Inhale, Exhale

by Matthews, C. L.

  Did he think of me?

  The kids?

  Did he remember all the promises he made?

  Our vows?

  Did he even fucking care?

  No, the answer is no.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  My mind won’t stop wandering. My head won’t stop flashing images. My stomach won’t stop churning. Bile won’t stop rising, and my heart won’t stop ripping.

  He. Fucked. Ellie.

  He cheated on me for an entire year—with my best friend, no less.

  I cannot believe him, and her? How could she? I did everything for her. I fucking sacrificed so many times for her happiness! She broke my trust. She touched him, not just his body, but he cares about her. You can tell. You could see it in his expression, and that hurts worse. You can’t hate someone without dancing the line of love. They’re one in the same, you see. Hate and love are two sides to the same bitter coin. He hates her. I hate him. She hates me. She loves him.

  Maybe I could forgive the cheating, forgive the sex, but him loving her in any way? How can I forgive that? How can I just let that go?

  Don’t shut down. Don’t do this. Your fucking children need you. Don’t you dare do that to them again.

  I thought death was the worst experience to be had, but I obviously never accounted the desolation of a marriage. Why didn’t he file those fucking papers? Is that when he cheated? Was that the beginning? Why didn’t he let me go? He had them, signed in hand, ready to fucking submit, so why stay? Why give me this kind of torture—this outcome?

  Scars made by people can go many ways. They can slice you through your skin. They can slice you to the bone. They can even sever limbs entirely. But scars of the heart, the untouchable ones, the ones that ache deeper but are invisible, branded, tattooed, those are the ones you feel forever.

  And that’s what they’ve done. They’ve scarred my soul. They’ve etched their betrayal and infidelity into my bones. No matter how invisible, I feel their burn.

  “Sparkle?” Toby asks, breaking me from my maddening thoughts. “I won’t ask if you’re okay, but I can see you’re going crazy over there. I said your name like ten times.”

  Did he? No. I can’t shut down. I must’ve lost myself already.

  “Let’s go inside?” he offers.

  “I didn’t even get to see Ace or Jazzy,” I whimper.

  The tears are finally coming. That’s all I wanted. I didn’t even plan on seeing him. I just wanted to hug my babies and let them know I still love them. Let them know I’m not abandoning them. Let them know I’m stronger than the demons sinking their teeth into my mind. I just need space and time, and I will be there for them during that too.

  “Don’t cry, baby,” he reassures.

  Toby rarely calls me that, and it just makes me cry more. I’m too raw. How did I get so lucky with a best friend but lose in the husband category?

  He hauls me onto his lap, my legs hitting the center console before making it to him. I don’t flinch. The pain should hurt, but I can’t feel it. There’s a disconnection between my body and my mind.

  Toby holds me to his chest, cradling me like he’s hurting as much as I am, like he’s in pain seeing me in pain.

  “I’ve got you, Lo. I’ve always fucking got you.”

  And I believe him.

  The latch of the car door unlocking has me jumping.

  “It’s okay,” he says softly, almost like I’m a wounded animal. “I’m just going to carry you inside. Don’t need everyone staring at us.”

  Toby lives in one of those Stepford-type areas—the richest of the rich in Hollow Ridge. All the houses are the same, and everyone acts the same and look freakishly similar too. Toby doesn’t belong here. It’s creepy. He stands out.

  He hauls me into the house, the one I’ve spent the better half of the past year in, the one I stayed in last night, the one that takes as much as it gives.

  Chester immediately greets us, barking, jumping, and making laps around us.

  “Hey, boy.” Toby laughs, letting me down, petting him, amping him up more.

  I just stare at Tobe, at the love in his eyes, of the happiness he shows his dog. If my heart wasn’t aching from the betrayal of Jase and Ellie, it’d be aching with love for this man and his dog.

  Tobe’s head tips up. He’s looking directly at me. His eyes smile along with his mouth, and if I didn’t see it myself, I wouldn’t believe it was possible.

