in my wife’s eyes for the first time that looked like hate. But that couldn’t be true. Kat didn’t hate . . . anyone.
“Stop,” I said, reaching for her, “let’s stop.”
It was the shock that registered first, not the pain. But I didn’t get a chance to recover because she swung the steel-plated brush again and caught me in the temple. She stood, hovering above me, and landed another blow. I felt the rush of nausea as blood trickled down my temple.
“Get the fuck away from me! Don’t touch me! It’s your fault! I fucking hate you every day I wake up feeling like this! This, all of this, it’s your fault!”
Blinded by pain and boiling with rage, I stood so abruptly I knocked her back in her seat. I cupped my jaw where the last blow landed before I ripped the brush from her hand, cracking it in half and tossing it to the floor.
“What the fuck, Kat!”
“Don’t act like you didn’t deserve it,” she hissed. “What? You can’t take a punch, Jefferson All-Star!? Eight months I’ve been in pain because you let me fall. Eight months!” she screamed at my retreating back as I walked to the bathroom with my heartbeat ringing in my ears. Until then I never knew words had the ability to ruin flesh and bone worse than a hand or fist. How those syllables could rip apart visions of a future while they left invisible scars. Throbbing everywhere, I glanced in the mirror and saw my jaw was swelling and a large gash across my temple was bleeding freely. I watched it trail a path down my jaw and drip to the carpet. I threw out half of her cabinet to get to the antiseptic as she slammed the bedroom door. Intent on seeing it through, I turned on my heel and snatched the bottle off the floor before she came back into the room, her pills her focus, the pills her afterthought, not her husband. I shook my head as she moved toward me.
“This has got to stop.”
“Give them to me,” she said, holding out her hand.
“Jesus Christ, Kat, look at me! You need to think about what you’re doing!”
“What I’m doing? You’re ruining my life!”
“I’m pointing out the fucking obvious. This shit is changing you.”
“Give them to me!” Her face was porcelain perfection and her eyes stung the deepest part of me. They were laced with hate, and it was all for me.
“No.”
She flew at me then, the blows coming more rapidly, her nails scratching my skin, my face, her eyes wild. It was as if a switch had flipped. I moved to stop her, and it only fueled her. She landed every blow, determined to draw as much from me as she could, and I backed away before I snapped. The second I loosened my grip, she snatched the bottle away. Head pulsing from the fresh hits, I watched her open her bottle and palm a pill, swallowing it to spite me.
“What the fuck did you just do, Kat?”
“Stay away from me, Cameron,” she warned, tears pouring out of her as if I’d somehow hurt her. “You don’t know what it’s like to need this, you don’t know what it’s like to need it to breathe! You don’t love me. There’s no way you love me!”
“How can you say that? We went through this together!”
“I hate you,” she heaved out through a sob. “I hate you.”
“Cameron.” Max’s voice sounded on the other side of my door before he rapped his knuckles against it.
“What are you doing here, Max? It’s late.”
“Door was unlocked. Why in the hell is it so fucking dark in here?”
Fuck.
I closed my eyes. “Not feeling great, man. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You and me both. I think I got dumped.”
“Dumped?” I answered, searching my cabinets for some way to cover the bruises and finding nothing.
“Yeah, if you can call it that. She let me in then kicked me out. Look, man, why am I talking through a door? Got anything stronger than beer?”
Gripping the bottle in offering, I opened the door to see he was shitfaced. There was no way I could ask him to leave. I ducked my head as I walked past him. He was on my heels as I moved toward the kitchen. “So how did it go with Kat?”
“Same old shit. I think I might be divorced soon.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, snatching my bottle from my grip before taking a healthy sip.
“What’s with the stalker lighting? Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“Just got home.”
He flipped the switch in the kitchen and I cringed. “Where’s Abbie?” He peered over at me. “The fuck happened to you?”
“My goddamned life,” I said bluntly and instantly regretted it.
Max sobered. “What happened?”
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “Like I said, I’m not in the mood.”
“I didn’t come over to make love. Kat did that to you?”
Whatever lie I told him, I already knew he wouldn’t believe.
He took my silence as confirmation. “Then why the hell aren’t you on the phone with your lawyer? She can’t touch you now.”
I stared down at the bottle. “First, because it’s two o’clock in the morning. And second, because it’s not worth it.”
“Jesus Christ, man,” he said, moving toward me as I took a step back. “Kat’s done this before?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” he said, taking another step forward.
I shook my head, my voice stone. “Back off. Leave it alone.”
“How long?”
Something foreign crept up my spine. The same part of me that lashed out at Abbie. I couldn’t control my bite. “I don’t want to talk about it, fucking ever. We’re never going to have this conversation.”
I gritted my teeth as he watched me too closely. “Let it go, Max. She’s gone.”
“Okay,” he admonished. “Where’s Abbie?”
