by Mj Fields
I can’t help laughing at her, and then I want to lash out and tell her I didn’t come for her. However, I force myself to think about the fucking mission.
“My clothes are in your dryer.”
“I don’t give a damn. Get out of our house.”
“You do know, you and I have lots more to talk about,” I tell her, throwing on the sweatshirt.
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“I have a hell of a lot to say to you,” I snarl as I walk toward the elevator. “I’ll be back to finish this up, because you don’t want to do it the other way.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, princess, it’s a fucking promise.”
“You do what you need to do, and I’ll do what I need to do. And, Luke, I need to take care of my children, just like I have been for months.”
“You could’ve had help, Ava. They are dying to help you. But you...” I stop what I am about to say and get in the elevator. “We are far from done here.”
“Go home, Luke. I don’t need you.”
“You need help.”
“I need nothing you are offering,” she tells me as the gate closes.
“I’m not offering, Ava. I’m here until this is finished.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
I’m sorry. - J. Finch
AVA
As soon as the elevator door closes, I run to the emergency exit and deadbolt it. I will call a locksmith tomorrow and have it all locked up securely. He will not get in here again. Then I am booking a flight to somewhere. Maybe Europe. England. Yes, I will take the babies to see where their father grew up.
But Chance can’t fly. It hurts his ears.
Then I will take a boat.
Fucking Titanic. I hate that movie. I can’t take a damn boat.
I am living in hell. I am living in hell, trying to protect two angels.
I hate him. I hate him so much that I said vile things to hurt him.
I thought I loved him once, and tonight, what was he doing, pouring his heart out to me to get laid? Who the hell does he think he is? Who!
“I need you, T. I need you so fucking bad,” I pray to the only god I know. “Everyone is out to take them away from me, and no one, not one person, understands. You do, though. You do, Thomas, and...” I stop because, in my fear, I am getting angry at him, and being angry at him leads to nothing but hurt in my heart. He did everything to love and protect me. I would do the same for my kids.
Figure out what he wants, Ava—what he will settle for—and give it to him. Then he will go away. He always does.
Casey is on a much needed vacation, and I fired the help Mom hired, not wanting anyone taking care of what’s mine. Now, though, I feel like maybe Luke will stay away if other people were around.
I am exhausted, so tired, but I can’t sleep. However, if I don’t sleep, I won’t be able to show Luke that I can do this.
Fucking exhausting. All these people are exhausting.
Why do they do this to me? Why does everyone hate me so much that they try to make me feel like I have to take care of them; worry about their feelings getting hurt?
Thanksgiving, Dad was so pissed at me. He was so damn pissed that he gave Tessa the phone.
Tessa. Would she help me? She knows what it’s like to lose someone and want to run away. Hell, she did run away. She didn’t have anything to hide, though.
Hope starts to stir, and I take a few breaths, trying to calm myself before getting up to feed her, when the oven timer goes off.
Dammit!
I run out and turn it off. Then I open the oven door so the pizza doesn’t burn before running back, grabbing Hope from her crib, and bringing her into my room to feed her.
She’s still half-asleep, her eyes fluttering like she’s trying to wake up to tell me something. As soon as she starts to get milk, though, she’s out. My beautiful girl is peacefully finding rest.
Chance doesn’t wake up, but I know that he needs to eat, even if he doesn’t know it.
I hold him a little tighter, a little closer, and I look at him as tears fall down my face. If Luke finds out and decides he wants to be part of his life after all these months, then I will miss so much of his life. I will miss his smiles, his coos, his little talks where I have no idea what he is trying to say to me, but I know he’s saying something important. He’s my thinker, my talker, my little man. Mine, not Luke’s.
I look over at Hope asleep in her crib. She is so blissfully peaceful. She’s the dreamer, so happy all the time. The only time she gets upset is if she has a dirty diaper. Our little princess doesn’t like to be dirty.
Dirty.
I didn’t shower for three days because I have been too busy, and it isn’t like I plan on going anywhere. No, it’s not like me, but I didn’t want laundry piled up, or dirty bottles, even though I don’t use many since they breastfeed ninety percent of the time.
Then he showed up and threw me in the shower. And now he thinks I can’t take care of myself, and if I can’t take care of myself, I bet he thinks I am neglectful to the babies. I am anything but! They are my everything, and each other’s everything.
I have to make this work to their benefit. I don’t owe him a damn thing, and I won’t ask him for anything but to be left alone.
CHAPTER NINE
I can keep pretending to be happy...right? - A. Leanard
LUKE
Over the next two days, my head is so fucked up that I can’t even go to her. If I did, I would have come in like a storm and destroyed her.
She wasted her prayers on me? Wasted? I was a waste to her?
In my head, her saying those things, those hurtful fucking things, has to mean there is no chance one of them is mine.
