In Between Heartbeats (Hearts in Waiting Duet: Book Two)

by Amanda Cuff

  “You have the recipe memorized? The whole thing?” Willow asks, looking at me in wonder.

  It makes me laugh because I can’t remember a single time in my life anyone ever looked at me like she is right now, like I made the moon and hung it in the sky, when all I did was memorize an easy cookie recipe. “I made them all the time with my mom when I was a kid. She had a big sweet tooth and peanut butter cookies were her weakness. She loved them plain, but she’d let me sneak in chocolate chips every once in a while.” Eyebrows raised, I push the plastic bag of chocolate chips her way, letting her decide whether or not we add any.

  She doesn’t hesitate, picking it up and tipping it into the bowl for a second or two. She stops and we both peer into the bowl.

  I shrug my shoulders in permission and she tips it again, this time seeming pleased with the results.

  She nods her head in approval then begins mixing the chips into the dough. “Where is she now?” she asks, once the dough is all mixed together.

  “Who?”

  “Your mom. Is she back in LA?” She’s looking up at me with expectant eyes and I hesitate, unsure how to proceed.

  I don’t want to lie to her, but I’m not sure the truth will be any better.

  “She died,” I say quietly, watching as the small light that had made it back into her eyes is extinguished. I turn away quickly, grabbing the cookie sheet and coating it with non-stick spray. Using the ice cream scoop, I spoon a few round balls onto the sheet.

  “How?” I hear behind me.

  I stop scooping and move my eyes back to her.

  She hasn’t moved a muscle, standing right where I last saw her, shock splayed on her face.

  Clearing my throat, I drop the scoop into the bowl and rest my hands on the counter. “She was in an accident when I was nine.”

  “A car accident?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you didn’t know she was going to die.” She says the words slowly, with sadness dripping off each one. “I bet that’s better.”

  Her words hit me like a slap in the face, that familiar sting of loss in my chest. I wish I didn’t know how Willow felt, but I was even younger than her when my mother passed away. A loss as great as this isn’t easily forgotten.

  I don’t know what to say to that because she’s probably right. It probably is easier to lose your mother all at once than it is to lose her in stages. My mom died instantly; she didn’t have to suffer. I didn’t have to watch her grow weaker every day or try to manage her pain with a concoction of pills. Our last months together weren’t tainted with the knowledge that they would be our last.

  Willow must be thinking the same. Every thought, every big emotion, flashes across her now pale and splotchy face. She’s locked up, shoulders tight, her tiny fist gripping hard on the big spoon she used to mix the dough.

  “Hey, honey, you okay?” I say the words carefully.

  Two sad little eyes raise to mine. I see her lips form a no, her words so quiet I’m not even sure she spoke them.

  But when she can’t stop her bottom lip from shaking, I know.

  This is more than sadness.

  Whatever she’s feeling right now is bigger than our conversation. She’s spiraling and I’m not sure how I can bring her back to me. When the tears start silently rolling down her face, I feel the familiar prick in my own and move closer.

  Instead of comfort, my closeness seems to make her more frantic. Her breaths become more ragged before she’s full on gasping for air. Hands shaking, I reach out to her petite shoulders, shouting out to Emily, even though she probably can’t hear me all the way upstairs in her bedroom.

  Everything that happens next is a blur.

  Chase is suddenly in front of me, grabbing onto my arms and asking me what happened. I’m almost as much of a mess as Willow and can barely stutter out an explanation.

  But before I can answer, he’s scooping Willow up and hurrying out of the room.

  13

  Chase

  The last time Willow had a panic attack was the day we told her that Emily’s cancer was back. We were calm and prepared, because we knew what the outcome of the conversation would be. But coming home today, I was not prepared to see Willow gasping for breath and Addison across from her, lost in her own battle.

  The day had started out with a mix of emotions, happiness at Willow starting a new chapter, and sadness knowing this was the last one Emily would be experiencing with us.

