Brock
I honestly don’t know what I’m doing, but after the park, I run Tiny back to my grandparents’ home and tell them I’ll be back later. When I pull up in front of Ed’s Pizzeria, I spot them right away. Ripley is a mom, and that hurts. The boy looks like the male version of his mom, so in other words, the kid is gorgeous. Time has definitely been good to Rip. I missed her smile so much, and her giving it to her son makes him one lucky kid. It warms something inside me to watch the two of them interact with each other.
Where is the dad? Is it or was it a serious relationship? Does she love him? My eyes slam shut, trying to block out the pain. It’s completely selfish of me to want her to not love anyone else—I know this, I just don’t care.
One of the best moments is when Ripley leans forward and says something to her son, and then both of them throw their heads back laughing like they are the only two people in the world. Why do I ache to be a part of it? When they leave I follow them to what I assume is their home.
I stay far enough away that she won’t see me as they get out and go inside. A few minutes later, I pull my truck closer, but honestly I can’t see anything. I half expect a man to show up, a husband or boyfriend, but no one appears. One thing that has been on my mind is wondering what Jonah was doing with her son yesterday—are they friends now, and if so, why?
Twice I get out of my truck, prepared to go up to her front door and knock, but then I decide it’s not a good idea and get back in.
I don’t stay too much longer before I decide to head to my grandparents. When I get back, Tiny greets me at the door. “Hey, boy. Were you good?” He butts his head into my hip before plopping back down on his dog bed.
My mom’s sitting in the dining room sewing, and my grandparents are out playing bingo. “Hi, honey. What have you been up to?”
“Did you know Ripley has a child? A little boy?” Her eyes widen and she shakes her head back and forth. “He’s beautiful. He looks just like her.”
“I had no clue. People talk, but I never heard anything about Ripley at all.” She grabs my hand. “Is it your child?”
I swallow the lump in my throat because when I saw him, a big part of me wished he were a little bit older so I could say he might be mine. I slowly shake my head. “I don’t know a lot about kids, but I do know he’s too young to be mine.” I clear my throat, but it does nothing to clear the lump that’s lodged there.
“I’m sorry honey.”
“Don’t be sorry. I don’t plan on ever having kids—I don’t want Dad’s poison leaking into me.” It’s not entirely true, but I’m not going there right now.
The night I hit Ripley flashes through my mind like it always does when I think about my future.
Squeezing my hand tight, my mom leans toward me. “I know I stayed with your father a lot longer than I should’ve, but you are not him. You’ve had good men in your life to guide you and show you the way. What happened between you and Ripley was an accident. No one and I mean no one thinks badly of you because of it. After you left, everyone was so worried about you and about Ripley. I get why you left, but it’s time for you to get your life back. It’s time to forgive yourself for what happened and move on.” I bring my mom’s hand to my lips and kiss the back of it.
In my room, I lie down on my bed and feel it depress as Tiny climbs up onto it, snuggling next to me. I absently stroke his head as thoughts of Ripley flow through my mind like they always do, and I realize there is something I need to do. I grab my phone and pull up Tiffany’s number.
“Hi! What are you doing?” Tiffany chirps in an overly excited voice when she answers the phone.
“Nothing, I just wanted to talk to you about something.” How do I let her down, tell her I just need to figure some stuff out? Fuck . . . what am I doing? Ripley and I are ancient history, though just thinking about the word history causes a knot to form in my chest.
“Okay.” She drags out the word slowly, and it’s obvious she knows something is going on, knows I’m going to say something she won’t like. “Just tell me whatever it is.”
“Here it is.” I begin to tell her everything, from meeting Ripley in high school all the way up to seeing her earlier today. “I need to get some closure, or talk to her . . . fuck, I don’t know. I need to see her, to talk to her, and until I get that all figured out, I think we shouldn’t see each other, but I promise when I get back we’ll talk and see where things are at.” Silence greets me. “Please don’t think I expect you to stay single, so if you meet someone, explore it and be happy.”
