The Driven Series

by Bromberg, K.

  I bite back the flippant comment I’d normally give—how I sure as shit know how to take care of my fucking wife. The exhaustion and the shit with Eddie make it so goddamn tempting, but I’m able to find my restraint. To realize this is Shane in front of me trying to make sure Ry’s okay.

  I lean back in the chair and roll my shoulders, put myself in his shoes. “She’s having a tough go of it, isn’t she?” I meet his gaze. I don’t shy away from it, because I want him to see I understand Rylee needs help.

  “If you’re not going to get her a doctor, then I will,” he states, voice resolute but then throws me for a fucking loop when his eyes well up with tears before he quickly looks down.

  “I’m calling one tomorrow. She asked me for time to try and get through it,” I explain with more patience than I feel. But it’s one of her boys, a part of her family. “But she’s not getting any better so I’m going to get her some help. She’s going to be okay, Shane.”

  “Don’t say that,” he says between clenched teeth. He squeezes his eyes closed and his face transforms. “That’s what they said about my mom. And look what happened to her.” His voice breaks as he delivers the words.

  Fuck. How could I have not seen this coming? How could I have not realized Shane would compare Rylee’s postpartum depression to his mother’s depression? The illness that caused her to take her own life in an overdose of pills. Or the fact he is the one who found her and is forever scarred by the memory.

  “Look at me, Shane.” I pause, waiting for him to lift his head and meet my eyes. The courageous man who walked in here is gone. The broken boy who lost his world when his mom died has replaced him. I scramble to fix it. Him. Use words that won’t do shit but will sound like it. “She will get better.” And I’m not sure if the strong resolve in my voice is to convince him or me. “I am going to have a doctor see her tomorrow. It might take some time, but we’ll get our Rylee back, okay?”

  He stares at me no doubt deciding if he believes me or not. He nods his head slowly as he begins to speak. “Rylee is the only mom I have. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she gets better.”

  I nod my head, the words he doesn’t say are reflected in his eyes: I can’t lose another person.

  I understand that more than you know, kid.

  “That makes two of us.”

  “RY?”

  Colton’s voice shocks me from the darkness of my mind into the blinding light of the patio.

  Everything wars inside me: relief against spite, fear against hope, numbness against pain.

  He stands in the doorway. Vitriol-laced accusations scream in my head but don’t form into words. Can’t. It’s too much effort.

  “You left me.” My voice sounds hollow, unaffected. Numb.

  I missed you like a drowning person misses the air.

  The baby monitor clicks as he sets it on the table. The cushion whooshes as he sits beside me. His eyes give an apology I don’t want to accept.

  “I had to take care of some things, Ry.” He sounds tired. Rough. Something’s going on and yet I can’t find enough energy to care.

  My body begins to hum. The ghost of the panic attack I had when I found out he had left comes back to haunt me. I wring my hands. Try to hold on to my control even though I can feel it slowly slipping away from me.

  I can’t breathe.

  “I went to see Eddie.”

  Air feels like water, slowly filling my lungs with each inhale. Closing over my head and pulling me under.

  “It was the first time he’d surfaced so I had to go.”

  The deeper I fall the more my body begins to burn with heat from the inside out.

  “He won’t be bugging us ever again.”

  I fight back. Break the surface. My lungs heaving for the air his words bring me.

  My eyes open wide and meet his, a moment of clarity amidst this haze.

  “Thank you,” I say, voice hoarse as I try to elicit the emotion to match my words. But I can’t feel. When I don’t want to it’s all I can do, and when I do want to, I can’t.

  I keep my eyes locked on his. Hope they’ll be the lifeline I need to keep me afloat, and sustain this feeling of normalcy for a little longer. The span of time seems to be less and less as the days go on.

  Colton reaches out and runs the back of his hand down the side of my cheek. Tears well. I fight them back. I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out.

  I need help.

  He moves to sit next to me, pulls me in close to him. I try to find comfort, try to use that hum of our bodies touching to tell me I’m still alive. And if I’m alive I can keep treading water until I can get to the edge.