  Still, we hadn’t treated this year any differently than the others. My parents brought her presents—a tradition they started back in kindergarten—and we all enjoyed a big breakfast before Emily and I dropped Willow off at school.

  Even as I’d pulled into the parking lot, the three of us had just sat there, no one wanting to make the next move and break the spell of the morning.

  We were fine.

  We were happy.

  We were a family.

  The only noise on the way home was the sound of Emily’s sobs.

  Needless to say, my first full day back at work really fucking sucked. I could barely focus, my thoughts on the girls so much that my dad had to remind me a few times that he needed my completed proposal for a new contract.

  The whole way home, I had to use the cruise control to keep myself from speeding. I kept hoping I’d walk in to see their smiling faces, like I had only imagined the pain of the morning, but even as I drove, the sour feeling in my gut told me I was fucked.

  When I walked in to see Willow falling apart, the last ounce of hope I had left died inside me. I couldn’t even think; I just grabbed her and ran up to Emily’s bedroom, hoping she’d be able to calm Willow down so I could go back to check on Addison.

  But up here, Emily is so out of it from her pain medication cocktail that I have to put my parental responsibility first in the moment, even though it fucking kills me to know Addison is just below us, likely still crying on her own.

  I try grounding techniques and breathing exercises, but Willow is spiraling so badly that Emily has to dig out a dose of Diazepam for her. As soon as Willow has calmed, I rush back downstairs to find Addison, but she’s already retreated into her room.

  Now, I’m pacing the upstairs hallway, waiting for the sound of the water pipes to turn off and signal that she’s out of the shower.

  When they finally do, I dip into my bedroom and quietly shut the door. I don’t need her to catch me being a damn creeper in the hallway. Besides, I’m not mentally strong enough to handle the sight of her walking out in nothing but a towel, even if my imagination does run rampant with the image over the next ten minutes.

  Finally, I’m knocking on her door. I check my watch. It hasn’t been more than thirty minutes since I made it home, but that’s still thirty minutes that Addison was alone, dealing with whatever the hell had happened downstairs.

  She finally opens the door, her face splotchy and red, eyes still puffy from crying. I don’t even bother to stop myself from reaching out to her. I place my hands on either side of her head and run my thumbs down her warm cheeks.

  “Are you okay?” I ask quietly.

  She shakes her head in response, her eyes filling with tears.

  I pull her to my chest and wrap my arms around her shoulders. Emily’s bedroom door is still slightly ajar down the hall, so I bend just enough to lock my arm around Addison’s waist, lifting her and shuffling deeper into the room. She pulls back slightly, tears still rolling down her cheeks. I kiss them both gently, kicking my foot back and connecting it with the door to shut it behind us.

  Her shoulders are no longer quaking, but I’m afraid that if I repeat my previous question, the sobs will start back up, so I just hold her and lazily run my hand down the curve of her spine.

  I breathe her in, letting her presence fill the cracks in my shattered soul. For all the chaos that surrounds us, she continues to keep me from falling off the deep end. After a few moments, she sighs and pulls back.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, ey
es pained. “She asked about my mom and I didn’t know what to do. Nothing was calming her down.”

  “I should have told you about her panic attacks,” I respond. “I’ve been so caught up in everything going on, but it’s something you should have known before you moved in. I also should have told you how to handle them when they happen.”

  “So that wasn’t the first time?”

  I shake my head, and she looks stricken—eyes glassy, mouth tight. I kiss the wrinkle between her eyebrows, mostly because it gives me an excuse to have my lips on her again, then I grab her hand and walk her over to the bed. We sit side-by-side, nothing but our thighs touching, but even that small amount of contact is enough.

  “When Em was first diagnosed, Willow was only five,” I begin. “We kept going back and forth on what to tell her, but in the end, we thought honesty was best. I don’t know. I’ve kind of wondered over the years if it really was. Her nightmares started a few months in and she began crawling into bed with Emily in the middle of the night. Willow would play with her mom’s hair and it would just…fall out in her hands.”

