by Bailey B
“Yeah. I hope so.”
Mom smiles then heads into her house. I follow the drive to mine, unsurprised when it’s empty. I pick up my phone and call Layla. It rings and rings until going to voicemail. I hang up and call again, this time only getting one ring before being ignored. That pit in my stomach expands into a black hole, sucking me in. “Layla, it’s Josh. I fucked up earlier and I’m sorry. I was going through some shit, still am, but I’m getting a handle on it. Call me back.”
I hang up and call Hattie. I’m hoping she’s there and didn’t drive all the way back to Orlando. It rings twice before she answers. “Hello, handsome. What’s up?”
“Is Layla with you?” My pulse ravages my chest. I need her to be there. I know I said I wanted to be alone earlier, but I’ve changed my mind. I want to hold Layla, tell her how I’m falling for her, and fill her in on everything. Hopefully she’ll understand and stick around. If not, I don't know what I’ll do.
“No. Is everything okay?”
I exhale, feeling my whole body shake. News about Amanda and Bryson is going to spread like wildfire. I’m surprised it hasn’t gotten out yet. If there's any chance for Layla and me to make this work, she needs to hear what’s going on from me. That is, if I can get her to answer the phone. I lean the seat of my truck back, too beat to go into the house. Today’s been a nightmare, and I have a feeling things are only going to get worse.
“I don’t know.”
The paternity test came back. Bryson is my kid.
Bryson is still in the hospital.
The nurses say he’s going to be here for a while, but I had hoped to have him home for Christmas. Every day he’s there the bills grow. I don’t have insurance. Amanda had Medicaid, but I’m not sure how it all works since she passed. The woman from Child Protective Services said not to worry, that everything will work out, but I know better.
Doctors have co-pays.
Hospitals have stupid expensive co-pays.
I’m looking at thousands of dollars I don’t have, all to support a baby I wasn’t prepared for. I can’t even work over time because the way the ranch makes money is by selling cows and I only had one calf born this year.
On top of it all, Layla is still ignoring me. Her apartment has been cleaned out and rented to someone new and no one will give me the forwarding address. Not even her aunt, who made it more than clear she didn’t appreciate me showing up at the office unannounced.
I sag onto my worn leather couch and attempt to watch something on TV, but nothing holds my attention. I’m dog tired from working the ranch and then going to check on Bryson, but my mind won’t give me a minute’s peace.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her face. Her heart breaking over and over again. I don’t know if my memories are becoming clearer as time goes on or if my mind has started filling in the blanks with new micro-details about how that day went down, but it sucks. My nightmares, those are so intense I can’t sleep unless I black out.
Every breath hurts, every movement, even something as simple as getting out of bed in the morning, is a struggle. The guilt of how I treated Amanda before she died eats me alive, worrying about Bryson chips away at my soul, and any part of me that’s still kicking drowns, wondering about Layla and what could have been had I not been such a jerk. The only thing that helps numb the suckiness that has become my life is whiskey.
I grab the bottle of Jack on the end table. I have them everywhere. Not on purpose, they just seem to show up. Beside the toilet. In my bed. Under the table. It’s like I have a whiskey fairy, leaving me gifts until I finally give into temptation at the end of the night.
I take a swallow of the amber liquid, then chase it down with another and another until the pain in my chest doesn’t hurt quite as much. Eventually my eyes feel heavy. I close them, hoping I drift off into a dark hole of nothingness and not another nightmare about Layla moving on, but my sleep is interrupted by a banging.
I groan and open my eyes. There’s only one person I want to see and she doesn’t knock, let alone bang. No. She’d waltz in and make herself at home because that’s what this place was supposed to be. Her home.
Until I fucked it up.
“Dude.” Landon gives me a once over and frowns. I take a sip of the bottle the whiskey fairy placed in my hand, and his lips turn down further. “You look like shit.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” I turn, leaving the door behind me open, and fall back onto the couch. I close my eyes, knowing Landon is silently judging me for the overflowing trash, leftover takeout containers, and dirty dishes.
“Where the fuck have you been, man?” He slides a basket of laundry out of the recliner and takes its place.
He waits for me to respond. I wait for him to leave. One of us is going to lose. Chances are it’ll be me because I can only sit with my eyes closed for so long before Layla crosses my mind. I don’t want to think about her, so I open them and take another sip. “Busy.”
He grabs a sock from the basket and balls it up, then throws it at me. “Too busy for your friends?”
Too busy. Too tired. Too everything. I don’t have the energy to laugh and pretend like the world is all sunshine and rainbows. I’ve got a kid who’s bilirubin won’t level out and has been under blue lights for weeks, so I can’t touch him. A farm hand that’s getting pissed because my head isn’t in the game any more. An overbearing mother who says she’s worried about me. And a girlfriend who won’t call me back.
Ex-girlfriend.
“Josh!”
“What?” I yell, losing all control for the millionth time today. I don’t have highs anymore, just lows and reds. Reds that make me yell and lose my shit for no apparent reason. Sorry, old friends. “What do you want from me, Landon?”
