My mom rests in the tub, the water a pinkish red.
“Mom!” I scream, my heart pumping faster than when I play baseball. It hammers, and I worry I’m about to pass out from the adrenaline coursing through me. Nothing could’ve warned me for this moment.
In seconds flat, I’m kneeling at the base of the tub, shaking her, trying to wake her. There’s not a ton of blood, not like I imagined, but there are several cuts on her wrists.
Why isn’t she waking up? Why is her skin blue? I shake her more, praying she responds, begging she opens her eyes for me.
“Mom! Open your eyes!” I cry out, trying to lift her, but she’s too big, and I’m not strong enough yet.
After reaching into the pockets of my jeans, I pull out my phone and immediately dial 9-1-1.
“Please, my mom isn’t waking up!” I screech, and it’s a voice unlike my normal one. It’s unrecognizable and frantic. My body shakes, all while my mom’s chest barely rises and falls. “Hurry!”
The dispatcher is asking me questions, but I can’t hear them. My nerves and anxiety are too strong.
I tug her once more, my shoulders burning from the effort. I place my feet on the tub, widening my stance. Her body slips, the water making her slide out of the tub easier.
My phone lays on the floor, the person still talking, but it sounds like mumbled words. I haul my mom flat on the floor. Leaning toward her mouth, I place my ear against it, trying to hear her breathing.
I don’t know how to wake her up.
I don’t know CPR.
I can’t save her.
The realization that she might die and it’s my fault weighs on me.
Maybe if I got a ride home instead of walked, I could’ve fixed this.
My body rocks back and forth to the rhythm of my heart. The sobs that come from me are raucous and animalistic.
Am I dying, too?
Why are you trying to leave me, Mom?
“Hey, hey, hey,” a soft female voice says, touching my shoulder gently. “Are you her son?”
In response, I can only nod. My lips don’t move when I try. My voice is gone, somehow trapped in a void with the rest of my mom’s mind.
“Let’s get you up, okay?” the man urges, lifting me by my armpits like Dad used to do when I couldn’t reach something.
My body is flaccid and heavy. Every breath feels laborious, and every nod feels like it takes everything out of me. My ears feel like they’re echoing. It reminds me of going to the raceways. The loud cars would make my ears ring, and everything after didn’t register from seeming too quiet.
“She’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay,” the man reassures.
chapter twenty-nine
Present
Ace
“Mom? What’re you doing?” My voice titters. It’s nervous and even gentler than normal.
When Mom gets caught up in a manic episode, she takes risks. She tried killing herself on her last one. That’s the last time I can remember her being manic and happy.
Right now, she’s cooking breakfast, wearing bright colors, and humming. This can’t be good. She ignores her mental health like it’s a phase and not a life sentence.
“What do you mean? I’m cooking you breakfast.” She stares at me like I’ve grown two heads, like she didn’t have an episode last night and shut down.
“How are you feeling?”
“Refreshed,” she responds almost too quickly.
“So, last night... Can we talk about it?” I push, hoping she can remember.
“It was nothing,” she says, completely blowing it off.
“No, Mom,” I argue. “It’s not okay. I had to see you close me off again, had to see you break down and let Nate and Dad fight.”
“Nate and your dad fought?” she asks, not answering anything else.
She dries her hands then comes closer to me. Her eyes seem clear. They don’t look ghosted like last night.
“What happened last night?” she prods, placing her hand on my chin, cupping it.
That’s the problem, isn’t it? The fact that she can’t recall anything proves what I already know.
He broke her.
“Nate told you something while Dad, Jazzy, and I were inside. You freaked out. We all came out. Dad and Nate fought, and I kicked them out.”
“Your sister?” she inquires, hanging on her whereabouts.
“She’s with Grandma.”
“And you? How’re you?” She pulls me into a hug, checking over my face and body. “I’m sorry,” she says.
It’s her normal response. She thinks she can help that she shuts down, but it’s not her fault. It’s their fault, and they should be the ones apologizing.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Mom. Please,” I plead, holding her. “Do you remember what he told you? What set you off?”
