Diego did as he said; he’s looking into the false message and the situation with his phone. Sasha was kind enough to make her resources at the facility available to him. He was optimistic that they’d figure it out within a week.
He remained incredibly busy, but he made an effort to be more attentive every chance he got. His endorsement and team obligations have nearly doubled since Bean was—per doctor’s orders—put on leave. Sasha was running the team now and it was a lot more of a look-at-me approach to the management of the team. I can’t, in good faith, complain. Diego’s gotten two more endorsement deals since she took over.
“Izzy, mi bella preciosa,” I heard it in the slight hitch of his voice—he wants something.
“Did I not just give you something?” I shake my tits and wink at him, earning me a chuckle.
“You most certainly did, but I want something else.” He gives me his version of a pout. He’s tugging on his bottom lip with teeth and looking completely edible, even if he’s not as naked as he was a moment ago.
“I can’t tell you what it is. Will you just trust me?” he’s testing our bond, making sure I’m not pretending.
“Hmmm…Is there any chance I can bribe it out of you?” He shakes his head. I purse my lips together and stretch them to one side in contemplation. That gets me another chuckle and I swear that’s what tips the scales in his favor. “Okay. What can you tell me?”
He tosses a bag to me. Clearly, he’d been anticipating my question. “Put those clothes on and meet me in the hallway in ten minutes,” and he turns to walk out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
I’m a minute late when I step out of our room and into the hallway. Diego’s standing there in a similarly matched outfit to me in a white t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts—his are knee-length where mine barely cover the tops of my thighs. We even have on matching white canvas sneakers. I laugh at the almost golf club appearance about us.
Diego just holds out his hand for mine. When I place my hand in his, he brings my knuckles to his lips and places soft kisses across them. “Flores got us into the nearby country club for an early dinner.” I can feel my eyes bug out and my jaw drop with the shock of his admission and my assessment of our outfits.
And then he lets out the best laugh ever. It’s a rumbling that sends a shockwave through me and leaves my body purring. “Gotcha,” he thinks he’s so funny. My shock turns to scrutiny. “Vámonos, mi bella preciosa.” He pulls me into him and walks us to the other end of the hall where there is a smaller bedroom—the one I daydreamed about being the baby’s room.
Diego opens the door and I’m stunned by the pale blue painted upper section of the walls and the unfinished bottom section. In the middle of the room on a wall-to-wall drop cloth, is an assortment of supplies. I think I see bubbles. Bubbles?
“Where do I start, D?”
“Just let me explain. You haven’t mentioned it yet, but I haven’t forgotten that today is the anniversary of your parents’ passing.
“Oh my god.” I can’t believe I forgot.
“Remember? It just means that you’re in a happy place and not that you’ve forgotten them.”
I nod, letting go the annoyance at hearing my own words repeated back to me, because curiosity about what we’re doing in this room has a stronger hold on my attention.
“I know that one of your favorite things is bubbles because it now reminds you of your mom and dad and your childhood. Kris, Donovan’s wife, was doing a craft with her kids when I stopped by their house the other day. They added different colors of food dye to bubbles and then used the bubbles to color pieces of paper. So,” he says pointing to the supplies in the center of the room, “with some research, I’ve found a way for us to do something similar with this room, the one we want to use for the baby,” he places his hand on my belly. “I painted the room when you were out with Grace the other day. I got fans to help blow around the bubbles. I got every color in the rainbow in bubbles. Let’s see…oh and bubble machines, “he points to the four different machines, one in each corner propped up on makeshift tables. “That’s where our country club outfits come into play.” I scrunch up my nose in confusion. He kisses the tip. “With the colored bubbles flying around while we add our own bubbles to the mix,” he walks to the pile of supplies and picks up the tiniest pair of white canvas sneakers I’ve ever seen and a white onesie, “the three of us will have uniquely different and the same shirts and shoes.”
When my jaw drops, he admits that he may have had some help from Mazzy. “I’d like to take all the credit, but I don’t think this whole matching shirts, shoes, and onesie thing would have even come close to registering on my list of ideas.”
“That bitch is so crafty,” I deadpan, it earns me a quick tickle. Diego leans down to grab some of the supplies, the first I recognize are goggles.
“Safety first,” he says handing me mine.
“Too late for that,” I mumble under my breath while rubbing my belly. I take the glasses and put them on my head, but not over my eyes.
Diego starts going through the process, but it all comes down to, “What color do you want to start with and which wand?”