“Gone too,” I said, snatching the bottle from his grip and finishing it off before I spoke. “Turns out they were working together.”
Max stood speechless, a first for him.
“I know,” I said with a dry laugh, pulling two beers from my fridge.
“You have the worst luck of any pretty boy I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah,” I said, tossing the beer caps into my sink and handing one of the bottles to him. “I thought my luck was turning.”
“Apparently, you need Jesus,” he said, taking a swig.
“Trust me, he won’t listen, either.” Max eyed my chin.
“Damn, we’re a mess. It’s like we’re back in college again, screwed up little boys instead of grown men.” I didn’t have an ounce of argument until his eyes trailed over my face.
“Stop looking at me that way, man. If it was anyone else, you would have asked me how he looked.”
“But it wasn’t a he, it was your wife.”
“I’m telling you now to let it go.”
“I always hated her. She was such a pretentious bitch. Just tell me why you let her do it.”
“Why I let her?” I sneered. “I never let her do shit,” I said, taking a long sip. “And I’m not talking about it.”
“So, what now?”
“Am I’m supposed to have a plan for this? It’s over,” I said, hating the words, wishing them back and away from me. But it felt over. It felt more than over.
“She loves you. It’s so obvious.”
“I don’t want a pep talk, all right? This is so much more than that. There’s no fix. I fucked it up permanently. And don’t bother to say I told you so.”
He took a sip of his beer. “I wouldn’t.”
“Then you can stay.” Max stared at me from across the island.
I took a sip of beer, careful to avoid the cut on my lip. “Tell me about Rachel.”
Max shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m calling bullshit. I can’t let this go, man. I know that’s what you want, but I’m pretty fucking pissed off. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call someone and report this shit right now.”
My retort was instant. “Because you’ll end our friendship.”
“It will save you from a messy divorce. Cameron, you can’t let her get away with this.”
“Let it go. It’s over.”
Max ran his hands through his hair as he weighed my words. “She took advantage of the fact you wouldn’t hit her back. I know you, Cameron, but this isn’t chivalry. This isn’t you being the bigger man.”
“If you give a damn about me, you’ll listen to what I’m about to say. I left her. Our relationship is over. She’s no longer a part of my life. Drop it and never mention this again.”
Max nodded. I walked over to my closet and pulled out a pillow and blanket tossing them on the couch before I slammed my bedroom door behind me.
I didn’t sleep. Instead, I stared at the ceiling until the sun lit my bedroom. Half the night, I tried to figure out how I would move on after what we had, the other half I had to resist the urge to go to her.
We were never strangers. The largest piece of me had recognized her as home. But even if I’d made it to her door, I had zero defense. And part of me was furious she’d touched me in a way I never expected. In a way I couldn’t press past.
“Cameron,” Max said at my door.
“Yeah, man,” I said, sitting up, my head splitting in half as I moved to sit on the edge of the bed.
Max stared at the floor. “I’m still fucking pissed off and you look like shit.”
I grinned. “I love you too, man.”
“I’m heading out.”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m not playing ball today. I’m too hungover and I have work to do.”
“By work, do you mean Rachel?”
“Hell yes, I’m not going to end up like you. Mid-thirties, ugly, and alone. But I’ll be back later.”
“What in the hell for?”
“Someone has to keep you drunk.”
“Some would argue that that’s not being a friend but an enabler.”
“Some would say I know better for you and others can suck my cock.” He grinned spitefully and shut the door behind him with a thud.
I was still kicking myself for admitting it to him. The Band-Aid had been pulled off, but I never told a soul about Kat’s abuse. Even when I was going through it, I was in a constant state of denial that she meant to hurt me. I knew the woman attacking me wasn’t the woman I married. That was my frame of mind at the time.
It was the day I realized it was Kat that I left. And a few months after that to fully leave her emotionally. The rest of the time I was trying to make sure she didn’t hurt herself or anyone else. And damn near every time I went to help her, she attacked me verbally or otherwise. It was a vicious cycle, but I could never bring myself to report it, to report her and it was mostly because I didn’t want to admit it to anyone, let alone a lawyer or any fucking judge. I’m six-foot-three with an athlete’s build. I dwarfed Kat in size. It was a ridiculous notion that she could do so much damage.
But women can scar, they can always scar, if you let them.
And Max was right. She took advantage of the fact I wouldn’t hit her back.
It was a nightmare on a consistent and predictable spin cycle.
Foolishly I checked my phone and saw that I had nothing to look forward to. Instead, I stared at the screen saver, a picture of us on Abbie’s front porch on New Year’s Day, the day she reached her goal of five miles. It was my favorite picture and had the opposite effect it had the day before. Raw inside, I gave into temptation and flipped through more pictures while my heart hammered as a reminder that in no way was it over for me. Even as angry as I was with her refusal to listen, or that she slapped me, I couldn’t believe we were done. But I needed peace. It was the only thing keeping me sane. And I needed a distraction because Abbie was far too angry, and I had too many fresh bruises.