She quivers, her body softly vibrating. “Yes,” she answers, her voice barely a whisper. She sounds so fragile and young, like she’s my age, and I’m her protector. That’s not how this is supposed to work. I’m just a kid.
“What happened?” I beg, needing to know if it’s something I can ease, needing to know if I can help her be better.
“H-he just told m-me something I didn’t w-want to hear,” she stammers.
Her body feels deteriorated, completely exhausted, as she puts all her weight into me. I want to mend her scars. I want to hurt everyone for hurting her, starting with Dad and Aunt El.
“How can I fix it? How can I fix you, Mom?” I implore, trying not to break down while holding her together.
“I just need to fight back,” she answers.
I shudder. Fight back? Fight back how? Confusion overtakes me. What is she fighting for?
“Mom?” I don’t know what to ask or how, but I need answers.
“You’ll see. I’m going to fix this,” she utters.
The absoluteness in her voice has me more confused than her mania ever has.
She finally pulls back, her height only barely shorter than mine. Standing on her tippy toes, she kisses my forehead. “I will fix this, Ace. I won’t let you and Jazzy down anymore.”
I just nod. This entire morning has messed with my sanity enough, and whatever she has planned is for her to know and apparently for me to find out when it happens.
“Let’s get you to your Grandma’s, hmm?”
“Why?” She knows I’m old enough to stay at home. She doesn’t need to babysit me.
“I have stuff to handle, and I need you to be safe. I love you, Ace. I really do.”
“I love you, too,” I respond, feeling defeated and too exhausted to argue.
“Let’s eat, and head out?”
“Sure.”
If I thought I could make myself stress less and just let things be, I’m stupid. In the past few years, I’ve become vigilant on Mom’s behavior, and overwhelm myself way more about everything than I should. But I’d rather be aware than be stuck in a stupor like her.
Let’s hope I’m wrong, and she’s fine.
Lo
I’m not okay.
But for them, I will be.
Brave face and all, whatever it takes.
I’m clouded, yes. The happiness is all for show, but I’m not allowing this to ruin me. I’ll go back to therapy. Something I should have done after calling it quits the first time. Maybe Jase’s therapist would be a good fit? Unless he fucked her too?
As soon as my head is on straight, I’m asking Jase for a divorce, and then, I’m finding my way back to the Loren who graduated with a Master’s in Culinary Arts, a woman who loved her kids fiercely and put them above everything else, and one who loved herself and what she stood for. Who picked the love of her children above the love of her fears.
She deserves a champion, one who’ll fight for her.
After forcing Ace to eat, I shovel down some bacon like it’s my last meal, and we head to Millie’s. When we get there, Jase isn’t around, and though it should surprise me, it doesn’t. I do
n’t want to know where he is, and I refuse to let the negativity and insecurities own me today.
“Is everything okay with you and Jason?” Millie questions, her eyes full of anxiety. Millie and I have been close for years. Even before my mom died, she was here for me. She and Jase have a strange relationship, but it has never stilted our bond or stopped it from growing.
“Yeah, Mom. Just going through a rough patch,” I lie. I’m sure she can see through it, see the pain in my eyes, see the emptiness in my voice. She’s been through this, twice.
“I won’t prod, Loren, but I do care,” she vocalizes her worries. “You’re my daughter, my friend, and I hate seeing you suffer alone.”
She watches me. She knows everything. Not about Jase cheating but about my shutting down, my losses, and how hard it’s been. Through it all, she’s been an angel. She watches the children. She always talks when I need it, and if I call, she always answers.
She’d never replace my mom, but she’s here for me just like mine was.
“I love you. Don’t ever doubt that,” she assures, bringing me in for a hug. “No matter what happens.”
I whimper, tears breaking through. She holds me as I let go for a moment and give into the pain. She holds all my pieces together with her words.
“I love you, too.”
