Reviving Haven

by CORY CYR

  So now, just like every other resident in this fucking place, I am writing my deepest inner feelings in a damn book. In a motherfucking journal. I feel like a chick.

  All I know is that once I’m out of here clean and sober, I’m going to beg more than I have ever begged before for Haven to take me back. Up until I came here, I never prayed—ever. It’s not that I don’t believe in God, but I choose to be responsible for my own life. I never felt that I had anything that important to bother God with it. But I have messed up so badly with the woman I love that I can’t do this alone, so I pray. I pray to God she’ll forgive me and that she’ll take me back. And I pray that she’ll love me. She made it clear that she doesn’t, but that’s okay because I love her enough for both of us.

  *****

  Finally, day 120 has finally arrived. This will be my last entry. Okay, so maybe it’s not as girly as I thought, you know, writing your feelings down. Of course, now I know why Haven wanted to kill me when she realized I took her journal. I swear to God, if anyone ever reads mine, I will be classified on Google as having a vagina. My rep will be slaughtered. I’m seriously thinking of burning these punk ass ledgers when I leave, that way, I can rest assure that I won’t find them on eBay someday. I have to quit writing now.

  Oh, great joy, my mother and Keenan are here.

  “You ready, man?” Keenan says, slapping me on the back.

  “Ready and willing to get the fuck out of here, take me home, please,” I reply, chuckling in my relief.

  My mother looks uncomfortable and more rigid than normal. I glance at Keenan. He motions with his head that we need to talk.

  “Mother, why don’t you go grab us some coffee. We’ll meet you outside in the exercise yard. I think Dr. Taylor has some discharge papers I still need to sign,” I say, pressing my hand to her back and pointing her in the right direction.

  She doesn’t respond. She just gives me a blank stare as she turns to walk away.

  “You look really good, Latch,” Keenan says as we stroll outside.

  “I feel good, at least physically. Have you talked to Haven?” I ask anxiously.

  Keenan’s expression turns grim.

  “Latch, sit down. I need to tell you something.” He pauses. “Haven’s gone,” Keenan says as he sits at one of the picnic tables.

  I blink a few times, not understanding.

  “What do you mean, gone?” I ask.

  “She moved, sold the bookstore. It’s like she’s vanished,” he replies, looking down.

  “What did Weezie say?” I ask, anger building.

  “Not much. The subject is taboo. Trust me, man, I’ve tried. I knew you’d be crazy when you found out. I didn’t want to tell you,” Keenan says, picking at the paint peeling on the table where he sits.

  “How long ago did this happen?” I ask desperately, trying not to raise my voice. All I need are the orderlies showing up and Dr. Taylor not discharging me after all.

  “From what I gather, I think she left a few weeks after you came here,” Keenan replies guiltily.

  “And you didn’t think to fucking tell me when you came a month ago? What the fuck, Keenan. You’ve been here almost every day and we’ve talked on the phone for weeks. You wait to tell me this now? Fuck!” Now I’m yelling.

  “Latch, you were here to get clean and sober. You couldn’t have left, not without repercussions from your lawyers. Staying here was part of the deal, and you had no choice unless you wanted that prick filing charges. No amount of money would have helped your case. This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew how you’d react. I’m sorry, but I did it for you,” Keenan says, standing up.

  “I’m going to find her.” I speak with absolute conviction.

  “I know you are, and I’ll do what I can. But I’m telling you, she made sure to cover her tracks and no one is talking,” Keenan looks at the mountains. “Latch, I need to tell you something else.”

  “Jesus Christ, what now?” I ask, irritated to all hell.

  “About your mother—I think you should know that she and Haven had words at the gala,” he says as I glare at Keenan. This is yet another thing he kept from me.

  “What the fuck do you mean words?” I know exactly what he means. My mother is brutally opinionated, which isn’t always pleasant or welcomed. I had crossed swords with her before.