Landon takes my attitude in stride. He doesn’t raise his voice, or even a hand at me. He crosses his arms, eyes narrowing into slits. “I want to know what is happening. This…” He gestures to the disaster that is me and my home. “This isn’t you, man.”
“I don’t know where to start.” I lift the bottle to my lips again, but it’s empty. Fucking Whiskey Fairy. “How about, Amanda is dead. She bled out or something. It’s all fuzzy to me, but she’s dead.”
“Sure that sucks, but I thought you didn’t like the woman.”
“That’s besides the point.” My hands shake. I haven’t told anyone besides Mom what’s going on. Maybe that’s why I’m so strung out. I need someone in my corner to remind me that I’ve got his and everything will be okay. Mom is great, but that’s her job. To tell me what I want to hear. “I found out the kid was mine the night I lost Layla. She kept pressuring me into a conversation I wasn’t ready to have and I snapped. I said shit I can’t take back and now she’s gone.”
Landon is quiet for a beat. He leans forward onto his elbows and sighs. “Tell me how I can help.”
“I don’t know.” I drop my face into my hands because that’s the million dollar question. How can anyone help? Amanda’s sister has met me at the NICU, told me time and time again how grateful she is that I stepped up. That she wasn’t ready to be a mother. Told me to say the word and she’d help me however she can.
But what can you do for a baby stuck in a plastic box with wires sticking out of him?
How can you teach him how to eat so he doesn’t need a feeding tube anymore?
You can’t. I can’t do anything but sit back and watch. Waiting for either good news or bad. Every day I drive to the hospital and prepare myself for the worst. I’ve seen babies who seemed fine take a turn for the worst in a split second.
Families are crushed and sometimes ripped apart. Nurses yelled at for not doing enough when in reality they live and breathe these babies.
“Tell you what.” Landon slaps his hands on his thighs then stands. “ Hattie’s birthday is in a few weeks. Let’s turn it into a Chuggies for Huggies.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
Landon grabs the empty whiskey bottle from my h
and and another from the end table. He walks to the kitchen, tosses them in the trash, then looks around. “It’s no biggie, man. People come and drink on my dime half the time anyway. At least they’ll be doing something good for a change.”
He smirks and starts grabbing Chinese take out boxes I should have tossed last week. “As for Layla, I’ve got a plan.”
Present Day
I don’t know why I’m coming back. I mean, I miss Josh. I miss him more than I can even begin to explain, but I don’t want to see him.
Not for one minute.
I put myself out there back in December. I was willing to risk losing my family to be with him because I believed in us. And what did Josh do?
He shut me out.
Pushed me away.
Did he try to call and take back what he said? Of course. But he didn’t just break my heart, he broke my trust. I can’t believe him anymore when he says he’s going to do something. And what’s a relationship without trust?
So, even though it kills me, I don’t listen to the voicemails. I don’t return the text messages. I stopped looking at pictures. I locked everything that has to do with us in a box and threw away the key.
The only reason I’ve agreed to come back to this godforsaken town is because Hattie insisted that Josh hasn’t been coming around. Every day gets easier, but I don’t know if I can keep my resolve if I see his face again.
“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. Two months is just too long.” Hattie squeezes me tight when I finally arrive. It feels so good to be back. Like a piece of me that was missing has finally been found.
Landon comes up and joins in the hug too. It’s a little strange because we aren’t affectionate, but it makes me feel missed. I like it. “Hey, pretty girl, long time no see.”
I smile, more nervous than excited, but try to focus on the moment. I’m here with my friends. Celebrating Hattie's birthday.
Tonight is going to be just what I need. A good time with good people, enough alcohol to push my feelings away, and… diapers?
I point to the mini mountain of diapers stacked on the kitchen table and frown. “Um… is there something you haven’t told me?”
Hattie laughs and throws her arm over my shoulder. “Yes, but now isn’t the time.”
Two months.
Two months have passed since I last saw Layla, and my life has spiraled into one big clusterfuck. I had six cows die this week. They found some lantana and by the time I realized what had happened it was too late. That’s roughly thirty-thousand dollars, gone.
And then, there’s Bryson. He is officially a Thomas, with official insurance, that officially requires a minimum of a five thousand dollar co-pay for everything that’s been done so far. The hospital offered a payment plan, but that’s still a shit ton of money I don’t have and medical bankruptcy isn’t an option.
On the bright side, if everything goes well this weekend, Bryson will be discharged on Monday.
I’m fucking terrified.
He’s barely four pounds, too tiny to fit in normal preemie clothes. He needs special diapers and expensive formula and pacifiers. All of which I can handle, but I’ve grown used to the annoying beep of his heart monitor. What happens if his lungs aren’t as strong as we think they are and he stops breathing?
What if he rolls over in his sleep and chokes himself?
I’m not worried about screwing up. No new parent knows what they’re doing. They wing every decision and hope for the best. I’m petrified of the unknown, of the anomalies that are preemie babies that I don’t know how to prepare for.
Maybe that’s why I’m sitting in my truck, at a party I inadvertently hijacked, struggling to break the seal on a bottle of Jack Daniels.
That, and I’m about to see Layla again.