  “Hey, buddy. Let’s get some food in you.” He jumps up, heading to the pantry.

  I stand here, admiring how easily he can brush off pain. I’ve never seen him so angry and upset before. I was almost certain he’d turn around and beat Jase more than he had earlier. I’m glad he didn’t because I would have let him.

  After about ten minutes, Toby comes back in with another bottle of Moscato and two glasses. I figured we polished all the bottles last night.

  “Sit.” He gestures to his love seat, the same one I spend all my time cuddling and reading books on. The one where I have deep conversations about pain and recovery. Where he brought me back to life and saved my kids from losing their mother for good.

  He sets down the glasses, pouring them nearly to the rim.

  If this was a year ago, I would have disappeared into myself. I want to. The gut-wrenching truth of their betrayal stabs at me, begging me to.

  But I won’t.

  Because my unborn child wouldn’t want that.

  My mother wouldn’t want that.

  My kids don’t deserve it.

  And Jase doesn’t get to hold that much power. I can’t let him hurt me, can’t let him ruin my progress. I wanted an in, to know what’s wrong. Well, be careful for what you ask for.

  I’m paying the piper now.

  “Want to talk about it?” Toby breaks the silence. He hands me my Moscato, nodding at me to drink it.

  I do, taking two huge gulps that burn my nose a little.

  In answer, I shake my head softly, my palms sweating. Wine. Need to drink more. Instead of saying no, my mouth rebels. “I should.”

  “I’ll protect you. I’ll listen. I’ll be whatever you need. Talk to me.”

  Taking in a huge breath, I suck in all the insecurities. It’s not because I’m not good enough. It’s not that I’m too fat. Or no longer pretty... right?

  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “You can. You’re so strong, Loren, so fucking strong.”

  At his words, I cry. I feel this small wall caving. He always knows how to break my barriers, knows how to force me to feel.

  He pulls me close. “I hate when you cry. I hate that he’s done this to you.”

  “We. We did this. Me and Jase, both. I failed him, and he failed me.”

  “That’s bullshit. A cop-out. You were hurting, and he should’ve been here.”

  I want to yell, to scream at the unfairness of his words. That’s not how marriage works. When we’re together, we’re a team, and when half of the team slacks, both suffer. I slacked, and he suffered. He gave up, and I broke.

  “I pulled away first,” I try, defending him as much as I can, flinching at the anger in Toby’s eyes at the same time.

  Tobe turns to me, taking the wine from my hand and placing it on his coffee table. He pulls me onto his lap, and my thighs surround his.

  This should make me run. We’re breaking more rules, disregarding all boundaries when our bodies are this close.

  But the comfort it brings—this feeling of being loved—makes me stay.

  “Let me take care of you, Lo,” he whispers, his hands rubbing up and down my arms.

  Take care of me how? He’s always taking care of me.

  When I see his hazel eyes, I know it’s not that kind of taking care. He wants to help my ache and not the one in my heart. He wants to soothe me, to make me forget. But I can’t. I can’t be Jase. Can’t be like him. Can’t choose the easy way out. Whether it’s timing or not, I shut my eyes, absorbing his warmth so I can get
off him and book a hotel room. That’s what I’ll do. I can’t hurt him. I inhale the scent of him, his masculine aroma mixed with Moscato and leather.

  “W-we can’t, Tobe.”

  “Shh,” he hushes, placing a finger over my lips. “I won’t let you go. Let me take care of that ache, Sparkle. I got you.”

  My mind goes to Jase and El, goes to their bodies together.

  Then, I’m startled by his lips taking mine... and I don’t stop him.

  I should push back.

  I should tell him no.

  I do none of these things.

  I’m selfish.

  I want love... his love... any love.

  And I need, more than anything, to burn the images of them out of my mind.

  Tobe’s lips are so soft. I never imagined us to have more than that sloppy kiss. Never expected him to feel right.

  Right but wrong.

  Good but bad.

  Welcome but unwelcome.

