“Dreams aren’t for the masses to share. My dreams can’t be televised, but achieving my goals can.” ~ Johnny Outlaw
I can’t get out of that hospital fast enough, taking the stairs, running past the nurse’s station and straight out the wide sliding glass doors. Looking both ways, there are no cabs in sight, so I keep running. As soon as I round the corner, I fall back against the side of the building and bend over—out of breath, cramping, heart missing entirely. With my arm wrapped around my stomach, I let the sobs take over. There’s no stopping them anyway.
Brown loafers stop in front of me. “Do you need help, Miss?”
When I look up, the grey clouds frame the elderly man’s grey hair. “I’m,” I have trouble speaking while trying to reign in the tears, but continue, “I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure? I can call someone for you.”
Standing upright, I say, “I need a taxi. Can you please help me find one?”
“Yes, there’s a pickup at the hotel right around the corner. Can I assist you over there?”
“No, I’m okay. Thank you.” I walk away, noticing no one ever came after me, which if I still had my heart, would break it even more, as if that could be possible.
Standing in the cab line at the hotel, I realize, I have nowhere to go. My luggage flew home with Tracy straight from New York since I thought I’d be taking Dalton out of here today. I have a toothbrush in my purse and that’s about it. And since Ashley’s now taking care of my husband, there’s no reason for me to stay. As soon as I get in the cab, I say, “The airport please.”
Nine hours later I walk into my house, drop my purse on the floor, and go upstairs to the bedroom. I crawl into bed. My eyes, still burning from all the tears I’ve cried, can’t stay open any longer.
My eyes flash open just after two in the morning. The room is dark, but there’s enough light to see the vast bedroom. My heart has returned… or been returned by Dalton, because it starts to immediately ache.
I hate being here alone. My heartbreak is magnified when surrounded by the superficial stuff that fills our lives. The silver framed photo from our vacation to the Maldives last summer shines in the moonlight. I get up and turn it face down, not allowing myself to look at him in the photo.
I still can’t believe he did this to me. I still can’t believe she worked her way into his life. Like a knife slicing through a whole heart, she cut us apart and I’m left here trying to figure out what remains, if anything.
The last thirty-six hours replay in my mind, drawing out the tears again. We never finished the video. I couldn’t walk back onto that set. Tracy said they got enough footage, but I couldn’t be moved to care… I still don’t.
I wanted to run after Dalton when he walked out of that apartment, but I couldn’t in the underwear I was wearing. I stood there for ten minutes thinking he would return. But he didn’t. The filming had stopped and everyone packed up and left. Tracy dragged me into the bedroom where my husband left me to end the fascination from the crew. I sat on the end of the bed with plaster under my feet from the broken wall.
My phone was in my hand, but he didn’t call. I wanted to call him, but I stared at the hole before me, remembering his face when he accused me of cheating on him. My pride got in the way. Later that night, my rattled brain cleared and I called…
I push send and close my eyes while listening to his phone ringing. After four rings, my call transfers to voicemail leaving me empty. I call again. And again. Still no answer.
Hunching over the toilet I try to expel the nightmare that plagues my thoughts. This didn’t happen. Not to us. It makes no sense, but I can’t escape the reality that it did happen. That he did accuse me of cheating. That he thinks his baby is someone else’s. This happened and now I’m left to live in the pain of it playing on repeat in my head.
I call again in the dark of the bedroom where I’m expected to sleep, but Tracy knows as well as I do that sleep won’t be a part of my night. No answer. Again.
Lying down on top of the covers, I stare up at a feather that floats toward me without a care in the world. I reach up and catch it between two fingers. It’s delicate, but strong, so much like my relationship with Dalton, until tonight.
My phone rings and I quickly answer it. “Hello?”
“Holli?” The voice sounds familiar, but the male voice is panicked, disguising the caller. “It’s Tommy.”
My gut tightens and I sit upright. “Tommy? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Johnny.”
No!
He says, “He’s in the hospit—”
“Where?” My feet land hard on the wood floor and I run to my suitcase.
“Seattle.”
“What happened?” I ask, grabbing jeans and a shirt.
“We don’t know yet, but I thought I should call you.”
“Yes. Thank you. I’m catching the next flight I can get on.”
“The media doesn’t know yet. I’ve got a call in to add security without alerting the paps. I’ll let them know to expect you so you can get in to see him.”
I stop with a death grip on the phone as I hold it to my ear. “Tell me the truth, Tommy. Is he okay?”
“He passed out on the street. He’s sleeping, but a nurse told me his vitals are steady. They don’t foresee anything bad right now, but they’ll be doing some tests when he wakes up.”
“I’m coming as fast as I can. Please call me if anything changes.”
“I will.”
Within minutes of hanging up, I receive the text with the hospital address and I’m running out the door to catch a flight. After hours of trying to negotiate a way on to two different flights, they book me on one that leaves early in the morning.
