Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3)

by Stevie J. Cole

  I grabbed the door, opening it to step inside. “And your son died two years ago. He overdosed on heroin. Maybe had you not been strung out or in jail…” Shaking my head, I locked my eyes on his. “A father would have known that. As far as I’m concerned, you’re dead.”

  As soon as the door slammed shut I locked it and marched back to my bedroom to lie down.

  I hadn’t said a miniscule grain of what I wanted to say to that man, but he wasn’t worth it. In that moment I grew, because I realized that sometimes things just aren’t worth it.

  Chapter 30

  The sonographer squirted the cold goop onto my stomach before pressing on it with the wand thing they use to look at the baby. I let out a grunt.

  “I know you need to go to the bathroom, but you did a really good job of getting your bladder full,” she laughed. “Just hold on for a few more minutes and you can go pee, okay, sweetie?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “There’s baby’s head,” she said, stopping to take measurements.

  “Oh, Roxy. I hope it’s a girl,” Layla’s enthusiasm oozed from her words.

  I’d been taking her with me. I couldn’t stand to go to these appointments alone. The first one I went to almost spiraled me into depression because I kept thinking about how it should have been Jag with me, but instead he was all alone trying to get sober.

  “And baby’s heart looks great.” The technician moved the wand a little to the side and jiggled it. “Come on baby, move those little legs.”

  I watched the screen, amazed at what a perfect little thing was inside my stomach. I saw the tiny toes, the itty-bitty fingers, and I was in love.

  “Would you like to know what you’re having, Ms. Slade?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I would.”

  “Congratulations, you are having a little girl!”

  “Ohhh, I’m so freaking excited!” Layla squealed.

  I felt a deep smile set over my face, tears mounting in my eyes as I watched the image of my little baby girl on that screen. Of mine and Jag’s baby.

  The woman wiped the jelly from my stomach, carefully tucking the paper inside the top of my jeans. “You can go ahead and use the restroom, then just follow the corridor down to Dr. King’s exam room three.”

  I nodded and hopped up to go to the restroom. As soon as I shut the door and looked into the mirror, I broke down. I hadn’t talked to Jag in almost three months. The last words I’d said to him were hurtful, and these were moments I could never get back. I’d always have the memory of my sister being there to hear what sex the baby was instead of Jag. And yes, I blamed myself.

  I absolutely blamed myself for running. There’s always a last straw, there’s always something that makes that worn thread unravel when someone is on the brink; when they are lost, confused, and unable to see through the darkness. And for Jag, I had been the last push. When I acted like I didn’t believe in him, when I pretended he was no longer real, that was the pebble that had caused the landslide.

  He wasn’t here with me because of my stubbornness, because of my selfish desire to not get hurt.

  Not being able to have someone, and I don’t mean because they don’t want you, not because you fucked up and they left; no, not being able to have someone because you can’t, because you physically can’t get to them, because you have no way to communicate with them, and you have no idea how they feel anymore…that is torture. It was almost like he was dead because no matter what I did, I couldn’t touch him.

  He was a ghost.

  ****

  The last of the stragglers were being ushered out of the bar by security. It was three a.m. and now Sunday morning. My feet were killing me and my lower back was aching.

  I fiddled with the soda gun nozzle, finally prying it loose and dropping it in the wash tub.

  “You look super cute preggers, Roxy,” Tess said as she wiped down the sticky bar top.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  She tossed the towel to the side and crossed her arms over her chest. “You okay?”

  Nodding, I said, “Yeah, I’m just tired.”

  Tess placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “It’ll all work out. I promise. Everything happens for a reason. I really believe that.”

  Everything happens for a reason? I didn’t believe that crock of shit. What reason was there for my mother dying, my brother—for Jag overdosing? There was no reason besides that life fucking hated people.

  “Yeah, sure, Tess.”

  She smiled and went back to wiping the counters.