Chance. Chance Thomas. It could be a coincidence. Ava and I both have dark hair and blue eyes. T had blue eyes, right? Maybe the speculation is just that. Maybe Ava knows our families are speculating, and that’s why she stays away from them all. Maybe Ava is simply grieving, and they can’t see the pain they are causing past what they see in a baby that could be mine. Maybe it’s the silver lining they see, that if he is mine, it will bring her home to them.
Mom called me the day I left. She thought I was heading to see Lilian and her boys. I didn’t confirm nor deny it. I simply told her I need to take care of some things I have been neglecting. I do plan to do just that...when I finish here. When I have my head on straight, I will go see them. I owe them.
What a fucking mess.
Regardless, I am working on something, a new mission.
Yesterday, I went in and talked to the building’s super about their inadequate security, feeding them a bunch of shit. Somehow, it landed me a job in installing the new security system. I wasn’t looking for a fucking job, but I took it. At least then I knew it would get done right. Plus, I now have the master key to every one of these places, including the top floor.
I have been listening in on Ava’s almost daily phone conversations with the police, who can’t give her closure on who the hit and run driver was who killed Thomas Hardy. What the police don’t know is that my new friend, Nan, isn’t making enough to pay her bills, so she is running a site from her home where she dresses up and acts a part for the sick fucks who can’t go out to get a piece of ass. Instead, they pay her to video chat with them, and she plays a role.
I know she shot from a location that faced the window, and with any luck, I will see something the police didn’t that might shine some light on who the killer is. When I have my lunch date with her tomorrow, I’m going to get into her hard drive and see if I can’t salvage some footage. It’s a long shot, but it’s something to keep me busy.
When I first knocked on Nan’s door, she opened it, all smiles. When I told her what I wanted, she really thought I would keep my mouth shut if she pushed her tits in my face. Clearly, she had no idea that tits don’t faze me. I’m an ass man. Had she offered that up, I would have laughed. I am not just an any ass man. I like a round ass
.
Fucking Ava.
Nan then put on the tears when I demanded what I wanted. Tears don’t faze me much, either. Hell, I knew they were put on.
I didn’t stop there. I also scouted the stores in the area, hoping the police missed something, though I doubt they did, not when the victim was a fucking rock star.
Am I bitter that I watched hundreds of men die who never got a mention in the media? That their families got a flag and a thank you, maybe a “we’re so sorry for your loss”? That these men and women died fighting for the safety and security of our nation? That millions of Americans lie under the protection of our military and dare say we shouldn’t be overseas fighting someone else’s war, and that they are so fucking ignorant that we are there stopping it from coming to our soil? That instead of a worldwide memorial broadcast over the internet, television, radios, and newspapers, all the men and women in uniform get is a name on a cold stone slab? No. Annoyed, maybe. Bitter, never. We do it because we are called, not because we want a spotlight.
What we get is the knowledge that death is a greater possibility than the average person. That’s a given in the situations we choose to be part of for the greater good.
What happened to...him was a tragedy. What Ava is putting herself through is debilitating. I know. I did the same damn thing.
No more.
I sit outside her place, trying to force myself to just go in. I need answers.
There is dim lighting in the window on the top floor. I know from the last few nights I have sat here watching that this is the time when the lights start to go out, and I can safely assume she will be asleep soon.
It’s time.
I get off the elevator and slowly close the gate. Then I walk toward the room I know is the babies’.
When I walk in, the soft glow of the sunshine nightlight and the moonlight from the window lights up the room.
I walk to the cribs and stop. Looking at them, I am immediately tense. My heart slams against my chest, nearly knocking the wind out of me.
They are Ava’s children. They are Ava’s beautiful babies that grew inside of her.
The girl is blonde. She looks like him, like T, the man who broke Ava more than I ever did. There is no longer any doubt that they are his.
Hope also looks like her mother: her little, heart-shaped face; plump, pink lips; and her eyes, her fucking eyes that are looking at me, unafraid and almost expectantly. There is peace in them, and the peace is addicting. I could stare at them forever.
She’s an angel.
For the first time, I don’t hate Thomas Hardy. I fucking wish I could bring him back for them, for Hope and for Ava. They need a man to take care of them. I can see it in Hope’s eyes. And, as much as Ava is trying to hide her emotions from me, I know how easily she gets hurt, and how hard she tries to hide it. People like Ava feel ten times more than any one person should.
Something comes over me, and I reach inside the crib and lift Hope up, holding her against my heart that is beating so hard I’m sure the sound will wake Ava, who will lose it. For some reason, though, I can’t help it.
Hope nuzzles into my neck, and I can’t help holding my lips to her head. There is a feeling that comes over me unexpectedly. I have felt it before. It’s kept me strong for years.
Protective.
I close my eyes and inhale a familiar scent as calm and comfort wash over me.
Ava. She smells just like Ava does when she walks past me, acting as if I’m not there, yet letting me know she is well aware I am.
This is not about Ava, I tell myself, but it is. It fucking is about Ava and you, little Hope.
Her breaths slow, and she becomes completely limp, sound asleep. I take in a deep breath of peace, of calm, and of comfort before lying her back down in her crib, the way she was when she awoke.