  I stop talking, realizing my hands are suspended in the air, as if the blonde strands are resting in them now. When I put them back down, Addison grabs one tightly, looking at me with all the support and understanding that I need.

  “It was a devastating time for both of them. Soon, getting Willow to sleep at all was a struggle. She became withdrawn and was sent home from school with stomach aches multiple times a week. Her therapist thought we were focusing too much on Emily’s sickness and needed to try to separate Willow from it some because at that point, it had completely taken over our lives. That’s one of the reasons Emily doesn’t like to focus on it too much. She’ll continue to give Willow as much of her strength as she can, until she can’t any longer.

  “After surgery and two rounds of chemo, Emily started to build her strength back up and Willow got better too. She even started sleeping in her own bed again. But when the cancer came back and was too far along for treatment, Willow’s anxiety just escalated.”

  I close my eyes, fighting against the wave of tears that hit them. I’ve never been one of those men who are afraid to cry, but still, I’ve needed to be strong for Emily and Willow. But here with Addison, I don’t feel like I have to tuck my feelings away in order to protect her.

  “She has panic attacks, like you saw, and she worries about everything. She can’t make even the simplest decisions, because she worries it’ll be the wrong one and something bad will happen as a result. She’s still in therapy and she takes anti-anxiety medicine every morning. It helps for the most part, but it’s still hard. She’s losing so much at such a young age.”

  “I was twelve when my mother died,” Addison says.

  A handful of rebuttals tangle in my mind, but I’m not good with this shit, so I decide to stay quiet.

  “I lost everything with her. I didn’t know it at the time, but now…” She trails off and takes a shaky breath.

  I worry she might start crying again, but instead, she keeps talking.

  “Now, I know the dent her absence left in my life. I’m not saying my father was ever the most doting man, but my mom mostly kept him in line. When I lost her, I lost him too. And then I lost dance. It was just a spiral of grief.”

  My stomach drops, unsure of where this is going but knowing I probably won’t like it.

  “Being here has been messing with my head. Spending all this time around Willow, seeing her pain and knowing what’s still to come for her and for you…it’s breaking my heart, Chase.”

  And there it is.

  I’m asking too much of her. I should have fucking known that from the beginning. Asking her to stay in town and bear witness to the pain in my life was selfish, especially with the loss she’s already experienced.

  “Addison, I’m so sorry. I never fucking thought about what this would do to you. I feel like a dick. I know I’m asking a lot of you, with Willow and Emily. With you being thousands of miles from home. It’s not fair, is it?” I hold my breath, terrified of what her answer will be.

  She pulls away just enough to look at me, reaching her hand up to palm my cheek. “No, Chase. Being here feels right. I’m not running away from this, not now. I’m too invested in both of them to walk away at this point, even if it hurts.

  I turn to Addison. She’s been incredibly patient over the past few weeks, adjusting to the unique situation we’re in and getting through the awkward moments with grace. I’m not sure I’ve once stopped to ask her how she was doing before today.

  “Are you okay?” I ask her again, hoping this time, the question won’t end in tears.

  “I’m tired,” she says sadly.

  “I’ll let you rest.” Realizing I’ve overstayed my welcome, I squeeze her hand one last time, but she holds tight to it when I try to rise.

  “No, it’s more than that. I mean, I’m tired.” She looks at me searchingly, as if she wants me to read between the words and understand what she isn’t saying.

  And I do. I hear her loud and clear. This process has been draining.

  Sighing, I slide my body over the bed until it’s flush with the headboard. I pat the space beside me and watch the decision-making process play out on her face.

  Finally, she plops down, hesitating only a moment before resting her head against me.

