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

by Amanda Cuff

  My heart races as I start to shake my head in denial. I want to say he doesn’t and that it’s way too soon for that word to be thrown around, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

  Because if I’m being honest with myself, I’m in love with him too.

  “No, please listen.” She reaches out and grabs my hand beside her.

  Her grip is weak, but all I can think in that moment is how strong she is.

  “You know, the hardest part of dying is the guilt. I only got ten years with my baby girl. I won’t be here for her first date, or her first heartbreak. I’ll never see her graduate or fall in love or get married, and that breaks my heart. But not for me, for her. I know that every sweet and wonderful thing in her life will always be clouded with my absence. Chase is the best dad I could have ever hoped for Willow to have, but she needs her mother. She needs a mother. She needs you.”

  Tears are pouring out of both of our eyes now, but neither one of us makes a move to wipe them away.

  “I have lost countless hours of sleep over the past few years. I’ve cried behind closed doors and begged God for more time. I’ve begged him for answers and strength, because I had no idea how I was going to be able to leave them behind. And then He gave me you.

  “I know the two of you will never let her forget me, but I also know you won’t allow her to dwell in the sadness. I want her to live. I don’t want her to be too scared to make mistakes or walk away from the things that aren’t right for her. I want her to know that even when she makes those mistakes, she always has people in her corner who are pulling for her happiness. I’ve never doubted that Chase could give that to her, but I’m so thankful she’ll have you too. You know what it’s like to deal with this loss. I look at how strong and brilliant and courageous you are and I can only hope that Willow will be able to work through this as beautifully as you have.”

  I know I should be the strong one right now. Emily needs me to say the right things, to assure her that I will take care of those she’s leaving behind. I know I should be comforting her, but instead, I find myself curling into her, sobs racking my body.

  I cry for my mother, who must have loved me this deeply but was never given the opportunity to say goodbye.

  I cry for Emily and Willow and the loss they’re going to face.

  And I cry for the guilt I feel for finding Chase and Willow and knowing that in order for them to be mine, they can’t be Emily’s.

  22

  Chase

  Emily dies on a Sunday.

  I’m not in the room, but I know the second it happens. I wake in the middle of the night, sweat clinging to my skin despite the cool air circulating in the room. At first, I’m disoriented, still stuck in whatever hellish nightmare had woken me.

  Only it’s not a nightmare.

  I realize that the second Willow’s agonizing sobs pierce the air. I rip the sheet off and jump from the bed, tearing down the hall and into Emily’s room. Right after I enter, so does her nurse.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I only stepped out for a moment. I—”

  I turn away and tune him out. I don’t want to hear his shit excuse, I just want to know that Emily is okay.

  I’m beside her in a single step, taking in her pale features and still frame. I grab for her shoulder, her name a whispered chant, a prayer that will never be answered.

  Suddenly, the room is bursting in chaos, but I can’t hear anything other than the sharp ring that fills my ears. I briefly acknowledge the burning in my chest and the buzzing of adrenaline coursing through me before my entire body goes numb and the world slows.

  I’m aware of my mom coming up beside me, pulling me from the bed and allowing the nurse to step into my place. I’m aware of Addison rushing into the room, her silk robe billowing in the air as she rushes to Willow’s side. I’m aware of the nurse checking his watch, one hand pressed to Emily’s neck.

  I’m focused in on its glass face, the seconds passing in half time. I can hear their ticks, like loud bursts of gunfire, shocking and painful, each one tearing through me and leaving me a little less whole.

  When he finally leaves her side, the world catches up to its usual pace. Cold, hard reality slaps me in the face and the pain hits me all at once, knocking me to my knees and stealing the breath from my lungs.

  Within moments, Addison’s in front of me and I’m clinging to her. My sobs are so deep they knock around in my chest, reaching into the deepest places that my heart once was, and finding them hollow.

  23

  Addison

  The first few days after Emily’s death are a blur. The house is always full, but it’s the loneliest it’s ever felt.

  The doorbell rings constantly with visitors, their arms loaded with casseroles and veggie trays. Pregnant Addison doesn’t mind, but sad and overwhelmed Addison is starting to get annoyed at the lack of fridge space.

  After rearranging its contents for the third time today, and still not finding enough space to fit everything, I give up and slam the door with a huff. I turn to the remaining tin foil dishes littering the counter and sigh, dropping my head to the fridge.

  I’m so tired.

  The kind of tired that only bone-deep sadness can cause. I miss my friend; I’m sad she’s gone. I’m creeped out that she died just down the hallway from where I sleep. It keeps me up at night, this ridiculous idea that she’ll just walk into the room at any moment, her already-rotting flesh dripping off her. It gives me the heebie-jeebies. I know it’s not logical, but nothing about grief is.

  “Excuse me,” Chase’s gruff voice speaks up behind me. He’s barely said two words to me since the morning Emily passed away.

  I watched as he ran around the house taking care of mundane tasks, making calls, and giving instructions. He was so cold about the entire thing, like he hadn’t known Emily at all. He wasn’t mourning like the rest of us but, instead, running around handling things that seemed so unimportant at the time. His odd behavior worried me, but I knew grief wasn’t a one size fits all kind of thing. So I gave him space to work through his emotions, knowing that when the house would calm at the end of the night, he’d take me in his arms and do whatever he needed to do to get his feelings out.