  He holds my face, cradling it gently. His thumbs press into my cheeks like he’s scared I’ll run, that maybe this isn’t real. Maybe it’s not and this is just a dream.

  Sometimes, you’re hit with a curveball, but if you’re used to life never handing you the straightaways, then you absorb the hit regardless of the fear you feel.

  Toby’s my curveball, and I’m ready for this collision.

  His tongue brushes mine, only the tip, gentle and nervous, requesting access. Even though his mouth is foreign, and I have to physically force myself not to freak out over the difference between him and Jase, I open up. He’s tender, his tongue not invading, but exploring. The sensation is new, like I’ve never been kissed before, like he’s my first, and I’m his too.

  A low groan vibrates against my mouth, the sound unfamiliar but not unwelcome. It has me pulling away. Tobe’s eyes are full of emotion. They’re wild with hunger. A shiver slices through me, making me squirm.

  The hand that held my face travels down my throat and lands above my breasts, then between them, right where my heart rapidly beats.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Can he feel that? The pitter-patter and racing thrums of my heart? That he’s awoken the organ that I’ve allowed to wither away and die? The beat of a dead visage, coming back from a nocturnal sleep just to experience this moment?

  “Sparkle,” he practically hums. “You feel that?”

  I nod shakily, unsure of what my voice would sound like if I spoke. Whether he means the pounding from lust, fear, and uncertainty, or pure shock and adrenalin is unclear, but I keep nodding anyway.

  “That’s you realizing your worth. That’s you fighting for yourself.”

  I stare at him, my brows scrunched in confusion.

  “You didn’t shut down, baby. I’m so goddamn proud of you.” His hand slips a little, resting on my cleavage. “Now this heart beats not just to keep you alive but because you want it to.”

  What does that even mean?

  chapter twenty-two

  Past

  Week of Death

  Lo

  There’s an irrevocable ache in my body, one that I’ve never experienced before. It’s debilitating, throbbing from the inside. The pain is unlike anything I could ever explain. It’s beyond words. It’s beyond understanding. Is that what a broken heart feels like?

  How does one explain what insidiousness feels like?

  I try to open my eyes, but they’re closed on their own accord. They won’t open for me. They won’t open for the fear of reality. They won’t even open for him. With my eyes closed, my mind can live in memories, can live in an ignorant bubble, can snuggle into a safe lie.

  A sharp pain fissures inside of me, squeezing unrelentingly. It’s as if someone has clenched their fists inside of me, grabbing everything vital until I wither away. That’s the only description for this intenseness.

  “Lo!”

  I hear his voice, his fear palpable. But my eyelids are so heavy. They’re weighing down, making it impossible to blink or open.

  “Fuck, Loren!” His voice is more panicked, and I want to reassure him, tell him I’m okay.

  He shakes me, his rough hands gripping my shoulders, forcing my eyes to try and open.

  I must’ve fallen asleep crying at some point. I just got that call from Dad. My mom. My chest tightens, and I curl into myself, whimpering.

  He taps my cheeks softly. “Loren! Focus! Look at me, Peaches!”

  Jase. My Jase. He’s yelling, but I can only hear a whine. Is that my whine? My eyelashes flutter, and everything starts to focus. Jase hovers over me, his eyes wild, his chest heaving.

  “Baby!”

  His voice makes my heart rate rise. I watch as he lifts his hands.

  Blood.

  My blood?

  I can’t focus on his words. It’s like being under water, the noises around you echoing but not really making sense.

  Why is there blood?

  My hands go to my stomach. They hit the lump, the one that carries our third child. Our daughter. Our baby. Tears burn at my eyes, but I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I don’t fucking understand.

  “We have to go to the hospital,” he explains, his voice barely below a scream.

  I’ve never seen such fear in his eyes.

  I nod, my mind foggy and confused. I don’t understand what’s happening. I was just asleep.

  A sharp pain stabs me, the knife-like feeling digging into me, twisting until I’m screeching. I grip my stomach, trying to protect her.

  “Jase,” I whimper, “please save her. Please.”

