by Mj Fields
For the first time, I smile at the thought of him, of the man he was and all he did in the world. I think about the shit he gave me about mail day and how he knew I was hiding out in the bathroom. He pretty much knew I was getting off to whatever it was “Miss A,” as he called her, had sent me.
Closing my eyes, I run my hand over my hair and shake my head. Then I look up when Ava clears her throat.
“Hey,” I say then look away. She doesn’t say anything, so I look back up. “You okay?”
“Are you?”
I nod. “Just thinking about a friend.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she seems to force herself to say as she grabs a sweater off the high back bar stool beside her and wraps herself up.
“Genuine or not, you’d have loved him.” I continue placing all the silverware in one drawer. “I’m sorry for yours, too, Ava.”
When she doesn’t say anything, I just keep working at this mess, listening to her walk away, and then the washing machine starts.
She’s showered, taken a walk, done laundry, fed the kids. She’s getting stronger.
An hour later, the kitchen cupboards make sense. Well, to me, anyway. They are like Mom’s.
I look up and smile as she comes out of the nursery.
“There is nothing to smile about, Luke. Not a damn thing.”
“You wake up this morning to a roof over your head, kids who are smiling, and food to feed them? Yeah, Ava, there is a lot to smile about.” I start to walk toward the couch, needing to put my legs up. “I’ve traveled the world, been to places the Devil himself wouldn’t dare go, but one thing always amazed me.”
She looks annoyed but plays along, crossing her arms over her chest. “What?”
“Mothers. They want nothing more than for their babies to be okay. We’d have a backpack full of rations, and Killshot would give his last one away just to save a woman from damn near passing out from hunger. She’d find the strength to give it to her children before she’d even take a bite. You all want what’s best for your kids, Ava. I’m not here to make your life hell.”
She sits down at the opposite end of the couch and puts her elbows on her knees. “What happens when they find out, Luke? Can you imagine what they’ll think of me? What the two of them, my most favorite humans on the planet, will think?” She stops when she starts to sob, and I can’t stop myself from moving over and pulling her into a hug.
She stiffens, and so do I. We don’t hug. Hell, I don’t hug my own mother unless it’s a good-bye or a hello. Ava and I are never this close, unless...
Don’t even go there, for fuck’s sake, I scold myself. Stand the fuck down.
I take a deep breath, and she seems to relax.
“We’ll figure it out, Ava.”
She huffs then pushes herself up before walking away. “Yeah, you’ll be the hero, and I’ll be the whore.”
“You were never a whore, Ava.”
She shakes her head as she walks toward the bathroom.
When she comes out moments later, her eyes are red.
She takes a deep breath then declares, “Luke, I can’t do this. And I know you think that’s selfish, but it’s not about me; it’s about them. What will people say? How will they treat them? Please, just please—”
Annoyed because I know damn well what she’s asking me to do, and that she actually thinks I may consider it, I shake my head. “We will figure it out.”
The water on the stove begins to boil, so I remove it from the heat and, in doing so, burn my hand. Quickly, I turn and run it under the water.
I hear Ava behind me, shutting the refrigerator door, and then she hands me a pink gel-filled teddy bear. “In the real world, we use pot holders.”
I nod. “Yeah.”
She takes my hand and opens it.
“Ava, it’ll be fine. Everything we’ve been through, all the hell of the past few months, it’s never gonna be forgotten, but...for us, for you, for me, and for those two beautiful babies, we gotta make sure that everything is okay.”
She releases my hand and swallows hard. “When you walk away, remember I told you this was a bad idea.”
“I’m not walking away.”
“Please, Luke, for them, just...”
“Ava, I’m not walking away.”
“And to think, I didn’t think you could ever say or do anything to hurt me worse than you did last December.” Her words slice me open. “How will we ever be friends enough to make this work when, every time I look at you, I wish it was him who was still here and you who was gone?”
Those words, they dive in so deep I feel sick to my stomach. Regardless, I show her nothing. Instead, I turn and grab a towel, then dump the noodles into the strainer.
“Sauce is on the stove. I’m heading out.”
“Oh, you’re running? What, you don’t want to see Chance now because I told you the truth, Luke?”
I get on the elevator and close the door.
“How the hell did you think this was going to turn out?” she practically screams.
***
I sit in my truck, focusing on the mission, not the one that has my emotions spiking, but the one I know I can damn well handle.
I upload the clown nose clip and send it to one of the men I used to work with on intel, Raider. Then I call him. Bad idea, since he tries to make the conversation about me. I have no interest in talking about me, so when I tell him I am fine, he laughs. Then, apparently, he remembers who the hell I am and saves the chick shit, the soul to soul, for someone else. He assures me I will have the make and model of the vehicle, and anything else he can find within forty-eight hours.
As soon as I hang up with him, my mother calls. I still let her believe I am down south. She doesn’t pry, just tells me I need to get home soon for PT, saying just because I feel better, that doesn’t mean I should be out “ramming the roads.”