After about ten minutes of me mumbling about how much pain I’m in, she peppers kisses across my cheeks, telling me that she’s not going anywhere. Jazzy toddles over, her dress even more frayed than a few days ago. She twirls, her face full of happiness and smiles. I wish it was that easy for me. To push away the hatred and disgust in myself and be carefree.
“Mama,” she says, tapping Millie’s lap. “Come play!” Millie’s eyes light up with joy, her face breaks out in delight as she watches Jaz tug on her sweater.
“No hug for Mommy?” I request, wanting to kiss her and make her forget last night. Maybe she already has. She sticks her tongue out at me, making a funny face, and I laugh at her adorableness. After she dances for a moment, she comes to me, giving me a hug. Before I get the chance to kiss her, she’s leaving a big wet one on my cheek.
“I love you, Mommy.”
“I love you too, baby” Jumping around once again, she begs Millie to play, and she gives in, tending to Jazzy and her princess obsession.
“Mom?” Ace requests, tapping my shoulder.
“What is it?” I press.
“Don’t let him off for this. He doesn’t deserve for you to be kind and forgiving like always. You always let his behavior slide out of guilt, but don’t do it over this.”
It hits me then, seeing his anger and resentment. He knows, and he’s nowhere near on his father’s side. I never wanted him involved. He’s our baby. He shouldn’t have to choose a side. It’s not a place any kid should be in.
“Okay, baby.”
“I mean it, Mom. Don’t brush this off,” he implores, his eyes devastated in every sense of the word. I’ve never seen his shoulders this stiff, his back so hunched, all fueled by animosity.
“I love you, Ace. If I can do anything, I’d want to make you not have a tainted view on love. I did at your age, and it led me to pain.”
“At least if you were wary, you’d have been saved from his betrayal.”
“But I wouldn’t have you,” I push, hoping he’ll see everything happens for a reason. If this pain only brought me him and Jazzy, it would be worth every tear.
“Maybe it’d be better if you didn’t,” he bites, narrowing his eyes at me.
His anger breaks a piece of me. He’s going to be an angry person who hates the thought of love. Instead of jaded, he’ll be soaking up hatred, thriving on the hopelessness I’ve created.
I pull him into a hug, needing to give him any sort of comfort.
“My life wouldn’t be a life worth living without you guys. You’re my entire world.” I kiss his cheek, squeezing him tighter. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“For us, don’t forgive him.” Those are the last words he gets out before walking away from me. He’s so much like his father in that sense. He’s even like me when it comes to how strongly we feel, but he’s stubborn as hell like Jase.
I stop by the guest room, kissing Jazzy on the forehead. Then, I leave to get a bottle of Moscato and a movie for a night with my best friend. The non-cheating one, that is.
“TOBE!” I CALL OUT, carrying the junk food and wine into his kitchen. “Tobias!”
He doesn’t say a word, and if I hadn’t already experienced death in my life, I probably wouldn’t panic, but I do.
I set everything down on the counter and run from room to room without finding him. His car is parked outside, so he’s here. He has to be.
Running?
Tobe and I always ran and did yoga together, and though I haven’t been in weeks, he must be keeping to the routine. He’s habitual, always strict on his day-to-day schedule. As I’m putting my shoes back on, I hear grunts. I head to the back through his sliding door and am stopped short by hormones.
Tobe has a home gym outside. It’s inside a zipped canopy-type gazebo for when it rains and for after he’s done using it. Right now, in the brightness of day, it’s bare, just like he is, in only gym shorts, ones that sit low on his hips.
He’s doing a full dead hang pull-up. His arms are fully extended above his head, which means he won’t use any momentum to pull himself up. It’s all muscle. With strength I only wish I had, his arms tighten, forcing his body upward. His chest flexes along with the rest of him, and I’m stuck in awe. I’ve seen Toby many times in a workout tank and cut off shirts, but never entirely shirtless like this. At least, not since we were teens.