  Just as I was loosening my apron, Carlos came out from the back. “Hey ladies, you about finished up?”

  “Yeah, Carlos. Just about done. Maybe five more minutes,” Tess called out.

  “Hey, Roxy, can you come here for a minute?”

  I looked over at Tess and she shrugged.

  Shit.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He nodded and I followed him across the floor to a booth. He sat down and stared at me for a second, his eyes veering down to my mid-section.

  “You feeling okay?”

  Why was everyone asking me that? Did I look like I felt that bad? I was pregnant, not dying.

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “I’m fine.”

  “You know, you might need to cut back on your shifts the further along you get, and that’s fine. I just wanted to let you know you don’t have to worry about that. It won’t be a problem…”

  I fidgeted with the ties of my apron. “Thanks.”

  A loud breath rushed from his lips, and he tapped his fingers over the surface of the table as he rose. He stopped at the end of the booth. “How is he?”

  People wouldn’t even say his name anymore. I guess they were afraid it would upset me. The fact that it all looked like a complete disaster to everyone else, that there wasn’t an inkling that we’d actually fallen in love with each other still got to me.

  “I don’t know, Carlos. I haven’t talked to Jag.”

  He nodded and wiped his hand down his face. “Yeah, well, you know. Why don’t you just take off tomorrow, huh?” He patted the top of my head like I was a child. “You need to rest. You’ve had a lot going on. Hell, I’ll even pay you to take the day off, how about that?”

  “Carlos? You can’t do that.”

  “I certainly can. I’m the owner. I can do whatever I want. Now, you get some good rest. I’ll see you on your next shift.”

  He walked off, disappearing behind the glass door leading to the offices. I couldn’t really argue with him. I was exhausted. I tossed and turned most nights, and I was emotionally drained.

  I left, turning the radio off when a Pandemic Sorrow song came on and driving the rest of the way in silence.

  *****

  I flipped the light switch and laid down on the couch. I liked to lay in the dark, in the silence and just think.

  My hand came to rest on my stomach, and after I’d been still for just a few moments, I felt her move. She always got active when I laid down, like she didn’t want me to be still. I felt her knee or arm or some round part of her body roll across my stomach, and I smiled.

  I laid there wondering what she was going to look like, and then, of course, my mind strayed to Jag. Would she have dark, thick waves in her hair like him; would she have his full lips, his high cheekbones; would she hate me when she got older for what I’d done?

  I sighed. I knew he should be home from rehab by now, and the thought of it made my chest tighten.

  Stone had begged me to give Jag three days back home to deal with things. He said he wanted to bring him over, just so he could make sure Jag was okay if things didn’t go the way I’d promised.

  I had to respect Stone’s wish, as much as I didn’t want to. I had reached for my phone fifty times that day to call Jag, but stopped just because of Stone pleading with me to give him time.

  The fact that Jag hadn’t called me yet made me uneasy. What if he didn’t want anything to do with me now? What if he realized
how selfish it was of me to ditch him the way I had?

  The white flicker of lightning flashed through the window, followed shortly by a low rumble of thunder. I got up to go to my bed, and I heard a knock on the door. My heart immediately fell into the pit of my stomach and all the air in my lungs rushed from my lips. I stared at the door biting on my lip, hoping that it would be Jag on the other side.

  Another knock, this one louder, more determined, broke the silence.

  I placed my hand on the door and drew in a breath as I peered through the peephole. My heartbeat picked up, my palms immediately grew damp, and I closed my eyes to try and make the tears go away. I was terrified, yet relieved. Swallowing, I opened the door.

  Jag stood there, his eyes widening when he saw me.

  His gaze veered down to my stomach and I watched his shoulders fall. I had to say something.

  “I wanted to call you. I wanted to hear your voice, but I was terrified.”