“W-Wow. O-Okay, I guess, if you’re sure that’s what you want. Can I text you? Check in with you?” She’s a total sweetheart, and I still can’t figure out why Tiny doesn’t like her.
“That’d be great sweetheart. We’ll talk soon.” She says bye and we both hang up. “That was too fucking easy,” I mutter to myself.
Getting up, I grab some shorts out of the dresser and jump in the shower before heading to bed. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but something tells me I’ll need to be ready. For what, I have no idea.
Ripley
I love my son more than life itself, but I’ll admit I’ve enjoyed my day of relaxation. So far I’ve gotten groceries, picked up the house, and finished laundry, which sometimes feels never ending with a little boy in the house. Now I’ve got a face mask on and check the temperature of the bathwater. This duplex may not be in the best part of town, but the bathroom almost makes it worth it. The sunken Jacuzzi tub filled with hot water and my favorite lavender scent is my favorite place to be, especially after a long day.
My hand reaches up to make sure my hair is all up there. It’s so long right now, it takes forever to dry. Gingerly, I step into the tub and sink down into the scented lusciousness. I rest my head against the little pillow and close my eyes. Thoughts of Brock try to encroach on my relaxation time, but I try to push them out. He wouldn’t like the woman I’ve become since he left.
I was weak and made stupid decision after stupid decision. Kat quit talking to me, which hurt because she was my best friend, but I was just too much of a mess for her. Cale tried to stay in my life after everything happened, but seeing him reminded me too much of Brock, so I slowly cut him out of my life. I tried to push Jonah away, especially after the summer of our freshman year in college. I was embarrassed and depressed after what happened and hated the fact that he saw me at my worst.
The past couple years, I’ve dated here and there, but never anything serious and definitely no sex. My focus right now is on my son, my job, and saving money so I can hopefully buy us a house someday. My mom put the money from my dad’s life insurance policy into a savings account for us, but I don’t want to touch that money; I want to save it for Alex when he goes to college.
My mom wants me to use it for a down payment for a house, and she’s wanted to get us out of this place for the past year. My dad wanted that too, before he passed. As a matter of fact, the other day she brought it up again, saying we should move before Alex starts school so he can continue going to the same school throughout and won’t have to switch.
Maybe I could at least start looking and see if I can find anything that piques my interest. I know wherever we move, I want a big fenced-in yard so we can finally get a dog.
After soaking for a little while longer, I rinse off. I step out onto the plush bath mat and dry off before throwing on my light cotton robe that is the color of emeralds. I wash the mask off my face and then moisturize. After throwing on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, I head downstairs to scan Netflix for something to watch. I decide to binge watch Grace and Frankie since Jessica told me how great it was.
In the kitchen, I make myself popcorn and grab my secret stash of individually wrapped Rolos. I place my snacks and my diet pop strategically on the coffee table and am just ready to hit play when my doorbell rings. It’s six o’clock, so I’m not sure who it could be, and hopefully it’s not my neighbor. Occasionally he stops by to see if Alex or I need anything, but only when his wife or whatever she is is gone. Now normally I would find this sweet, but he never looks me in the eye because he’s too busy staring at my breasts—creeper!
I look through the little window and my body locks up. The option to hide and pretend I’m not home is gone because he’s looking right at me. My hands begin to tremble and I shake them out before reaching for the doorknob. Exhaling loudly, I open the door.
“Hey.” God, I missed that voice. I’m plagued by memories of his whispered words when we used to lie in the back of his truck—plans for the future, our love, our future family. My mind pushes those thoughts out. Hey is all he can say to me after all this time?
“What are you doing here? How did you know where I live?” I narrow my eyes at him.
He rubs a hand over his brown hair, clearly nervous. Well, good; he should be nervous. “Whitepages . . . I just thought . . . I just thought we could talk. I wanted to see how you were doing.” Somehow he manages to make his way inside my place, shutting the door behind him. How the hell did he do that? I watch him move around my living room, staring at the pictures on the wall. I know what he’s seeing: some pictures of my son and me, but mostly pictures of Alex. “He looks just like you.” I almost don’t hear him say it. “When I saw him and realized he was yours, a part of me wished he was mine too.”