After that, I decide to hit the bar down the road. I want to see if they know anything. Plus, I could use a beer. Hell, maybe three.
Two hours and six beers later, I am stumbling back to my truck.
Note to self: Don’t drink on an empty stomach.
I start to get in my truck when I realize my luck has been shit lately, and that, if I pass out and a cop sees me, I will get a DUI for just having the keys in my possession.
I decide, fuck it. I grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and go to face...her.
When I walk in, Ava is on all fours, and Hope is on her belly, lifting her head up every so often. Chance, he’s holding it up without issue.
My boy.
She looks up then back at Chance. “You got it. Come on, little man. Roll over.”
He starts to jabber at her. Meanwhile, Hope’s legs are kicking, and her hands flailing. It’s like she’s trying to move toward her, but she is too little to do it.
I laugh when she surprises me by rolling onto her back, and then she sees me and smiles.
“Hi, little princess,” I say, looking down at her.
Chance hears my voice and turns his head in my direction.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, trying not to let emotions show, and then I carefully lower myself to the ground.
“Come on, Chance,” Ava says, picking him up.
“He’s fine.”
“You need a shower.” She holds his head against her chest, covering his exposed ear, and whispers, “You smell like a bar.”
I don’t say a damn thing. What can I say? Yeah, you’re right, Ava? She would probably argue that, too.
In the shower, I almost have to take a knee, and when I finally get out, I end up doing just that.
Pain shoots up my body, and I curse out loud. I didn’t realize how loud until Ava throws the door open with Chance on her hip and gasps.
“Don’t move.” She quickly makes her way out of the bathroom, repeating, “Don’t move.”
Five, four, three, two, one. I move, pulling myself up by the bathroom counter. I grab a towel, wrapping m
y lower half.
“What part of don’t move did you not understand?”
“I’m fine, Ava.”
“Are you that drunk or—”
“I couldn’t walk a few months ago. Two months ago, I decided to do something about it. Save your concern and your worries. I’m strong, Ava. I’m gonna be fine.” I walk out of the bathroom, showing her what I told her.
I see the babies now sitting in their bouncy seats. I wink at Chance and smile at Hope as I make my way past them and into the office where I sit on the bed that I notice has fresh sheets and a blanket, along with one more pillow.
I position the pillows under my leg and lie back, closing my eyes and trying to calm my mind, my hurt—all these fucking feelings.
It’s completely dark when I wake up to a swollen knee, and my clothes are in my bag in the other room where I left them. That’s when I see a journal sitting on the desk across the room.
Curiosity gets the best of me, so I make my way over and grab it. Sitting on the end of the desk, I open it up.
Page 1
Love is love.
Page 2
Love is her feet that brought her to me.
Page 3
Love is her smile and the way in which it effortlessly makes mine feel whole for the first time in my life.
Page 4
Love is the pain you feel when their heart is aching.
Page 5
Love is the sun breaking through the rain and clouds and storms, giving you strength to carry on.
Page 6
Love is the clarity you receive in even the worst moments.
Page 7
Love is in the kindness she shows others.
Page 8
Love is timeless.
Page 9
Love is at its truest when it is mirrored: his to hers and hers to his, theirs together.
Page 10
Love shows in her empathy.
Page 11
Love is in the compassion she carries.
Page 12
Her love is because of his.
Page 13
Love needs not a word. It’s in the way we treat each other.
Page 14
Love’s moods are dependent on physical feelings, so forgiveness is necessary until the second trimester.
Page 15
Love needs no excuses.
Page 16
Love is vulnerable.
Page 17
Love isn’t affected by ups and downs.
Page 18
Love grows deeper every day.
Page 19
Love is her, and I am so blessed.
Page 20
Love is in the little caramel on the corner of her mouth.
Page 21
Love grows stronger when it’s just the two of us.
Page 22
Love’s blessings are growing inside of her.
Page 23
Love will grow even more with four.
Page 24
Love is still and peaceful. It’s in her slow, sweet breath as I lie next to her with her head on my chest.
Page 25
Love is in everything we do to protect love.
Page 26
Love is love, still.
Page 27
Our love is forever, Thomas Hardy. Yours, mine, and our children’s...forever
I close the book before placing it in the exact place I picked it up from. Then I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Twenty-seven pages of what they meant to each other. Some his, some hers, some telling of deceptions in the name of love, and the last a promise from a stubborn woman to a dead man.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It will be okay. - H. Mowry
AVA
He fell hard. I heard it. I even felt it. But if I expected him to walk away, I needed to do the same. I needed to push harder to get through the pain, whatever it may be. I am grateful that it was time to feed the kids at the same time he fell, or I would probably have felt more of a need to help him.
Seeing him on the floor was no different than seeing him the night he fucked me the first time. He showed vulnerability, and I hate that he does that to me. I hate it, and I need to not think about it.