Now lying in the treachery of New York and Seattle, visions of Ashley appear. Maybe I should have answered him in New York, but now… Fuck him for thinking I could ever cheat on him. My anger surges and I roll over, burying my face into the pillow and cry as if my supply has been renewed while I slept. I pray for mercy. I pray to wake up from this nightmare. I pray to go back to sleep and avoid thinking at all. But my head and heart have other plans that don’t include rest.
As my thoughts run wild, remembering everything he accused me of and then seeing her at his bedside, her hand on him as if it belonged there, I have no words, just emotions that border on exploding from my chest. I grab the TV remote, needing to stop everything, needing to not think about the pain of losing the man I love.
The noise is nice, even if it is an infomercial. I go to the bathroom, then brush my teeth and change into pajamas before getting back in bed and spending the next two hours being sold on four different products…
“She was in his hospital room,” I say, crying on the phone to customer service. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Ma’am, I just need the code on the back of the card and we’ll get the Amazing Can Opener out to you priority mail.”
Sighing, I say, “Forty-three.”
“I’m so sorry about your husband. I wish you the best of luck. I need to take the next customer’s order.”
“Thank you,” I sniffle and hang up.
I fall back asleep just before five.
There’s no hiding my heartbreak. My swollen lids, the dark circles under my eyes, and my blotchy skin are dead giveaways. I debate not going to work, but I slather on some eye serum and head over to the townhouse.
Tracy comes downstairs when she hears me come in. “What are you doing? How is Johnny?” I burst into tears, my only true skill today. “Oh honey,” she says, grabbing me into a tight hug. “What happened?”
“She was there.”
“Who was there? Who is she?”
“Ashley.”
She leans back and looks at me. Totally confused, and asks, “Who’s Ashley?” We sit on the couch and I tell her the story from the first time I ever saw Ashley to seeing her at his bedside at the hospital. Tracy looks as stunned as I still feel. There’s nothing she can say to make this better, but I appreciate her efforts. “I’m so sorry, Hols.” She hugs me and I close my eyes and cry again.
After a few moments, she says, “Just because she grew up on the road doesn’t make her better for Johnny. You know that right?”
“I did. I don’t anymore. I’m not supporting his caree—”
“Bullshit, Holli! You support him and that’s the same thing. Don’t let her get in your head. Just because you have a life of your own, have your own business, doesn’t mean you’re not supportive of him.” Standing up, she takes my hands and tugs. I stay seated so she says, “You shouldn’t be here.”
Looking down, I shake my head. “I can’t be at home.”
“What can I do?” she asks, sitting down again. “How can I help?”
“There’s nothing anyone can do. I don’t even know what I can do.”
“Are you going to stay here?”
“Why does staying here make me feel like a failure?”
“A failure at what?”
Looking down at my wedding ring, I spin it around, and reply, “My marriage. I stayed here before because I was lonely. Staying here now feels like I’m running away.” I glance at her. “Why couldn’t I just suck up my pride, push my hurt feelings aside and tell him what he wanted to hear?”
“Because you shouldn’t have to. He should’ve trusted you.”
I lie back and close my eyes. “When did this become my life? When did we become this chaos of lies and betrayal?”
“When you started believing everyone else and not each other.”
My eyelids pop open, slapped by the truth. “I want to believe him. I do so much, but she was there as if she had a right to be.”
“Maybe there’s more to the story than you know. Don’t you think you should ask him?”
“After what happened in New York and seeing him all cozy with her in Seattle, I can’t. I just can’t.” I put my arms over my stomach. “If he wants to talk, he needs to come to me. He needs to apologize.”
“As long as you realize that being right may come at the cost of being alone.” Tracy stands up and walks back upstairs, leaving me there to drown in the after effect of her words.
Curling up on the couch, I rest my head and close my eyes. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but when a door closes, I wake up. I open my eyes and find Danny sitting on the coffee table in front of me. He whispers, “Hi.”
“Hi.” I don’t bother sitting up, too depressed to move.
With a sympathetic smile that just feels all wrong on him, he asks, “How are you doing?”
I roll onto my back and rest my arm above my head. “I’ve been better.”
“Are you pregnant?”
Glancing at him, I ask, “Where’d you hear that?”
“It’s everywhere online and breaking news on CNN.”
Just when I think I’m out of sighs, I conjure enough energy for one more heavy one. “I am.”
“What’s this bullshit about Sebastian being the father?”
“He’s not.”
He grins. “I know he’s not.”
My eyebrows go up and my gaze flashes to him. “You do?”
“Sure, I do.”
“How?”
“Because I know you.”
I want to cry that he can see the truth so easily. “I wish Dalton did.”
“These situations are tricky when they play out in the media. The truth gets twisted. You know that.”
“Dalton’s forgotten.”
“Has he forgotten or he just doesn’t like the reminders?”
“What’s the difference?” I ask and look away, my melancholy getting the better of me as tears build in the corners of my eyes.
“Maybe none right now.” His fingers touch my chin and he turns me toward him. “Hey, he knows.” His hand goes back to his lap and he says, “He knows in his heart, so give him time.”