  He pushed his way inside, shaking his head, rambling, “I fucked up. And you are so much more than I deserve, but I love you. I’ve never loved anyone—never needed someone like you. You—” His voice was shaking and he narrowed his eyes on me, grabbing the side of my face when he said, “You’re mine. I’m sorry, but you are mine and I refuse to let you go. I will fight for you, I will fight this. You are the only thing that can make me happy. You’re my meaning.”

  My eyes instinctually slammed shut, warm tears seeping from their corners. I went to tell him I loved him, that I’d missed him, and that I was the one who’d fucked up, but he covered my mouth with his, rendering me helpless.

  If you’ve ever been forced to be separated from the person your heart wants, you know how sweet that kiss is; the kiss of a second chance, the promise that you belong together. That feeling is unlike any other and it makes you weak. The harder he kissed me, the louder I wept, and when he finally tore away from me I crumpled into his arms, burying my face in his chest and breathing him in. My fingers clenched into his shirt, balling it up as I clung to him like my life would end if I let him go. I couldn’t hold him tight enough, I couldn’t feel him enough.

  For the first time in my life something I’d lost had come back to me, and I couldn’t let that feeling go.

  Jag lowered his face to my ear, breathing out the words, “I swear to you, I will not let you down. I will not lie to you. I will love you in a way no other man ever could. You are my entire damn world.” He kissed my cheek and pulled away to look in my eyes. “I may be fucked up, I may be a mess, but you are my salvation!”

  “I can’t…” My sentence was swallowed by an uncontrolled sob, and it took me a second to pull myself together enough to speak. “I can’t not love you.”

  Jag let out a pained breath of relief.

  Taking his chin in my hand, I studied his face, tears still pouring from my eyes as I whispered, “I’ve tried. You ruined me. I can’t be with anyone else. I never envisioned my life with someone like you, but you—” I shook my head. “I know, deep down inside, you’re not the person you make people believe you are. You are Jagger. You just pretend to be that Jag Steele guy. You’re my perfectly flawed, shattered fucking mess.”

  I kissed him, my lips crushing over his in desperation to feel the love only he could make me feel. I wrapped my fingers up in his hair to pull him closer to me. I needed to make him feel the way I did.

  I needed this kiss to wash everything away so we could start over, and I needed this kiss to prove that we belonged to each other; that we were broken and could only be complete with one another.

  It took everything inside of me to pull away from him. I wiped the tears from my face, then tugged him back to me, laying my lips over his as I confessed, “Sometimes it takes loss to make people realize how big of a mess they are without someone. I thought I lost you. I don’t want to feel that way again. That was death.” I stared into his eyes, wanting to make him see how much I loved him.

  “When I thought you’d died, I died inside. I realized that whether I’m with you or not, it won’t take the hurt away; it won’t protect me. I’m safer with you than without.”

  Jag swallowed, his hand gently caressing my stomach before his eyes darted down to it. His breath grew ragged and he fell to his knees, still holding my stomach.

  “I promise you, I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never leave you. And I promise you I’ll stay clean.” He kissed my stomach, then glanced up at me. “I won’t ever break a promise to you.”

  Jag rose, taking me back in his arms and it was like we’ve never been apart. There was no awkwardness, just a sense of completeness. After a long embrace, I pushed away.

  “So, how are you feeling about all this?” I asked, pointing to my stomach.

  His lips curled up. “I couldn’t be happier. You and this baby are the best things that could have ever happened to me. And I don’t want to ever imagine that my life would have turned out any differently.” He paused and shook his head. “Everything happens for a reason, and you—you happened to me to save me, this baby happened to save us.”

  That gave me chill bumps.

  We sat down on the couch and Jag dragged me into his lap. This was how my life was supposed to be, with him, always with him.

  “So, I found out a few days ago what the baby is.” I tilted my head back to look at him.

  He smiled. “And?”

  “I see a lot of pink in your future,” I giggled.

  His grin deepened. “So now I’m gonna have a queen and a little princess, huh? Couldn’t be any more perfect.”