There’s a twisting feeling in the pit of my stomach, so I chase it away with a shot. The liquid burns as it goes down, but it’s a familiar burn. One I’ve gotten too used to over the past two months. When I don’t feel the worry-knot anymore, I put the cap back on the bottle.
It’s now or never.
I slip around the backside of the house, careful not to draw any attention to myself. I want to find Layla. Watch her for a few minutes. See if she’s on the defense or having a good time. Her mood directly affects how the night is going to go.
I find her on the back patio next to Hattie, beautiful as ever. I’m so transfixed by her, I don’t see the trash can to my left. I bump into it and mutter under my breath, while trying to keep it upright so beer cans don’t spill everywhere and blow my cover.
Layla’s brows push together as her gaze moves from Hattie over to me. What’s left of her smile falls from her face. She drops her drink and runs into the house.
Every cell in my body is screaming at me to chase after her. I don’t think I could have stopped my feet from following her if I wanted to. My heart pounds in my ears when I reach the bathroom door she’s hiding behind. Hattie must have left the bedroom unlocked, just in case something like this happened.
“Layla.” I set my palm on the door, too nervous to pound on it lest I scare her or piss her off. I’m walking on thin ice as it is. I don’t need anything else stacking up against me tonight. “We need to talk.”
The door rips open and I almost fall forward from the sudden change in balance. Wet trails of mascara run down Layla’s cheeks. If life hadn’t gutted me before, it has now. I took this beautiful, strong woman and broke her. Even if it was an accident, her pain is my fault.
Layla’s face pinches together, her sadness morphing into something darker. She balls her fist and punches me in the stomach.
It doesn’t hurt, but I pretend it does and double over. It’s a dick move, but I play the sympathy card. What can I say? I’m buzzed and need to break the ice between us. If faking that she’s hurt me is the way to go, then so be it. I groan, covering my stomach.
“I’m sorry.” Layla throws her arms around me and cries into my shoulder. She grabs my shirt, like she’s scared I’ll disappear and whispers, “I'm so confused. I don’t know how to feel right now.”
I wrap my arms around her. She smells amazing, like warm summer nights and bonfire smoke. “Trust me. I get it. Most days, I’m a mess. Yelling at everyone. Shutting myself in a dark room. I even ate a pint of Rocky Road ice cream, and I’m lactose intolerant.”
Layla giggles. I smile for the first time in weeks. This feels right, her and I, but I need to get everything out in the open. The longer I wait, the more I risk someone else spilling the beans about Bryson. “Baby, I—“
Layla jolts back, her hands pressing against my chest, shoving me away. “No. You don’t get to call me baby. You don’t have that right anymore.”
My jaw ticks. There’s a burn in my throat that I choke down. I refuse to let her see the tears that are on the brink of escaping. I need to support her, make her realize how sorry I am, not be a blubbering fool who needs comforting. Even if that’s all I want, to be in her arms again.
Layla sits on the lid of the toilet, her face buried in her hands. I close the door and kneel in front of her, desperate for forgiveness, but I’m at a loss for words.
What is there to say to someone whose heart you’ve shattered?
Especially when I know her pain. I live with it every day.
She sniffles, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “What happened between us? One minute everything was great, and the next it all blew up in my face.”
I sit back on my feet. This is my chance to lay it all on the line. The opening I need to explain myself, but I can’t find the words.
“I hate you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but I know he heard me. My words bite into him like a viper, the sting they left written on his face, and I wish I could take them back because they are a lie.
I don’t hate Josh. I think I love him, and that’s the problem. He doesn’t know, which is another problem. He can’t know.
Ever.
He can’t know how
much he’s hurt me. How often I cry myself to sleep. How every single night I fight with myself to return his calls and read his messages.
“Baby,” he says so quietly, I almost miss it.
Baby.
That word cuts more than he knows. It cuts through the walls, and the pain, and the tears. That single word makes me want to try again and find comfort in his arms.
His eyes look up at me, pleading; there’s so much pain and sorrow in them. I feel myself caving, giving into the heartache. I want to forgive Josh for the way he talked to me, but I think about my dad and how he treats Mom the same way. There're so many secrets and lies within their life, a spider wouldn’t know how to walk on that web.
All I can think about when I remember that night is, that’s how it starts. If I let Josh’s actions slide, like they’re no big deal, he’ll do it again. Each let down worse than the last, each secret more important than the one before.
I didn’t escape a loveless marriage with Ashley to be in a relationship with a duplicitous jerk.
I walk past Josh without waiting for him to create an excuse to cover the truth and head towards the kitchen. A wave of nausea hits me in the face. I pause in the shadow of the doorway for a moment to catch my breath and force my nerves back down.
I did it. I stood my ground.
Kneeling on the bathroom floor, I watch Layla walk out of my life. Again. My stomach contracts so violently I barely have time to lift the toilet seat. Remnants of a burrito and most of the Jack I drank splatters inside the porcelain bowl. I heave again then once more until my stomach is empty.
Damn nerves.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand then wash them in the sink. Glancing in the mirror, I look like shit. The bags under my eyes are as dark as night. My skin’s ghostly white compared to the sun-kissed tan it’s always been.