He has a plethora of options. Wands that have ginormous—I shit you not—bubbles, a string of gradually shrinking bubbles from handle to tip, wands with special groupings and more. The color choices were simpler. He had enough of the six colors in the rainbow. “Orange and that,” pointing to the wand that sort of resembles a bedroom toy we have. He quirks his eyebrow up at me and I know he’s thinking the same thing as me. I give him an unapologetic shrug.
We experimented with how to blow the bubbles onto the wall after Diego switched on the bubble machines. He chose the slowest speed possible and said we could switch the colors around after a little bit.
We spent the next couple of hours bubbling up what will be the nursery walls. We added messages to the wall for the little one with words of wisdom, wishes for him or her, and love notes. The bubbles weren’t exactly moving on their own, it was quite the workout to get them to reach the ceiling or even land on the wall. Eventually, we resorted to blowing bubbles into a cup of the bubble solution and dye like we would milk when we were kids. We would then land blown cluster of bubbles off and onto the wall.
It’s nearly dinnertime and I’m one hundred percent spent. I convinced Diego to let me up on the ladder to get to the ceiling. And this only happened if I agreed to let him hold me and the ladder while I did it. This only lasted as long as a few spots. It was far quicker and easier for him to reach and get it covered. I decided dictating wand type and color choice was my best contribution to the ceiling.
As Mazzy must have expected, our white t-shirts and sneakers were sufficiently covered in color. We had to move the baby onesie and shoes a few times and then added our own touches when the bubbles just weren’t landing on them. Diego handled clean up while I went to lie down. I was going to fix dinner, but he already arranged for Alfred to whip us up something.
Chapter Eighteen:
I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry
November 2006
“DIEGO,” I cry out. “I want you to stay.”
I’m this hot mess at his feet, begging him to tell Sasha he couldn’t do another event. This is the third event in as many weeks. Plus the two games per week and his obligations to his many endorsement deals, we’ve really had to trade quantity for quality. Clearly, I’m not handling it well at this point in time. I miss him so much it’s starting to hurt.
“Izzy,” he pleads with my name. “You know I can’t just cancel like that. I don’t have anything for the next two weeks. Let’s make plans to do something special,” he sounds desperate to make this right even though he knows the only way to make this right is to cancel.
“Whatever Diego. Just go.” The sigh I let out sends a chill down my spine and back up.
“Bella,” he wants me to reassure him I’m okay. I don’t have it in me, so I pick myself up from the floor and drag m
yself up the stairs to the baby nursery. There’s a chasm between us and with every shutting of the door behind him it gets deeper and wider.
He doesn’t say another word before he leaves and shuts the door behind him. With the latch of the door, I feel the vice around my heart squeeze just a little tighter.
Curled up on the love seat in the nursery, I hug my legs to my chest. The task is not as easy as at eighteen weeks as it was at eight. They say the flutters I’m feeling are probably just her—yes, I’ve completely adopted the idea that this little peanut is a girl—trying out her arms and legs. But I swear it’s her doing just as her auntie commanded.
I settle my hand over my belly and I feel my sadness ebb and my thoughts carry me off to slumber. She’s in my arms, swaddled in a blanket as I dance her around the living room singing to her about opening my eyes to see her sweet face and it being a good morning, beautiful day. She’s about three now, head full of curls and eyes that twinkle like her father’s. We’re twirling around in the bathroom with hairbrushes for microphones singing about stopping in the name of love. She spins again and she stands before me double in size and a fish bowl with a floating fish. I lean down and sing softly of loss and time easing the pain. When she bounds off, in the doorway she stands all prettied up, but tears streaking her face. Holding her in my arms, I sing of there being days like this. In the next moment, I’m on stage and she’s in the center of the floor in a white dress and dancing with her father. I sing about loving her first and giving her away.
The final image of her twirling the floor with Diego was fleeting. In the next, there’s darkness and pain. The darkness is infinite and the pain excruciating. I’m ripped from the unclear nightmare with a cry. My cry.
“Ahhhh,” I clutch the small bump that makes up my belly. There’s a tearing pain and it hurts to move. I dig out my phone from my pocket and try Diego. It goes straight to voice mail. I try again and again. Each time the same result.
I cry out. The pain is increasing. With Alfred off for the night, I call Grace. She urges me to try Diego again and she calls 9-1-1.
In my last attempt to reach Diego, I leave a message.
"Diego," thru sobs of pain, "something's wrong...it hurts...” I cry out again, “...Diego, I need you." The phone crashes to the ground, and me with it, with the next suffocating contraction. Contraction? NOOOOO!!! It's too soon. The pain is intensifying, but there’s a reprieve as the darkness returns to pull me under.