  Only, he never did.

  Instead, he ignored my prompting and rolled over and went to sleep. In the two days since, he’s acted as though we’re nothing but strangers.

  So hearing him now has me snapping to attention and skittering out of his way.

  He snags a beer from the fridge and shuts the door. My eyes slide over to the clock on the stove, acknowledging the fact that it’s not even noon, before making their way back over to him. I do my best to keep my gaze judgment free.

  Using the bottle opener on the fridge, he snaps the lid off and tosses it onto the counter, then leans back and downs half the bottle. When he turns to me, I manage a wobbly smile, but he doesn’t return the sentiment and it slides off my face.

  “I’m sending my mom home and telling her to stay away for a while. I’m tired of her hovering.”

  I raise my eyebrows in surprise, slightly taken aback by the cold tone of his words. Janice has been nothing but loving and helpful, even while dealing with her own sadness and grief.

  “She only wants to help, Chase,” I say.

  “We don’t need any help. We’re fine.” He proves his point by finishing off his beer and smacking it down onto the countertop with a thud.

  “Are we?” I ask. “I’m not sure that getting drunk before lunch really constitutes as fine.” Needing the comfort, I take a small step toward him and reach out to touch his arm.

  “I’m not drunk,” he bites out, yanking his arm away. “Mind your business, Addison. If I won’t let my mother smother me, I sure as hell won’t let you.”

  His words feel like bombs, dropping around us without warning and leaving behind destruction.

  “I get that you’re having a tough time, Chase. I really do. But you don’t get to talk to me like that.”
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  His stare is so hard that it makes me want to squirm, but I do my best to appear strong on the outside, even when I feel like I’m falling apart on the inside.

  For just a flash of a second, the venom clears from his eyes, but it’s just as quickly replaced with annoyance.

  He opens the fridge again and grabs another beer. His eyes don’t leave mine as he pops the top off and takes a swig before walking out of the room.

  “Real fucking mature,” I mutter to his departing back.

  24

  Chase

  The sun shines through the window, waking me from my restless sleep.

  Instinctively, I reach out for Addison, but when my hand is only met with the cold sheet, I realize she’s not here.

  Because, like an asshole, I asked her to sleep in the other bedroom.

  Okay, I told her to sleep in there, and even though I regretted the words the moment they came out of my mouth, it was still the right thing to do.

  Too many damn emotions have been coming at me like a freight train and I don’t know what to do with any of them.

  My best friend is gone. The woman who’s fought to hold onto and cherish life more than anyone I’ve ever known.

  The mother of my child. The very child who is now left behind with me, a sorry excuse for a man that can’t even drag himself out of bed long enough to be there while she’s hurting.

  My grief is a vast ocean, my loss an emptiness I never thought possible.

  And I’m not ready to face it.

  Or even think about it.

  So, fuck it.

  I roll over and go back to sleep.

  25

  Addison

  It doesn’t take long for our new normal to become routine. I wouldn’t typically have a problem with that, because I like routine. Predictability is nice, but this is just depressing. Most mornings, just the idea of getting out of bed feels daunting and today is one of those mornings.

  Yet, I get out of bed anyway.

  I check on Willow first, knowing Chase left for work hours ago. Her door is slightly ajar, so I peek my head in rather than knock, and spy her on the bed. The comforter is still made up from when we made her bed together yesterday. She’s lying on top of her covers, wrapped up in her mother’s snowflake afghan.

  Her face is neutral, but I proceed like I’m walking barefoot along a hallway of Legos. I know how quickly her mask can drop and the sadness can take over.

  “Morning,” I say quietly, making my way into the room. I kneel—quite awkwardly, I may add—at the side of her bed, leaning my arms onto the covers and my chin upon my arm. “How do we feel today?”

  It’s a question I’ve asked her every morning in the two weeks since her mother passed away. I know there will be bad days and, of course, we’ve had plenty of them. But every once in a while, we get a few good hours in between.

  “We feel okay today,” she says quietly.

  I nod my head, reaching out my hand and placing it on the one she has gripping onto her blanket. Her knuckles are white from strain. I tap them lightly and she loosens them, letting go of the cover, her armor, and letting it fall to the side so she can take my hand.

  She doesn’t smile, but I can see the gratitude that shines in her eyes.

  Some days, it feels like we’re one person walking around in two bodies, feeling the same hurt. Her sadness is my sadness. Her happiness is my happiness. I can’t separate my emotions from hers because everything she feels, she projects so strongly.

  “I’m craving banana bread,” I say. “Should we make some?”

  She nods her head and takes one last deep breath before starting to rise from the bed. On shaky legs, I rise with her. As Willow heads into the bathroom, I walk over to her closet to pull out some clothes.

  She’s probably too old for me to choose her clothes, but I’ve done it every morning for the past two weeks and she hasn’t once complained. I lay them down on her bed, catching my reflection in the mirror in the corner.