  “I can’t say for sure. I wasn’t privy to the entire conversation, but I did hear enough to get really pissed off at your mom. I rescued Haven from her. I’ll go out on a limb and say she chastised Haven about the age difference. I’m also inclined to believe it’s how Jared got an invitation. Let’s be honest, Latch, your mother has a tendency to try to insert herself into every aspect of your life. I was extremely shocked that she had no idea about the drugs. Honestly, I thought she knew everything.” Keenan turns, his frown fixed at the thought of how I had duped everyone.

  I’m feeling extremely agitated. My mother had tried to sabotage my relationship, which was absurd since I was fully capable of ruining it all by myself. Speaking of the devil, here she is with the coffee. I take mine, and as I look at her, I pour it out. She looks over at Keenan as he takes a sip, his eyes to the ground.

  “I’m so sorry, Lachlan,” my mother says as she tries to embrace me. I step away. She’s aware I’ve been told—everything.

  “Mother, regardless of what you think about Haven, I love her. I can’t be without her. I don’t want to be without her. You think I just went through four months of hell just for myself? It was for her too, Mother, because it’s my chance at redemption. It’s my only hope for a life with her.” I glare at her through narrowed eyes. “You’ll either accept the woman I love, or you’ll lose the son you love. If you think I’m being cruel, just remember, I learned from the best.” I crumple up my empty coffee cup and toss it in the trash. I nod toward Keenan.

  “We’re out of here.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Haven

  “Mom,” I yell, tossing the laundry basket on my bed.

  “Yeah, honey?” my mom replies, poking her head into my room.

  “I think I’m going to go to the outlet mall for a few hours. I need clothes. Nothing fits because I’m fat.” I frown as I fold my laundry.

  “You’re not fat, Haven. You’re pregnant, for God’s sake.” My mom snickers at my “growing” predicament and me.

  Okay, so maybe I’m not fat, but at seven months, I am huge. I had to ask my new OBGYN, Dr. Carlson, twice, if she was positive that I’m not having twins. She was sure. She had run a test when I was five months to check for possible abnormalities. So far, so good, and I am told that my baby is healthy and so am I. I yearn for the days of sleeping on my stomach again; I’m so uncomfortable now, and I’m not sure if I’m going to make it through the next two months.

  Weezie has been flying down every other weekend since I moved, but she keeps the conversation limited when it comes to Latch. Keenan always keeps Weezie updated on his recovery. I’m sure he hopes the information will filter down to me. I really do miss Latch. Sometimes I google him so I can look at all the photographs. There’s only one picture of us. It had been taken at the gala, a night I was still trying to forget. I got rid of my old cell phone, so I no longer have the photo of him that I took with my phone.

  I have been keeping a calendar, marking off the days of Latch’s rehab stay. He completed his rehab six days ago. It’s only a matter of time before I see him on Google enjoying his brand new life with a brand new woman. I can’t fault him for it. I have chosen to let him go and raise our child by myself. I want to be happy for him, but it hurts in my heart. I always had doubts about him actually loving me because he’d never been in love, so how could he know? Maybe I’d just been someone he wanted because I kept pushing him away. We always want what we can’t have. I tried to run from him, but running from Latch was like being in quick sand—the more you struggled to get away, the harder you sank.

  Once Latch begins his new sober life, I wi
ll be just a memory to him. I’m blessed because I will always have our child to remind me of what we had and how much I had given up for Latch. At night, sometimes I remember how his lips felt on mine. How he whispered leannán in my ear, and how much I loved him being inside me. Boy, do I miss the sex. After Latch, my battery boy toy didn’t even come close— at all. I miss the foreplay. And even though Weezie would most likely swallow her tongue if I confessed this, I miss cock—I miss his cock. I assume all this pent up sexual frustration is due to my pregnancy. My hormones are going ballistic. Pregnancy is weird. As big as I feel, I’m horny. Sex is all I can think about, maybe I need a bigger vibrator.

