Chapter 46
You Fix Her
I fall into the chair and drop my face into my hands, physical and emotional exhaustion consumes me. My tears have stopped, but now there’s an ache in my chest. It hurts because of the words Jack said, and for Adrian’s betrayal of my trust. I rub the ache, but it does nothing to help.
I feel Gemma move in next to me, and she draws in a breath as if preparing a speech.
“Gemma, don’t,” I warn, knowing she’s going to lecture me on my rash choices.
“I think you’re being impulsive because you feel—”
She stops speaking when I look up, allowing all the pain from the day to reflect in my eyes. “I’ve feared this day with Jack, for three years now. There aren’t many things that make me so nervous I wanna hide in a hole somewhere, but the idea of telling Jack, well… it’s at the top of that short list.” I point a finger in the direction where Adrian left. “He made this day way, way, way worse than I’d ever feared.” I wipe furiously at the tears that have begun to fall again. “Don’t tell me how I feel.”
Gemma blinks a couple times, then nods. “What happened with Jack?” she asks, changing the subject to my other issue.
“Jack hates me,” I say, rubbing my face.
When this day started, I could’ve never guessed that it would play out this way. I wanted to tell Jack about the baby, get answers from him, then move forward with Adrian. What I got instead was a thoroughly disgusted Jack, and possibly the end of my short relationship with Adrian.
“Why is this all happening right now?” I ask to no one in particular. “I mean of all times for Jack to come back into my life he comes back right when I’ve started this thing with Adrian, creating an emotional nightmare. I can't handle emotions.” That's a fact. I don't like being emotional and I don't like talking about it.
Robert pats me on the head. "Oh honey, we know that, but we love you anyway."
I knock away Robert’s hand and give him a look that warns he’d better stop touching me.
I need someone to hear how horrible the conversation went with Jack. I look at Gemma, knowing she’ll get it, even if she’s still pissed at me. “I didn't get to explain. As a matter fact the way we left it, he thinks I had an abortion."
I wish I’d clarified his misunderstanding, not because I think it would change how he feels, but because my goal was to tell him the truth, and he still doesn’t know it.
Robert looks confused. "You didn't have an abortion? What did happen?"
Before either Gemma or I can respond, there's a knock at the door. I know it's not Adrian or any of the other guys because we stopped knocking… well, the first day we met each other. Gemma jumps up and swings it open. Jack’s large frame fills the door, as he stands with his hands in his pockets, wearing a regretful expression.
"Can we talk?” he asks, then adds, “I was kind of an ass."
I laugh without humor. "Kinda.” I look from Jack to Gemma and she gives me a sad smile, her way of telling me she wants me to work through this.
Robert’s not quite as subtle. "Get your ass out of here,” he says, waving me away, and then he points at Jack. "And you fix this.” He gestures at me. “You make my girl all better. She’s supposed to be happy and sarcastic. We don't do this sad and weepy shit."
Man, I love him. He totally gets me.
I push up from the couch and take a swipe under my eyes. I’m sure this does nothing to help my swollen face, but I feel the attempt is necessary.
"Let's go someplace else,” I suggest, not needing Adrian’s storm to tear through again.
Jack nods and steps to the side, letting me pass. We both drive separate, still needing time to think. He follows me to a park I've seen on the way to Shyanne’s barn.
Chapter 47
Our Baby Boy
We find an open bench and we both sit. I twist to face him, pulling up one leg and folding it in front of me. This is probably the point when I should jump in and tell him he made the wrong assumption, but the words catch in my throat. Before I can push them out, Jack reaches out, taking one of my hands in his.
"I'm sorry,” he begins. “I’m sorry for leaving three years ago and never calling. I'm sorry for not calling you anytime, within the past three years, and I'm sorry that you had to deal with the pregnancy without me. But, most of all I'm sorry for all the horrible shit I said back at the restaurant.”
I know he’s being sincere because he has a tell when he’s lying. I’d forgot about it until just now. When he’s hiding something or not being completely honest, he rubs his finger under his nose like it’s itching him. I remember the time he tried to throw a surprise birthday party for me. His nose was itching like crazy for a week.
“Don't apologize yet,” I say, and he looks at me with a curious expression "You made the wrong assumption earlier. I didn't have an abortion." I flick my gaze over his shoulder, not wanting to see his expression when I tell him the whole truth. “I decided to keep the baby, but I lost him when I was five months pregnant."