  There isn’t a mirror in the bedroom, so other than the one hanging over the sink in the bathroom, I don’t usually pay much attention to what I look like. I can obviously see—and feel—the, ahem-enhancements, of my body, but seeing it all in one glimpse is slightly overwhelming.

  My hair is messy, secured in a hair tie, but still all over the place. I’m not wearing any makeup, mostly because my hormones have been so out of whack that any time it adorns my face, I break out.

  My hips are wide—wider than usual. I feel the pain of their growth nearly every second of the day. At thirty-four weeks, my stomach is so large that I’ve already gone up a size in maternity pants. I raise my shirt and lower the elastic around my middle, turning in the mirror. Along my hips and lower abdomen, stretch marks riddle my skin.

  I look beautiful.

  I’m so far from the sophisticated lawyer in LA. The college-aged socialite party girl. The athlete who lived and breathed for dancing. Out of all the versions of myself that I’ve been, this one has to be my favorite. A soon-to-be mother, already madly in love with the child I’ve yet to meet.

  Willow opens her bathroom door, stopping short as she sees me.

  “What are you doing?” she asks. Her smirk is small, but it’s there.

  I laugh and start to pull up the band of my pants, covering my stomach back up. Once my shirt is back in place, I notice that Willow’s eyes haven’t left my stomach.

  “I’m sorry I was so mean to you about the baby,” she says quietly. She walks over and plops down on the bed, scooting back until her legs dangle from the side. “I’m excited to have a brother, but I’m sad too.”

  “I know you are, honey. You don’t have to apologize,” I reply, sitting beside her.

  “I miss her. She hasn’t been gone long and I already miss her so much.” Tears roll down her cheeks, and we both let them.

  “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘time heals all wounds’?” I ask her. She shakes her head, turning her eyes downward. “Well, it’s something people say to those of us who’ve lost someone. It means that over time, our pain will get easier. But I really don’t think that’s true. I think we just get used to our pain, so it feels like less of a shock to our system every day. You’ll never stop missing her, but you’ll learn how to live your life around the hurt.”

  We sit in silence for a few minutes before she sniffs loudly and wipes her face with the sleeve of her pajama top. “Do you have a name for the baby yet?” she asks.

  I hesitate, suddenly nervous to tell her the name I’ve settled on. I haven’t even run it by Chase yet, but I think he’ll approve. It just feels right.

  “I was thinking Cannon.” I say.

  She blinks at me slowly. “My mom’s maiden name?”

  I nod and wait for her to decide how she’s going to react.

  Finally, she smiles. “I think I love it.”

  “I think I do too,” I say. I scoot closer and tuck her into my side, giving her a quick hug. “Okay, now you need to get ready so we can go make that banana bread because I’m starving!”

  I get started in the kitchen while Willow gets dressed, pulling out the items we’ll need, including Chase’s tablet. I choose a random Pinterest recipe and start pulling out the ingredients just as my cell phone buzzes from my back pocket. Without even looking, I know it will be Chase’s mom.

  “Good morning, Janice,” I answer. “How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine, dear. How are you doing this morning?”

  I want to sigh but choose to hold it in instead and place a smile on my face. Even if she can’t see me, I know she’ll be able to tell by the sound of my voice that I’m not feeling one hundred percent.

  It’s a gift, she always says.

  Lowering myself to the table, I answer honestly, or partially anyway. “I’ve had better days, but it’s nothing a little banana bread can’t fix. Willow and I are just about to make some.”

  “That sounds nice. I tried to call Chase but couldn’t get ahold of
him.” Her words have an underlying tone, her way of asking a question without actually having to ask it. “I was wondering if I could take Willow for the day. I could use a helper at the grocery store. And are we still on for dinner at your place tomorrow?”

  “Of course,” I reply as cheerfully as I can manage. “I’m sure she would love to spend the afternoon with you.”

  “I’ll give you girls a few hours to finish up then. See you later.”

  “Bye, Janice.”

  Willow and I get busy working on the banana bread and before I know it, two hours have slipped out from under us and I’m shutting the door after Janice picks Willow up. By the time I finish cleaning the kitchen and put away a load of laundry, my feet are aching and I’d give just about anything for a foot massage. Instead, I settle for a nap, allowing the dead quiet of the house to lull me to sleep.

  When I wake up a few hours later, I head straight for the shower, my mind whirling with how I should handle things with Chase. As much as I wish I could be understanding and give him space, I’m not sure how much more of this silent treatment I can take.

  As I scrub shampoo suds into my scalp, I make a game plan.

  First, I’ll finish my shower. Obviously.

  Second, I’ll put on my Sunday’s best and do my hair and makeup like I’m heading out for a night on the town. I need him to look at me and want to kick himself for being so distant lately.

  Third, I’ll kill him with kindness. I’ll calmly explain to him how his actions have been making me feel and he’ll drop to his knees and beg me for forgiveness before whisking me off to bed and apologizing correctly.

  At least, that’s what would happen if my life were a romantic movie, which, clearly, it’s not. And after spending over an hour getting ready—and shoving my too-wide body parts into too-tight clothing—I come out of my room to a Chase-free house. I quickly check my phone to see if he had texted where he was going, but I’m not all that surprised when I find it message free.