  I throw on some black stretch pants and one of my maternity tops. I cringe as I look at myself, thinking my days of pencil skirts are over. I thought I had big boobs before, but now they’re ginormous. I so despise maternity bras. Yeah, they’re functional, but extremely unattractive. When I get to the mall, maybe I can find a bra that doesn’t scream sexless and old forever. I brush out my hair and pull it into a ponytail. One thing about pregnancy though—my skin is flawless. That glow they talk about is definitely true. I grab my purse and run downstairs.

  “Dad, is it okay if I use the car for a few hours?” I ask as I grab the keys off the kitchen bar.

  My dad is propped in front of the TV watching football. He’s not going anywhere.

  “Remember, the roads are slick from the rain—be careful,” he replies, not looking up from the sofa.

  I shake my head, smiling. I only hope their great parenting gene rubs off on me. As I drive to the mall, my thoughts fill with Latch. I’m convinced the lack of sex and out of whack hormones have caused me to fixate on him more than normal. He’s in my thoughts twenty-four-seven, even in my dreams. I groan. I know now, without any doubt, that what I feel for Latch is true, unbridled love with a boatload of lust. I can never see myself having those feelings for anyone else.

  At least I was having his child, our child. Latch had given me the greatest gift.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I end up staying at the mall for four hours. Now I’m exhausted and my feet are killing me. I call my mom before I leave the mall and tell her that I’ve bought out the store and I’m on my way home. My mom sounds odd when I call. Distracted.

  Twenty minutes later, I pull into the drive and struggle with all my bags. I throw open the front door, letting the packages fall to the floor. My mom comes out to help me. She’s acting strangely and looks agitated.

  As she bends down to pick up the bags, she whispers, “You should have told him, Haven.”

  She takes the bags and walks upstairs, leaving me to ponder her cryptic message. I don’t have long to wait to find out what she means. His height fills the doorway to the den. My purse falls out of my hands as our eyes meet. I swallow hard as I take him in. Latch looks amazing, healthy and perfect. Blue jeans mold his muscular thighs. A dark gray turtleneck stretches across his chest. A black knit cap is pulled over his hair just enough that his curls fray out. His eyes are clear and bright. His cheeks are tinted from the cold and he’s kept the beard. Damn, he looks hot! I swallow hard again. My cheeks begin to burn. He scrutinizes me from top to bottom. Guilt rocks me to my foundation. Now I’m scared and panicking big time. He found me, and now he knows everything.

  “How . . . how did you find me?” I ask, my voice shaking.

  “My mother—she found you.” His eyes don’t look at my face but rather my expanded belly.

  “Why would your mother bother to tell you anything in regards to me?” I ask defensively.

  “I know about the gala, Haven.” His eyes meet mine. “I know what she said to you.” His voice is apologetic.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I reply nervously, wondering if his mother knows about the baby.

  “It does matter. It matters to me. I gave her an ultimatum. Since she still had that private investigator on retainer, finding you was easy. I know you love to run, but honestly, Haven, you’re not very good at it,” he says as his lips curve into a semi-frown.

  “Why did you come here, Latch?” I ask.

  “You’re having a baby?” he asks, his face an unreadable mask, but his eyes a piercing greenish blue that betray his emotions.

  His look still shakes me to my core. My body hasn’t forgotten—it still senses him, it still wants him. A hundred thoughts are racing through my head all at once. I don’t know how I should respond. What do I say? My initial reaction is to bolt, as usual, but I don’t think I can wobble very far at seven months along. Latch came here for me. He didn’t even know that I was pregnant. He came here just for me.

  He came for me.

  I have no idea what possesses me just to blurt it out. “No—we’re having a baby,” I say in a hushed tone, almost afraid for him to hear it.

  Latch’s face changes almost immediately from stoic to stunned. He stands there for a moment, then steps forward. I step back, my hands shaking. His face flashes regret.

  “I will never hurt you, leannán, never again. I swear,” he says softly.

  I almost lose it as he says that one word. My sex clenches hard. It takes me by surprise, but it has been so long.