Despite my attempts to refrain from crying again, more tears slide down my cheeks. Jack scoots closer, pulling my leg across his lap and reaching down to lift the other, draping them both across his legs. He wraps an arm around my back and lifts me so that I am practically cradled on his lap. With one hand wrapped around my waist and the other palming the back of my head, he holds me close and apologizes over and over.
We sit like that, my small frame cradled in his large one, and I realize this is what I needed to heal. I’m not an emotional person, and I rarely cry, but those were the hardest days of my life. I was in love with Jack, and it was his child I was carrying. After he left, I recovered from that loss more quickly than I would’ve expected, but I still thought about him every day. Every time I thought about the baby growing inside me, I thought about Jack. It may have been because of the pregnancy that I recovered so quickly from my broken heart—I had someone else to think about.
Leaving my face buried in his chest, I tell him about the days after I found out. “Although I’d never planned to have kids, I decided to keep the baby. I decided I wasn't going to try to reach you again. In my mind, you’d left me, so you’d walked away from anything we were going to have together.”
Saying it out loud now, I see how I sounded like a woman scorned. I was, actually I was a teen girl scorned, which is probably worse.
“My mom thought you should know,” I go on. “She made me promise that I would at least contact you after the baby was born.” I shrug. “It didn't end up mattering. When I was five months pregnant, I started to have a lot of bleeding. We got to the hospital and when the doctor checked for a heartbeat, there was none. My baby boy died before he ever had a chance."
“Our baby boy,” Jack corrects me, his chest vibrating under my cheek when speaks.
I push up, making eye contact when I confess this last part.
“I’ve always felt like it was my fault… you know, that I lost him.” Jack waits for me to find the words. “You know I never wanted kids, hell, I still don’t. So, although I decided to keep him, for the first few months I was sad that the next eighteen years were going to be spent taking care of a child. It wasn’t until I felt him move for the first time that I fell in love, and then I felt horrible about all my thoughts of not wanting him.”
I can feel the heat rise to my chest and cheeks, humiliation consuming me. These are my most private thoughts, the ones I never wanted anyone to know, but I have to get it out. Those thoughts are the reason I’m so consumed with guilt that I go to the hospital, trying to help others. Whenever I see a young mom, I always want to go tell her to be thankful and to never have regrets. I’ve never done that that because I know I’ll end up in a puddle of tears on the floor and the poor mom will have to call the nurses to help my sorry ass.
Jack takes my chin between his finger and thumb, forcing my gaze back to him. “I have to believe those are the same thoughts and fears every mom has, not just teenage moms either.” He smiles, then adds, “I’d say that dads probably do too, but we both know men are too selfish to think about shit like that.”
I can’t help but smile. That’s another thing I’d forgotten about him. Whenever he was trying to make me feel better, he would say something to poke fun at himself. How is it that I’ve forgotten all these things, all the little things that I loved? I suppose when we lose someone or let them go, we call on all the negative to help us distance ourselves from the pain.
Deciding it’s time to end the weepy girl thing, I wiggle off his lap and crawl back onto the bench next to him. I wipe my face, hoping I’m done crying for a long time.
“I had to deliver him,” I say, in almost a whisper. I’m surprised that I want to discuss the details, but I want Jack to know everything about our boy. “That was the worst part. I had to go through the painful, exhausting experience of labor, knowing I’d have no baby to take home.”
Jack mutters, “Christ,” as he pushes off the bench.
He stands with his back to me, one hand in his pocket, the other on the back of his neck, as he watches kids kicking a soccer ball. When he turns back, I see his regret.
“I wish I’d been there. I shoulda been holding your hand and crying with you after he was born.”
He's not saying it in anger like he's mad I didn't call him. He’s saying it in sympathy.
I stand and take the few steps to reach him. This time I take his hands in mine and look him in the eyes. I need him to see I mean every word.
"At the time, I did wish you were there, but now I'm glad that you weren't. Seeing him so incredibly tiny and not breathing is something I'll never forget. I wouldn't want you to have those memories.”
He takes his thumb and wipes away yet another tear that’s fallen down my cheek, and then he asks, “Did you bury him?”
I nod. “He's got a little headstone everything,” I say with a sad smile.
He looks away and I can see him visibly swallow. “Can we go see him?”
My heart aches at that request, but I can do this for him… and for me. My mom and I go every year on his birthday, but it’s never a trip I look forward to.