  When I wrap my arm around her, the weight of the day starts to lift just a little. Her hair is wet against me, but it doesn’t bother me. Instead, I lean in closer, breathing in her fresh-from-the-shower scent. The part of me that hasn’t touched her in so long, heats. It’s a lazy feeling, one that doesn’t nag nearly as loud as my heart, so I tuck it away.

  “You’re really fucking amazing, you know that?” I whisper. I wish I could get rid of the space between us, place my lips on hers and lose myself in her kiss, but I’ve already pushed my luck enough for tonight.

  Instead, I hold her in my arms, enjoying the peace and calm that settles over me when we’re together. I’m not sure how much time passes, but when I hear her little snores, I decide that’s my cue to leave. I move slowly, trying not wake her, but those little doe eyes turn to me anyway.

  Fuck me.

  I deserve a damn award for being able to walk away from her right now.

  “I need to go check on Willow again,” I say quietly. “Will you be okay?”

  She nods, her hand on my chest.

  Against my best judgment, I pull it to my lips and kiss her palm, getting one last feel of her before leaving the room.

  14

  Addison

  On Friday, I wake up later than usual, but with more energy than I’ve had in months. I shower and dress quickly and even manage to put on some makeup. For the first time in a long time, I don’t see a zombie when I look in the mirror.

  It’s already been two weeks in Gamble Springs and without much to fill my days, I’m getting restless. I was hoping to finally have Emily show me around, but with her and Chase spending the day an hour away at a doctor’s appointment, I guess I’m on my own.

  It should probably worry me, the idea of walking out the door and facing the people who know and love Chase and Emily, but I feel ready. Ready to own my truth and celebrate my child—no matter how many people disagree with how he or she came to be.

  I open the front door and gasp, pulling my jacket tighter and zipping it to the top. It’s only early September, but the air is already starting to feel crisp. I take one look at Chase’s big truck—which I still haven’t gotten the courage to drive—and decide to face the chill.

  I walk down the sidewalk at a brisk pace, trying to keep warm. My muscles have already begun feeling sluggish without much exercise, so it feels good to move. To have a purpose, even if that purpose is only to cure my boredom.

  My mind spirals as I make my way across town. I miss dancing. I miss losing myself in the music and pushing my body to the point of pain just to feel the sharp reward of euphoria. I even miss that
crappy, run down gym back in LA. Even with the half-broken mirrors and the floor peeling in more places than it was stable, at least I had the music.

  Every time I pushed play, I was no longer Addison—an ordinary woman with ordinary problems. Instead, I was free.

  And those brief few months, when I was planning to immerse myself back into the dance world, felt good. It was nice to have a plan for my future—just for me—rather than the one my father had for me. That plan made my skin crawl even now, just thinking about it.

  Chase and I haven’t managed to make a dent in any of the discussions we should be having. I’m sure most couples at this point in a pregnancy have already discussed baby names. They probably have a room full of diapers, and baby powder, and whatever the hell else babies need.

  But here we are, not even really a couple, with no plans, no stuff, and no clue.

  Instead, I’ve been focused on settling into my new normal. For the most part, I’ve stayed locked up in the house, but by the way so many eyes have landed on me this morning, I’m sure gossip has already started to circulate.

  I match their gazes and smile their way because at this point, I’ve spent too much of my life caring what others think of me. Even in these past few weeks, I’ve been allowing complete strangers—who couldn’t possibly understand how I feel—to make me feel ashamed.

  I’m done with that.

  I don’t blame them for judging. Or for being curious. On the outside, I’m sure our situation seems batshit crazy. I can acknowledge that.

  I wasn’t sure what to expect when moving into a house with Chase and Emily. It probably could have ended in disaster, but instead, I’ve found the transition remarkably easy.

  The Chase I knew on vacation was quiet, moody, and overwhelmingly sexy. The Chase I know now—the father, the head of a household he’s volunteered to care for—is responsible and kind, hard-working to a fault, and still overwhelmingly sexy.