I also hate the fact that he looks at Chance the way he does. It would have been so much easier if he just left us all alone. Maybe he will. Maybe he will, and I won’t have to look at him and allow myself to feel compassion for him.
I grab his bag off the floor and see something blue sticking out of the zipper.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whisper as I unzip the bag. “Son-of-a-bitch.”
I pull out the blanket, one of Chance’s, the one I knew was in his car seat and couldn’t find all the way home from...home.
He stole it. He stole his blanket.
I wonder what else he has taken. I will find out.
I pull the bag behind me as I carry a basketful of Luke’s clothes and the rest of today’s laundry mishaps to the laundry room. I decide to do his first since the babies have at least a month’s worth of clothes they have yet to wear, all laundered and either folded in their dressers or hanging in their closet.
I can’t decide on what’s clean and what’s dirty, so I throw in all his clothes. Then I kneel down and look at the other things inside. Two things will be accomplished by doing this: I can do his laundry, which will make us even for the fact he seems to think he has to cook, and I can see what else is in the bag.
An old shoe box catches my eye. It’s small and certainly couldn’t hold his shoes, so I assume it contains something he has hidden.
When I open it, I see envelopes, dozens and dozens of envelopes. But what makes my chest tighten is that I know who these envelopes came from. I know because they are all from me. Piles of them wrapped in rubber bands, some bigger than others, and he has them sorted by year.
Seven years of letters.
Why? Why has he saved them? And not only the letters, but the envelopes.
I pull the rubber band off the biggest pile to see who else’s he saved, flipping through them hurriedly and noticing he wrote something on the back of almost every one of them.
I flip over the pile and start looking at the backs.
Little Miss
Then
Small Town, USA
The Truth
Don’t You Wanna Stay
The Man I Wanna Be
The House That Built Me
If I Die Young
Need You Now
Gimme That Girl
She Won’t Be Lonely Long
As She’s Walking Away
And it goes on and on.
What the hell is all this?
Frustration breeds tears, and I shake my head, trying to wish them away.
“It means not a fucking thing,” I tell myself. Because, if it did, it means he lied to me, and when it comes to Luke Lane, I lie to myself. He told me the cold hard truth.
I throw the letters across the room then pull my knees up to my chest, hugging them tight and trying to hold myself together. That’s when I hear him clear his throat.
Fuck! I scream in my head.
“Ava, what are you doing?”
I glare up at him. I want to say, That’s a stupid fucking question, but he’s not a stupid man. Wait. Yes, he is. Proof of that is all over my laundry room floor.
“Laundry,” I answer through clenched teeth.
“Tough stain?” he asks.
I want to kill him. I look down instead. He doesn’t get to know I’m so...pissed at him, but he does.
“I need you to turn around and walk—” I stop when I see how swollen his knee is. “Jesus, Luke.”
“Just need a couple pills and maybe some clothes.” He points at the towel he’s wearing.
I stand up and look in his bag. He has a pair of rolled up black underwear, a crisp white tee-shirt, and everything else is in the washer.
“Is this good for tonight? Everything
else is in the wash,” I explain.
He takes the shirt and pulls it over his head. “You’re doing my laundry?”
“You made breakfast and dinner,” I say, staring at his knee.
He takes the boxer briefs out of my hand. “Make a good team.” Then he cringes when he tries to bend his knee.
I snatch his boxers out of his hand and look up as he looks down at me. He doesn’t move; he just stares.
“Lift,” I order, looking away from the intensity in his eyes.
When I look up again after he has stepped into the boxers, I notice his chest is rising and falling a bit faster, and then I see other things following suit.
Shocked, I look at his face.
He shrugs. “Least I know it’s working.”
“Oh, my God, Luke.” I stand up quickly. “Go. Get—”
“I could use my pills.” He turns as he pulls his boxers up, dropping his towel.
Damn him.
I fumble through his bag, grab the pills, and twist off the cap. “How many?”
“Two should do.” He turns back around, and I hand him two. He throws them in his mouth and swallows. “Thanks.”
“You took them without water,” I point out the obvious.
He nods then looks at me oddly. “Can I see the bottle the pills came from?”
I reach down and grab it, then hand it to him.
His eyes widen and he mumbles, “Fuck.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just gonna be out of commission for a bit.”
“Why?” I snatch the pills back and look at the bottle.
Take one pill every six to eight hours as needed for pain on a full stomach.
“Why did you tell me two pills?” I gasp.
“Haven’t taken those in a month. Forgot they were in there.” He turns and slowly walks out the door.
“Do we need to go to the hospital?” I call after him, scurrying around and picking up all those stupid letters, placing the rubber band back around them before putting them in the shoebox then walking out of the laundry room.
“No,” he calls back. He is standing at the fridge, pulling out the milk and bowl of pasta.
“Are you sure?”
He looks at me from over his shoulder with a slightly amused expression. “I’m sure, Ava.”
“What can I do?”