  I close my eyes. A tear slides over. A little piece of me leaving with it.

  “Shane is really worried about you.”

  I saw it in his eyes: the fear, the memories of his mom, the worry. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t reassure him. He saw right through it.

  Guilt. The one constant I feel is back, swims in my head.

  “Your mom. I’m not going to be able to keep her away much longer, Ry. She’s worried.” I am too. I can hear the unspoken words in his voice but don’t have the wherewithal to respond. “I’ve kept her happy with pictures and videos. Telling her you’re sleeping when she calls. She’s going to come up this weekend.”

  “No!” It’s the only show of emotion I can give. The need to keep this under wraps from those who would be disappointed in my failure the most.

  “I’m going to call Dr. Steele then.” His voice is soft but slams into my ears like the harshest of noises.

  “No!” My voice cracks with panic—the word on repeat in my head—as I try to shove away from him. Struggle as he pulls me hard into him to stop my resistance against the idea.

  I fight because I can handle this.

  No, I can’t.

  And because I’m scared. What if I can’t ever find my way back?

  Yes, I can.

  The darkness is so much more tempting than the fight. Less work. Less struggle. But Ace and Colton are worth fighting for. I’m so sick of the dark. So sick of its loneliness. I do the only thing I can: cling onto Colton, my light.

  “I’m holding tight so you can let go, Ryles,” he says into the crown of my head, the heat from his breath warming the cold lingering inside me. “Let go, baby. Deal with what you need to. And just know that Ace and I are here for you when you come back to us. Then we’ll get our little piece of peace.”

  He still loves me.

  He still wants us.

  He’s fighting the fight for me.

  Even when I can’t.

  “HADDIE MUST HAVE CALLED IN the troops.”

  My mother’s laugh is deep and rich through the phone. The concern is there though. I can hear her hiding it.

  But it’s okay. I am too.

  I glance to the extra bedroom where the door is shut and wonder what is taking them so long.

  “You have no idea. She only means well.” Then silence. Fuck. Here we go. “You should have told us, Colton. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re here to help you.” I can hear the hurt in her voice, get that she thinks I didn’t trust her coming into our private life enough to tell her what was going on. And if my own mother feels this way, I’m going to have to steel myself for how Ry’s mom is going to handle this.

  I clear my throat, unsure what to say. “It’s not like that, Mom. It’s complicated.” Tread lightly, Donavan. She’s not intruding; she just wants to be a mom.

  Just like Rylee does.

  “I know it is.” Her voice is softer. Her hurt feelings back in check. Being a mom again—pushing away her hurt to help me deal with mine. “Has the doctor finished talking to her yet?”

  I glance at the door again. “No.”

  “I’m sure she’s just reassuring Rylee. Sometimes when you hear things you don’t want to hear and they’re spoken by someone else, you actually listen to them.”

  “I miss her, Mom.”
>
  God, I sound like such a pussy. You can’t miss someone who is right in fucking front of you twenty-four/seven.

  “Of course you do. You’ve all had a lot of changes over the past few months.”

  “Changes?” I snort and then press a kiss to the top of Ace’s head. Use him to calm me. “I feel like we’ve had the shit beat out of us so much in the past month I’m surprised we’re not black and blue.” Sarcasm she doesn’t deserve is thick in my voice.

  “You’re only alive if you bruise,” she says softly.

  Then I must be thriving.

  “Yeah.” I sigh. My eyes are back on the door but her comment sticks in my mind.

  “You can’t do this all yourself, son. Let all of us help you. We’re setting up a schedule so we can come and—”

  “I don’t know about that, Mom. I appreciate it, but Rylee—”

  “Sorry. This is what family does. We rally the troops and take care of our own,” she says, the no-nonsense tone in her voice taking me back twenty years to when I was a punk kid getting reprimanded. “You don’t have a choice. Ry’s mom, Quinlan, Haddie, and I will take shifts if need be. Anything it takes. And you’ll take the help and not argue. Understood?”