Next to her crib is his. I look at him, and my chest squeezes so fucking tight I am sure it will burst. Tears, fucking tears, fill my eyes, and I swallow hard, begging them to stay at bay.
He looks nothing like T, and even if he had one shred of resemblance, it wouldn’t fucking matter. This boy is pulling out emotions that have been, not just buried, but entombed deep inside of me.
As much as I keep telling myself I need to gain Ava’s trust, she has now totally fucking lost all mine.
I feel my hands tremble as I reach for him. I lift him up and feel the wet tears rolling down my face. I’m wrecked by the intense amount of love I feel instantaneously, and the insane amount of hate that comes from lies.
Her lies.
Her fucking lies.
He inhales and nuzzles into my neck, just like little Hope did, and in that moment, love overshadows anger and hate.
I close my eyes and hold him a little bit tighter, turning toward the door and considering walking the fuck out with him.
“Please don’t,” I hear Ava whisper. “Please, Luke, please don’t do this to me, to him, to Hope. Please.”
I look over my shoulder to see her standing up from the bed she was curled up on, tears streaming down her face. My jaw twitches.
She scrunches her eyes shut and pleads in a whisper, “Please, Luke. I have nothing if I don’t have them.”
I freeze in place. “Go to sleep, Ava.”
“Promise me you won’t take him, Luke. Promise me.”
It hits me like a ton of fucking bricks. Chance is mine, and Hope...Hope is his, and she damn well knew it.
“Answer a question?” I try not to sound as pissed as I am.
“Okay.”
“Would you have ever told me about my son?”
She sharply intakes a breath, and I turn to fully look at her. She looks down and shakes her head before covering her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as she quietly sobs.
“Go back to bed, Ava. We have a lot to discuss in the morning,” I tell her as I walk toward the window with Chance in my arms, sitting down in the rocking chair and closing my eyes.
“You promised,” she whispers.
“I know.”
With that, she lies back down, but I know damn well she won’t fall asleep. Still, I will be damned if I put down my son, my child, the one I would never have known about if she had it her way.
I must have sat there for a couple of hours, rocking him and looking out the window at the moon before he begins to squirm a little.
I look down at him as he looks up at me.
“Hi, Chance,” I whisper. “Hi.”
I hear Ava move and look over at her.
“He needs to eat.”
“I’ll feed him,” I tell her, not wanting to let him go.
“Luke, he nurses at night.” She walks slowly toward me like she’s fucking terrified of me.
I stand up when she holds her arms out for him and force myself to hand him over. When she takes him, she hugs him so damn tight, and a whimper escapes her.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” I turn and walk toward the door.
“Luke,” she whispers from behind me.
I turn around.
“You can sleep in the spare bedroom.”
“I’m fine,” I say, beginning to walk away again.
“Luke, you can’t keep sleeping outside in your truck.”
I stop and turn around again. “Slept in worse places, Ava.”
She walks back into the room, closing the door behind her.
Outside, I climb into my truck and reach across the seat, grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen. I pop three in my mouth, swallow them down with the bottle of water sitting on the seat, and then recline back.
My body is in pain from sleeping in the truck for three nights, but I have been in worse pain. A hell of a lot worse.
When I was loaded into that fucking copter, torn to hell, I saw a light, and it was hard as hell not to go toward it, but I needed to know that Killshot was okay. I needed to know Trigger was okay. I needed to make sure they got home to their families.
When I heard Trigger screaming obsceni
ties, I knew one of the two bodies I had pulled out of the fucking building was going to be okay, so I took a step toward that light, ready to meet my maker, to answer for all I had done, but then I waited until I heard Killshot. I waited and waited, and by the time I heard his name, I was in the fucking Army plane, heading to Germany.
His wife thanked me for making sure his body was returned to them. She thanked me. I wished like hell it was me and not him. He had two kids, two boys who will grow up without their father, two boys who knew what a damn good man their father was. I would have traded places with him. I would have given him my life so he could have watched his boys grow into men. I would have done it in an instant.
For months, I have simply existed, but something finally pushed me harder than I have ever been pushed before. Something pushed me to get up and walk. Something twisted my head and mind in circles, and my stomach in knots. Tonight, I found out for sure what that something was.
For months, I have looked up at the ceiling in a bed, or outside up at the stars, all the time wondering where God had been during all the hell that surrounded me. I found out tonight, when I held my son in my arms for the first time.
***
I sit in my truck, my hands shaking in anger and confusion. I started the engine several times, wanting to just drive away, get a hotel, and try to sleep in a fucking bed so maybe tomorrow I will wake up and have less pain and more clarity. I kill the engine each time.
I see her as clear as day in my head. Fight or flight. I saw it in her eyes, but I am not running. I have run for long enough, dammit. If she thinks I am leaving, she is wrong. My son will know me. He will learn from me. He will be part of my life. Come hell or high water, this is the fucking truth.
The military allowed me to be the man I am supposed to be: a protector, a fighter, and a man who will take care of others above himself.