  “But you told me . . . you said . . .” he sputters in confusion.

  “I guess they were wrong and that there was always a chance, no matter how slim. It was as big of a shock for me as it is for you,” I state, looking into his face. He’s staring at me, watching me with eyes wide with disbelief.

  “Did you know before I went into rehab?” he enquires.

  “Yes,” I answer regrettably. “I didn’t want to tie you down with a child. What you were going through . . . you had enough to deal with. I’m sorry. I wish things had been different and I could have told you. I wish for a lot of things.” I glance around. My parents are noticeably absent.

  “I asked them if I could talk to you alone. I like them, Haven. They seem nice. You obviously didn’t tell them about us, and maybe that’s a good thing.” Latch looks at me pensively.

  “The only thing I ever told them was that you were the love of my life, and that things were complicated.” I can barely speak the words. I’m not even sure he hears what I just admitted to him.

  “Do you love me, Haven?” Latch’s voice cracks.

  I’m afraid to answer. He’s so breathtakingly beautiful that I can’t trust myself. It would be so easy just to say yes—when I know I should just say no. This child is all that matters.

  “Don’t answer that, Haven. The person you loved never existed. You fell in love with the persona I created. That man, the one who hurt you—I’m not him anymore. I’ll never be that man again. I need you to fall in love with this man,” he says, pointing to himself. Then the lips I miss so much curve into a small smile. “But you need to do it before our baby is born.” He grins.

  He walks back into the den and returns with a file box. He sets it down on the floor next to where I’m standing.

  “I want you to read my journals, the ones I kept in rehab,” Latch says.

  I look at him, my eyes wide with surprise. And since he’s pretty perceptive, then I know he can also see the reservation in them.

  “It’s only fair. I read yours. I want you— No, I need you—to read these. I want you to know how much I really love you and how much regret I have about everything. I’ve changed, but my love for you never has. I loved you then and I love you now. I just need you to read these, please.” His foot nudges the box closer to me.

  “Latch, I’m not sure we can go back—” He stops me mid-sentence, grabbing both my hands with his.

  “I don’t want us to go back; I want us to move forward. Just read the journals. I’ll be at the Inverness Hotel, room 301. Here’s my new phone number—call me. I love you, leannán.” Latch drops both my hands and he places a note with his phone number on it in my palm.

  He glances upstairs and then moves toward the front door. I want so much to reach out and run my fingers across his cheek. As he goes by me,
the scent of deodorant and his own musky smell fills my senses. My breath quickens and my body quivers. I feel a loss as the door closes. And that’s when my parents come barreling down the stairs. My father has that stern dad look while my mom has disappointment written all over her face. I am a pregnant thirty-seven year-old woman about to be reprimanded by my parents.

  “Haven, I’m so upset with you. Why on earth didn’t you tell that man he was going to be a father?” my mom asks.

  “It’s complicated,” I reply succinctly, walking into the den. Both my mom and dad are on my heels.

  “It must not have been that complicated. You did sleep with him,” my dad adds. My face burns bright red.

  “Dad, please. I’m thirty-seven and pregnant. It’s a little too late for the sex talk,” I quip.

  “Evidently,” my dad says, frowning.

  “Now, Richard, that’s neither here nor there. Will this child have a mother and a father?” My mom asks, as her eyes beg.

  “It’s more complicated than that, Mom. You know he’s only twenty-five, right? We have issues, problems. I told you, it’s really complicated. I’m confused. I need to go to my room and think,” I say with an exhausted tone.

  “Everything is always complicated with your generation. If you love this man, then complications be damned.” My mom looks at me, disregarding the age difference. I nod.

  “Then you get married. That’s it,” my dad announces.

  I look at my dad, exasperated with his simple solution. “Really, Dad, are you going to go over to his hotel with a shotgun?” I fold my arms across my chest, but they rest unflatteringly on my rather large baby belly, so I glare at him. Ineffectively, as it seems.