  Yep. Right back there to being ten and getting caught trying to light firecrackers in the backyard.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you need the break too. You’ll burn yourself out. A proud man is a good man. But he can also be a stupid one.”

  I can’t help the laugh that falls from my mouth. My blunt mother telling me like it is. One of very few women who can.

  “Mom, I have to go,” I say as the door opens.

  “Let me know what she says so I can let everyone know and—”

  I hang up the phone. Cut her off. I need to know.

  “Dr. Steele?”

  “Walk me out, please?” she asks.

  “Sure.” We head to the front door. This doesn’t sound good. My dread builds with each footstep. My heart is in my throat by the time we walk outside and shut the door behind us.

  “He is an adorable little guy, isn’t he?” she says as she focuses on Ace when all I want her to do is tell me about Rylee.

  “Doc?” I finally ask, hoping she’ll have pity on me.

  “You were right to call me, Colton.” The breath I’m holding burns in my lungs. “She’s definitely struggling with more than the typical baby blues.”

  I feel a flicker of relief. I don’t know why. She hasn’t said she’s going to be okay, but at least I’ll know the beast we’re facing.

  “Okay, so what do I need to do for her?” Something. Anything. I’m a guy. I need to fix things and this not being able to fix Rylee is fucking me up.

  She smiles softly at me. “To be honest, there’s no clear-cut answer here. I talked with Rylee. Explained how she’s not alone. That a lot of women go through this and that getting help does not mean she’s failing as a mother.” She reaches out and plays with Ace’s hand as she continues. “Sometimes, postpartum depression is triggered by a sequence of events that seems out of the person’s control. Add in the rush of hormones. Then there’s the pressure of trying to get a newborn—who couldn’t care less about a schedule—to be on a schedule because every book you’ve read says that’s what you should be doing or you’re not doing it right. All of those combined are like the perfect storm of uncontrolled chaos. In Rylee’s case, her mind has internalized it all and has fallen into a little downward dip of depression.”

  I blow out a breath, hear her words and know it’s not my fault. But I’m a guy so I blame myself nonetheless. “Is she going to be okay?”

  She nods. “I’ve written a prescription for some anti-depressants and—”

  “Can she still nurse?” I ask, knowing that nursing is the only time she feels somewhat connected to Ace.

  “Yes. There is much debate on this. In my opinion the trade-off is worth it: getting Rylee on the road to recovery versus a trace of the drugs passed on through the milk.”

  “Okay.”

  “She’s a fighter, Colton. Get her out in the fresh air. A walk on the beach. A drive in the car. Anything you can think of doing to get her up and about without triggering her panic attacks.”

  I chuckle. She does realize who we are, right? Did she forget there’s a reason she’s making a house call and we’re not going to her office?

  “I know. It’s difficult in . . . your situation, but the more stimuli, the better.”

  “Thanks,” I say quietly. “I appreciate you making the house call.”

  “She’s going to be fine, Colton. She just needs a little time. It’s not going to happen overnight. The drugs take some time to take effect, so be patient like you’ve been so far, and soon enough you’ll have your wife back.”

  The words cause my heart to pound. Fucking stupid since she’s been here all along. And yet my pulse is racing at the mere thought of getting my best friend back. Hearing her laughter. Watching her eyes light up with joy over staring at Ace. Listening to her sing off key to her beloved Matchbox Twenty. It’s the little things I miss. The day-to-day. The insignificant.

  Desperate may not be something a man should wear but fuck if I’m not swathed in it wanting her to come back to me.

  After the gates close behind Dr. Steele, I head inside, uncertain which Rylee I’m going to find: The fighter I’ve grown to admire or the lost woman I can’t even recognize.

  “Let’s go, little man. Let’s see if we can make your momma smile.”

  FADING IN.

  My moments with Ace, the ones I can feel, I try to hold tight to them. Try to use them to keep me afloat. Soak them in.

  A text from Colton: Photograph by Ed Sheeran.