  Chapter 31

  The next afternoon we sat on the patio at a random restaurant.

  Jag’s eyes locked on a glass of bourbon the waiter had just brought a man at the table beside us. I watched his tongue wet his lips, his eyes trail up the glass that sweated in the dry, mid-afternoon heat, and then his gaze shifted back to me.

  He looked guilty.

  I smiled, softly saying, “It’s not gonna go away. That’s normal, Jag. It’s normal to still want it.”

  “I know,” he said, and wiped his hand down his face. “I know, and that sucks because I would really, really just like to have one fucking drink…but I’m not going to.”

  I knew he needed to say that out loud. He wanted to assure me, and he needed to hear himself say it.

  I ran my hand over his leg. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” Taking my hand, he pulled it toward his face, then kissed the back tenderly. “I’m so glad you loved me enough to stay.”

  He glanced up from under his lowered head and just looked at me—like I was all that mattered.

  That look is one I could never get tired of seeing. It’s pure, it’s one that can’t be faked…and it feels good to be needed, to be loved, to know that to one person you are the entire world.

  Everyone deserves that feeling.

  Everyone.

  We walked back through the restaurant, dodging several waiters, and stepped onto the semi-crowded sidewalk.

  Jag had taken my hand, and I couldn’t help but notice how damp his palm was.

  With each step we took, Jag’s pace quickened.

  I looked up to say something, but stopped myself. His jaw was clenched tight, his breathing had grown shallow, and his gaze fixed straight ahead, intently aimed at nothing. By then he was practically pulling me down the sidewalk like he was trying to escape something.

  He was panicking and trying his damnedest to hide it.

  And this is where I struggled.

  The night before had been perfect, but this would be his life…my life…our lives—a constant struggle between addiction and remaining sober.

  All it takes is one trigger: a whiff of alcohol, a song he used to get high to, a moment when he had been worn down.

  That’s all it would take, and he could very well spiral back into that disease, fall down the rabbit hole of addiction.

  I knew that.

  I had lived that.

  And I knew
that each day would be a new day; it would either be another day he’d spent sober, or a day he’d stumbled.

  Sean stumbled once, right into his grave! Can I do this?

  My heart flopped like a fish that had been chased up on shore and left stranded and suffocating. That was what I felt like—like I was suffocating.

  I loved him. I wanted to be with him, but I feared the unknown.

  Loved.

  Feared.

  And love and fear are both very real emotions that don’t tend to go hand in hand.

  Clearing my throat, I squeezed his palm. “You wanna go home?”

  He nodded and we stopped at a crosswalk. Jag kept shifting his feet, unable to remain still.

  As we stood there I heard whispering and giggling behind us.

  Please, please just leave him alone. Don’t bother him. Not right now. I don’t know that he can take it.

  Fans didn’t understand that just because there wasn’t a mob gathered around him, it didn’t mean he hadn’t already been approached fifty times over the past hour.

  Until you live a life like Jag’s, you can’t fathom how little time you actually have to yourself. Someone as famous as Jag is constantly gawked at and approached. He even got asked to autograph things in gas stations restrooms.

  Another burst of giggles caused me to anxiously glance at Jag.

  He was still staring straight ahead, so deep in thought that the giddy chatter hadn’t even registered with him.

  I watched the pedestrian walk light, tapping my foot in the hope it would hurry the hell up and change so I could get him in the car and get him home.

  “You ask him,” a timid voice whispered.

  I heard a gasp. “No way! I’ll piss on myself. You ask him.”

  “You think he’ll get mad?”

  “He can’t get mad. He’s Jag Steele. He’s got to be used to this by now.”

  I swallowed. It wasn’t the fact that they were trying to work up the nerve to talk to him that bothered me. It was the fact that I didn’t know how on edge he was. I figured he was fighting a demon at that moment, internally yelling at himself that he didn’t need drugs, trying to convince himself that he could stay sober.