He’s much larger now. Actually, he’s huge. Usually, he’s dressed up so much that he just looks like a businessman, even when at my house. Right now, looking at his huge shoulders, narrow hips, and thick thighs, I’m stuck wondering how to breathe. I’ve never really let my eyes wander, never let myself look at him as anything other than my friend and my husband’s brother. Right now, though, I’m having a hard time not drooling.
Tobe’s dripping sweat. This must be what he decided to do after a run. My eyes can’t look elsewhere as the droplets trail down his chest, toward his waistline. Jesus. Stop. His arms strain with each pull-up, he grumbles from the exertion, and my eyes strain with watching him unabashedly.
“Just going to stare, Sparkle?” he teases, his voice raspy and out of breath.
“I-I wasn’t staring,” I stutter, trying to keep my voice light rather than breathy. Sweat lines the crown of my head, and my hands clam up from the lie.
He hops down, his entire body glistening with the motion, and still, I watch like a ravenous woman. I shouldn’t.
Tobe sidles up to me, his hips moving deliciously with each step. He walks with confidence. He demands the attention of the entire room, yet we’re outside, and it’s only me and him.
When he reaches me, I’m sure I’m still blushing every shade of pink. I’m worried if I talk, it’ll be as messy as the heart palpitating in my chest.
My husband just told me he’s cheating on me with Ellie no less. Yet, here I am, drooling over his brother... my best friend.
His left palm rests on my cheek, while his right cups my jaw. This is too intimate, too much. His thumb traces my jaw—soft, sweet, and wrong. So fucking wrong.
I don’t push him away, I don’t even hesitate or flinch when his thumb strokes my lips or when I lick his thumb, tasting his salty manliness.
Fuck.
Walk away.
Walk the fuck away.
“M-maybe we should—”
He stops me with the force of his lips crushing my mouth. This time, I don’t have to remind myself how awkward this is. I fall into it. I accept the difference. I allow the feeling of the unlawfulness.
Maybe it’s the fact that it’s Ellie that Jase fucked.
Maybe it’s the fact that it lasted for so long.
Or perhaps, it was N
ate coming home, or the news of a baby.
Either way, I’m letting this mistake consume me because whether two wrongs make a right or not, I deserve a selfish moment. It’s a moment I’ll more than likely regret but a moment that’s only mine.
Toby’s chest presses against mine. Wrong. The heat is comfortable, strong, and sensual in every way. But still wrong.
His tongue strokes against my bottom lip, and I give him entrance. Bad, bad, bad. When our tongues meet, it’s a collision of justifiable and dangerously unsung. It’s deliriously good but recklessly bad, beautifully damaged but perfectly curing.
But even with all the conflicting emotions involved, I don’t falter. I can’t stop, and I sure as hell don’t want to.
He lifts me, his palms cupping my ass under my peach dress, the same one Jase loves, the same one that makes Jase smile, the same one that made him call me Peaches all those years ago. Now, I’m tainting it with unloving lips and unfaithful touches. It’s a metaphorical fuck you to the man who took everything from me.
The man my love still burns for.
He holds the key.
He also imprisons the lock.
He ignites me with emotions no one else can.
He also extinguishes them with his lies.
He ruins me.
He fixes me, too.
He ruined us.
I ruined us, too.
Jase Collins devastates the ground I walk upon.
And yet, I still love him.
With each kiss Tobe and I share while he carries me to the pool house is a confession, a dirty, lustful one full of longing and desperation, insecurity and unity, betrayal and absolution, bad and even worse.
I should stop. I should stop him—this—us.
We shouldn’t do this, but Jason and Ellie shouldn’t have either.
With her stupid face plastered in my mind from all the times I cried and told her about my worries of Jase cheating and her being the bitch who was with him the entire time, I kiss Toby back.
Her face kissing Jase’s has me biting Toby’s lips like he’s the betrayer. He doesn’t see it as resentment but lust, and I don’t correct him.
With Jase and her in my mind fucking and ruining every trust I had for them, I try and erase it. It feels dirty. It feels disgustingly inappropriate, yet I can’t stop.
Inhale, Exhale Page 25