  “I’m trying, baby. I’m trying.”

  His panic has me worried. How much blood is there? I can’t see past my stomach. I’m so far along, too far along. It’s been a healthy pregnancy. We’re supposed to meet her in a little under a month.

  He stops trying to help me up and instead lifts me, carrying me to our car outside. He’s shirtless, only in his sleep pants, and I’m in a negligee. I’m not embarrassed, though. I’m terrified, but I’m also in a fog. Not understanding what exactly is happening. Not knowing what day it is.

  Mom. A howl escapes me. She’s gone. Fuck. She’s gone. The aching from that memory, from only hours ago, breaks me. The explosion of emotions overcomes me, startling me, taking over my every thought, consuming my every breath.

  “Lo—Peaches, I need you to calm down, baby. It’s too much stress on her.”

  Too much stress on her. Our daughter.

  I try to control the emotions, try to absorb them within myself, hide them, let them disappear. I have to protect the life that’s still here.

  Have to protect her.

  He places me in the car, rushing to his side. His chest heaves sporadically like mine, matching my fear, uncontrollable and desperate. As soon as my belt buckle is one, he’s frantic.

  “Inhale, exhale,” he soothes, placing a palm over the one clutching my stomach while he freaks out and reverses out of our driveway. “Breathe, baby.”

  He massages my palm, his fingers touching my wedding band, caressing it like it’ll save us both. I take in a gulp of air, praying it can somehow change the last day—somehow save them both.

  I let out that air, but it’s so shaky and withdrawn I know it’s not enough. I know it won’t bring Mom back—it won’t save her.

  “That’s good, baby. Keep breathing.”

  Turning my head toward him, I see so much fear in his eyes. How much blood, Jase? But he can’t read my mind. He can’t answer the barrage of questions, and if I open my mouth, if I allow them to tumble out, they’ll take over. That’s if words come out and not the wails that are begging for escape.

  His eyes have tears. His skin is blotchy with emotion. His hands grip the steering wheel like he can’t let go, like if he does... he’ll die.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’ll all be okay,” he repeats over and over again, his voice barely over a whisper. He’s trying to be strong for me, for us. For our baby.

  The
city blurs around us, and when we get to the emergency room, he’s rushing over to me, unbuckling me, and carrying me toward the doors. His chest has blood on it, his forehead too. The wetness between my legs burns. It’s more prominent now. My sensations are coming back, the numbness of shock waning to the fear.

  So much fear.

  “Jase. Please say she’s okay.” It’s not a question. It’s a plea.

  His eyes squeeze, and he’s practically running to the patient desk.

  “I need help!” he shouts, his voice broken. “Please!”

  Nurses’ eyes manage to look at us.

  “Get a stretcher!” one yells while they all peer at us. There’s no fear. It’s awareness. It’s the knowledge of what needs to happen now.

  Jase places me on the bed, but I grip him.

  “Don’t let go, Jase. Please stay with me,” I cry.

  “I’ll never let go,” he reassures, but soon after, they’re pushing me away. I can’t focus, though, not on him, not on them, and not their voices.

  My eyes get heavy again.

  Please save my baby. I don’t know if it’s a thought or a plea, but it’s the last thing I remember.

  There’s nothing more difficult than giving birth to a child who has no heartbeat. Nothing more excruciating than to wake up to my husband in scrubs while tears drip down his face. Nothing sadder than a speechless man that’s stronger than any you’ve ever met be unable to hold back his pain. It kills me to see the pain on his face. It kills me to know why.

  “Where is she?” I whisper, not wanting to know why he looks like he does. “Where’s our baby?”

  And why is there this indescribable foreboding weighing on me?

  “Lo, baby.” His lip wobbles as his entire body racks with sobs. No. No no no no no.

  “Where’s our baby, Jase?” I cry, the pain unbearable, unshaking. “Where is she?” I scream.

  The pain in his cries, and the loss in his whimpers, kill me. It’s bad enough not hearing the words, but seeing them physically disable him, have me empty.