I stare at him, mouth wide open. “How dare you,” I hiss. “You’d want me to raise our child alone? You’d want our child to grow up knowing his father left us and never looked back?” His body jerks like I hit him.
“I know I lost the right to say that.”
“You’re damn right you did. Why are you here?” I ask, my tone pleading. Whatever he came to say, I wish he’d just say it and then get out so I can go on living my life without him digging up the past. Soon he’ll be gone again, and I refuse to let him back into my life just to watch him walk away again.
He turns to me, and it’s the first time I’ve been able to really look at him. He’s got more bulk to him than before, and his muscles are more defined. His hair is longish on top and shaved around the sides. He doesn’t have a beard, but his face is covered in dark stubble. His dark eyes are still surrounded by those thick dark lashes, and I hate admitting that he’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I hate him, I want him gone—and if I keep telling myself that, then I just might believe it.
“I don’t know why I’m here. I just wanted to see you, to talk to you. There’s so much I want to say.”
The blood rushes in my ears as my mouth opens and stuff just starts coming out. “When I woke up in the ambulance . . . alone, all I wanted was you. Why did you leave me? What the fuck did I do to you but love you?” His mouth opens but I hold up my hand. “I don’t want to hear it. It was an accident, I know it, and everyone does too, but instead of making sure I was okay, you ran. You. Ran. From. Me!”
I pace back and forth in front of him and feel his eyes following me. I’ve always been pretty laid back, but right now I feel my control slipping. I march over to him until we’re almost touching then lift both my hands and shove him as hard as I can. The man barely budges, of course. Dick.
Brock’s hand reaches out and cups my face. I should push him away right now and kick him in the balls, but his touch melts something inside me. His thumb gently strokes the bone above my eye, tracing the tiny scar I have there, and I watch his eyes turn glassy. “I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you. I can’t explain why I left, but I just had to.” He finishes in a whisper.
I jerk my head away from his hand. “You just had to?” My voice is barely louder than a harsh whisper. “You accidentally hurt your girlfriend, the woman you claimed to want to marry and spend the rest of your life with, and I had to wake up alone. I was so fucking worried about you.” I clench and unclench my fists. “They wanted me to file a police report but I refused, and Cale had to practically lie on top of me in the ER because I wanted to go to you.” I take a deep breath.
“Every weekend I looked for you. I went door to door, to malls, grocery stores, and any other places I could think of. Everywhere they let me hang flyers, I did. I became obsessed with finding you. I just wanted to know you were okay, wanted you to know I didn’t blame you.” When I take a breath, my heart feels like it’s breaking all over again. “When I finally went to your parents, I learned you had joined the Marines. Your dad informed me it was my fault you left and I should be proud of myself.
My throat burns with the rising of unshed tears, but I push past the pain. “Not once did you write me, not even just a quick I’m okay and fuck off. I got nothing. Do you know what that felt like?” I turn from him as the tears leak from my eyes.
Two strong arms wrap around me from behind and I begin to sob. The sounds coming from me are not quiet sobs—they’re loud, broken, howling wails. Brock lowers us to the ground when my knees begin to give out, and I’m situated between his legs. I cry until my voice is hoarse and my head begins to throb. His hand strokes my hair lovingly and I cry harder.
I shouldn’t allow him to comfort me, but I can’t bring myself to pull away either. “You broke me when you left,” I whisper.
He freezes for a second before continuing to stroke my hair. “I know. I’m so fucking sorry.” I ignore his apology, my sobs drowning any words.
I’m not sure how much time passes before my tears finally dry up. When they do, Brock lays me on my comfy overstuffed couch. With my eyes shut, I hear his heavy footsteps leaving, but return a minute later. My muscles lock up when a cold wet washcloth is placed over my eyes. Suddenly, the emotional exhaustion takes me under.