  A rush of warmth. A flash of happy. The recollection of that night. Of sweetness. A picture frame waiting to be filled. Memories to make.

  Panic I won’t be able to make it. A struggle to hold on to the good from the song, and not the bad. Please help me hold on to the good.

  Falling out.

  Thoughts come. Thoughts go.

  The house a constant revolving door: my mom, Haddie, Dorothea, Quinlan. Frustrating me. Reviving me. Holding me up so I can fall, but not be alone when I do.

  My mom. Opening blinds. Zipping through the house like Mary Poppins infusing her cheer to try and make me smile. Except I can’t smile. I can’t feel anything. Watching her hold Ace, coo over him, connecting with him should make me happy, jealous—anything—and yet I feel absolutely nothing.

  The clock ticks. Time in Ace’s life I can’t get back.

  My Colton. I watch him with Ace. Day after day. Night after night. Moments I capture, file away, and pray can keep. Colton asleep with Ace on his chest, tiny fingers curled against his muscles. Made-up lullabies that dig into the fog and make me feel something . . . lighter. A flicker of warmth. A strand of hope. A moment I can embrace.

  Before the lead curtain falls again.

  Seconds spent.

  A tug of war of inner wills.

  Hours gone.

  And every night, Colton pulls me against him as we lie in bed and murmurs in my ear the wonderful memories we still have to make to put in our picture frame. The warmth of his body against mine is his subtle reminder to his wife, who is still lost in her own mind, that she’s not alone.

  Days lost.

  “Teddy called today,” Colton says. The ocean breeze is cool. The soothing surge from Ace nursing a little stronger today. The fog a little lighter.

  “Hmm?” Afraid to hope. Wanting to know but fearing the worst.

  “The board voted to keep him on as director.” An unexpected flutter. A tinge of excitement. “You’ll be reinstated if you choose to go back to work after your maternity leave.”

  A deep breath in. Exhale out.

  “Mm-hmm.” A bit of inflection.

  Colton’s smile at my response. I love his smile. The feel of Ace’s hand kneading my breast. I love his little hands. A glimpse of hope.

>   A pile of jumbled jigsaw pieces. Two finally fitting together.

  A text from Colton: I’ll Follow You by Jon McLaughlin

  He tries so hard to keep me above the fray. To do anything to help me hold on a little longer than last time. A message to tell me I’m not alone. That it’s okay.

  A pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel.

  You can do this.

  Change is never easy.

  Fight to hold on.

  Fight to let go.

  Fight because they’re your whole world.

  “I STILL CAN’T GET OVER it.”

  “Get over what?” I ask as I look from where Ace is passed out on my chest—mouth open, hands up, legs apart. Content as fuck. And thankfully asleep since he’s been running me ragged.

  “You. A dad.” Becks chuckles with a shake of his head.

  “Yeah well, he looks sweet right now . . . but don’t let him fool you. He’s a stubborn little cuss. He had me up to my elbows in shit earlier. Not a pretty sight.” Fucking disgusting. But shit, I’d do it a hundred more times if I could be rewarded by the soft smile on Rylee’s face when I looked up and saw her standing in the doorway watching us.

  Becks throws his head back and laughs. “Fuck. I would have paid to see that.”

  “No. You wouldn’t,” I deadpan, “but you do what you have to do.”

  Becks nods his head and lifts his chin toward the pool deck where Rylee is reading. Baby steps. Tiny bits of her returning to me. “Haddie says she’s doing better?”

  “One step forward. Three back.” I shrug. “But at least we’re moving, right? Just trying to figure out our new kind of normal or some shit like that.”

  “And you’re hanging in there?”

  “Most days,” I say with a laugh. “But God I’d kill to get on the track. I need some speed to clear my head and give me a chance to not think for a bit.”

  “Not thinking is what you do best. You don’t need to hit the track for that.”

  “Fuck off,” I say with a laugh. And regardless of my response, I welcome the dig. Need a bit of our typical banter to get a little part of my normal.