For the first time when it came to her, I didn’t trust my judgment to make any call.
I had games to coach. My only saving grace.
I’d barely toweled off from my shower when there was a knock on my door. My hopes of who was behind it dashed when I opened it and took a step back.
“Dad?”
“Hey son,” he said casually, a smile briefly touching his lips. “I know it’s early. Hoped you might be up.”
He’d lost a few pounds since Christmas. He seemed smaller in stature, his hair in need of a cut. He looked lost, as if he was uncomfortable standing there.
“Can I come in?”
“Sorry, yeah,” I said, opening the door wider to let him in.
“Nice place.”
“Thanks,” I said holding the knob as I watched him walk around. He looked completely out of place in my living room.
“I would have come sooner but I wasn’t invited,” he said dryly as he studied the picture of me, my mom, and Max that sat on one of my end tables.
Ignoring his sarcasm, I shut the door. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine. What happened to your face?”
I shrugged. “Got rough on the court.”
He eyed me warily and I moved toward the kitchen his sarcastic timber unmistakable. “I don’t recall basketball being that hands on.”
“Shit happens,” I said with a shrug. “Want some water?”
“Sure.”
Pushing the dispenser on the fridge I stalled, reluctant to let him get a good look at me. Walking over to him, I handed him a glass and made a quick excuse. “I’m just going to go throw some clothes on.”
My father nodded as he continued to inspect my apartment.
Minutes later and freshly dressed in sweats and a hat that I felt confident would cover the bruise next to my eyes, I walked out to join him in the living room. Leaving the ball in his court, I waited as he looked out the window watching the passing traffic. “You like living here?”
“Sure.”
He absently smirked at my answer while he kept his attention outside.
“Dad, what’s up?”
“Are you still seeing Abbie?” When I remained quiet he turned my way. “No?”
I shook my head and he didn’t miss it. He scrutinized me far too closely than I was comfortable with. “That’s a shame. I really liked her. I liked when you brought her home for Christmas. It was . . . nice, different.”
Abbie had made it work for the three of us. She’d spent all day in my mother’s kitchen cooking. My father was right next to her, helping, laughing, telling her stories I’d never heard. As much as I hated it, she was the perfect buffer between us. Just like my mother had been.
“Yes, it was nice,” I agreed.
His eyes zeroed in on my face. “What happened?”
I shrugged, unsure if he was addressing my face or Abbie. I chose to go with the latter. “Didn’t work out.”
“Something you did?”
I nodded sliding my hands into my pockets.
He smirked. “Some days it’s clear that you’re my son. I fucked up with your Mom and often.”
I furrowed my brows. His visit was shock enough, him getting personal was . . . never.
“So, do you need anything?”
His whole body tensed as he looked at me with contempt. “No, I guess not.” Anger radiated off him as he shook his head in a way that said he should have known better.
“I see you’re getting pissed, which is normal, but do you want to help me out here? I’m confused.”
“What confuses you?” He spoke up quickly. “I’m sixty-five years old. I have shit to look forward to. I’m here to check on my son.”
“Because you promised her you would,” I shot back.
“Because I miss my family,” he countered with just as much contempt before he fisted his hands at his sides and spoke low. “I miss her Cameron. And it’s not getting easier.”
“You aren’t happy here,” I admitted. “You’ve never been happy here. You resent me for being here. But it wasn’t my decision.”
“I’m not going to be happy anywhere,” he said gruffly. “It wasn’t just her decision, you know. We decided together to move closer to remain a part of your life.”
“Right,” I said dryly.
“I’m not leaving you, no matter how hard it is for us.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said walking toward the front door.
“Dad, I’m sorry. This is coming out of nowhere. I don’t know what you want me to say.” He expelled a breath and paused his retreat.
“I didn’t do a lot of things right. But Christmas with you and Abbie was the first time I felt like things might be okay. It was the first time I felt that way since she died. We had forty years together. I know I won’t move on from that. But I don’t want to miss any more of your life. Because no matter what you think, I was always aware of what was going on with you. Always. I know everything you told her. She was your best friend, but she was mine too. I was a shit father, but she let me off the hook. I don’t deserve the same grace from you and I understand that, but I still want to know.”
“You weren’t a shit father,” I said sucking back the emotion that threatened.
“Let’s not start with lies,” he said softly. “All I have to think about now are regrets. I was an ornament at your wedding and I knew which parent you truly wanted there. I had no idea you were divorcing Kat. I missed your whole marriage. I wasn’t there when I should have been. And I’m sorry. I’ll never be her. But it’s not her promise I’m trying to keep anymore. I miss my son. I want to know. But only when you’re ready and if you want to.” He took one last look at me. “Put some ice on that eye.”
I stood stunned as he shut the door behind him.