“In the meantime, I’m here carrying his baby and going through this alone. This is not how I pictured it going.”
Danny stands up. “That’s the problem with expectations. Sometimes they don’t live up to our dreams.” He walks to the door, but says, “I have to go. I have a hot date waiting. I’m even taking her to dinner.”
I roll my eyes. “Wow, dinner before the sex. Such a novel idea.”
“Eh, even the bad boys can be good sometimes.”
Silly woman falling for his charms, but I’ve got my own bad boy issues to worry about, so before he leaves, I sit up and ask, “Hey, Danny? Why do women fall for the bad boy?”
He laughs and steps outside. Looking back at me with a big grin on his face, he says, “There’s no fun in playing it safe.”
I throw one of the couch’s pillows as hard as I can at him, but the door shuts and it hits the back of it and drops. Flopping back again, I huff. He’s so ridiculous that I actually smile. He didn’t come here for my pity party. He was just a friend when I needed one and that means a lot to me.
Over the next week, neither of us calls the other, our anger, pride, whatever we want to call it getting in the way of our hearts. I know Dalton well enough to know that’s what is holding him back as well. I want to though. It makes me wonder if he does too. The Resistance resumed their tour only missing the one show in Seattle, which they played the next night after he left the hospital.
With my mouth full of a turkey and provolone sandwich, I swivel back and forth in my chair, staring at my monitor, but not taking any of it in.
Her voice is lilt, ending on a hopeful high when Tracy says, “I got an update if you want one.”
I had forbidden her to talk about him a few days ago. She’s held true to that until now. My heart aches again reminding me that it still exists, it still beats, it’s still shattered in my chest. I had briefly wondered if I’d lost it forever. Maybe it’s just Dalton I lost forever… “Tell me.” I grip the arms of my chair and spin around to face her across the office.
“They’re heading to London. They have several shows scheduled including Wembley Stadium tomorrow night.”
“He used to talk about playing to a sold out crowd there one day. He’s doing it. He’s achieving his dreams.”
“Wishes do come true.”
“Sometimes,” I say, “she’s there with him. Maybe she’s his good luck.”
“Holli,” she warns, treading carefully after. “I know how much he loves you. Everyone does. You’re his world.”
I set my sandwich down, my appetite suddenly gone. “I’m not much of anything to him these days.”
She continues as if she didn’t hear me. “Rochelle told me his test results were clear. The doctors said his blackout was from stress, so they don’t have a fear of epilepsy and there are no symptoms for other things. That’s good news, right?”
She’s not really asking me, but I answer anyway. “It’s great news,” I whisper.
“Still no word though—email, text, phone call?”
“Nope, not even a tweet.” My monitor goes to sleep, so I wiggle the mouse to make it come to life again. “Is that all?”
“That’s all.”
I nod and get back to work reading resumes. “I think we need to start the Office Manager interviews next week. The sooner we bring someone on, the sooner you can move into CFO full time.”
The sadness in her voice is heard, her empathy seeping out that I’ve changed back into the topic of work. “Okay. I’ll start interviewing on Monday.”
“Thank you.” I don’t mean to sound curt, but I can’t help it today. I push away from the desk and leave. Ten minutes later, I’m standing on the boardwalk above the beach staring straight into the horizon and wondering if that water will ever touch his shores. Taking off my shoes, I go down the stairs and walk toward the ocean until it covers my ankles. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This week has been the worst of my life.
“Hey you,” Rochelle says, her boys in tow.
Smiling when I see her, I open my arms wide to hug Neil. We’ve become buds. Dalton and I are their Godparents. We see them quite a bit, but it’s been a few weeks. “Missed you, little man,” I say, hugging him.
“Missed you,” he says sweetly. He runs past and Rochelle tells him not to get soaked.
I lift CJ into my arms, holding him on my hips. “You’ve gotten so big, Sir.”
“Yes, he has. He’s a big boy.”
In baby talk, I speak to him. “We like big healthy boys.” I kiss him on the cheek, then set him in the sand. He seems content not to go into the water.
Hugging Rochelle now, I ask, “What are you doing here?”
“Just visiting and Tracy said you came down here.”
“How’d she know?”
“I think she knows you well enough.”
“Safe,” I say remembering Danny’s words from last week. Safe translates to predictable and boring. Maybe I’m both now.
She sits next to CJ, but looks up at me and says, “Tracy said she told you.”
“She told me his tests came back clear.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“Well, Dr. Floros,” I start. I sit down next to her and watch Neil splash around the water’s edge. “It makes me feel like shit that I have to hear about my husband either online, the gossip shows, or from my friend.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” I ask, “I guess you know the full story?”
“Too many witnesses to the fight in New York. The story sold for 20K two days ago. Whoever sold it was on set, and has been sitting on it for the highest bidder.”
Drawing a line in the sand, I swallow down the information. Humiliation creeps in and I remark, “Soon everyone will know that my husband thinks I sleep around and I’m carrying someone else’s baby.”
Rochelle absorbs that, then sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”