Waking in the hospital, I can’t recall how I got here or why. Why? The beeps and ticks in the room prevent confusion from setting in. "Oh my god." I reach for my belly and it all rushes back.
There’s a pounding on the door, but I’m stuck to the floor. I register voices getting closer. The footsteps coming up the stairs sound like a percussion line in a marching band.
Are those bells? No. Not quite.
“She’s in here,” I hear someone shout.
Are they looking for me?
“Oh my,” I hear the shocked gasp of a woman.
Why can’t I snap out of this? Where am I?
“She’s bleeding,” I hear another voice state.
Who’s bleeding? Me? The panic shakes me from my haze.
“MY BAAAABYYYY,” I hear myself scream, but it’s an out of body experience. I’m wild with hysterics and I think I hear someone suggest sedating me just before there was nothing.
My sudden movement shakes the bed. That’s when I register Diego in a somber trance. He shifts to look at me, the sullen expression on his face is all I need to confirm my worst fear.
“Izzy.” I can’t tell if it’s an apology or a plea, but the world around me shatters.
“Noooo, please no.” I can’t keep still and the beeps on the machines around me increase. The plea on repeat, each cry slightly louder and filled with that much more pain. There’s instant chaos in the room.
“Ma’am, you need to calm down.”
“Calm down? Because waking up to discover I’ve lost my baby isn’t reason enough to lose my shit? FUCK YOU!” Diego’s eyes go wide with my curse. He just stares at me and I lash out. “Where were you Diego? Where were you?” I scream.
They must’ve given me something, because my arms and legs feel like Jell-O and my mind begins to numb.
Tonight the music died and with it light...and hope.
In a flash, the silence was deafening. It was as if the world stopped and tilted on its axis. I wanted so badly to find the play button. How can it not be there? This is my solace. The one place where the words are just right and the melodies touch on a note in my head and my heart. The one place where everything makes sense and hope exists.
And it's gone...she’s gone.
Chapter Nineteen:
Mad World
November 2006
I register familiar faces, but I don’t hear a thing.
When those reading my chart can’t mask their emotions fast enough, I put on a sweet smile to ease them. It seems to work, because relief washes over their faces every time. It usually earns me an apologetic smile and a squeeze of my hand.
Yesterday, I lost my baby.
Lost?
Like she could be found.
But she’s not going to be. No.
Last night, my baby died.
No more dancing with her in my arms. No more twirling around with hairbrush microphones. No more songs to help with love and loss. No more watching her spin across the dance floor with Diego.
But why?
I always get stuck on why. My mind unable to answer the question. My heart wants to curse fate. This battle between mind and heart goes on and on, before I eventually give in to the tiredness that’s always present.
Here in my sleep, I get brief glimpses of her. But mostly, here in my sleep, the pain doesn’t exist.
I am numb.
Chapter Twenty:
Sounds of Silence
November 2006
After a week, my hearing returned, but still I didn’t talk. I opted for a modified sign language. My most favorite gesture was resting my head on my pressed together hands. Sleep was still the only place I didn’t hurt.
I don’t know how long ago it was or how long it’s been, but it feels like pain has decided to take a permanent place in my heart. Out of nowhere, it will grab a hold of my battered organ and I make the only sound that I’m capable of making—it’s a strangled cry with a sharp intake of breath. It’s usually just Diego around when it happens. I try to give him my smile to take away the pain I see in his face, but it seems to make him angry. He usually tells me to, “Don’t do that, Izzy.” I’m not sure if he’s talking about my outburst or the smile.
Today, it happened when Grace came to visit. She sat with Diego and me in the living room. Both of them attempting to make small talk about nothing important, I stared out the windows watching the rain hit the panes of glass. I don’t mean to, but I constantly tune those around me out. I was lost in the counting of raindrops when music filled the room and the pain gripped my heart and squeezed. Through labored breaths and screams, I was able to tell Diego to turn it off. When the music stopped, so did the pain.
I went back to my trance-like state, staring at the raindrops. I think I heard Grace tell Diego to have faith. Something about a process of grieving. She left without me noticing. I eventually dozed off to where pain didn’t exist.
When I wake, it’s dark outside and throughout the house. I see a glow of light coming up the stairs from the kitchen below. I think I hear Diego, so I make my way through the dark room to the stairs.
What I hear stops me in my tracks.
“Mazzy, I can’t find my Izzy. She just sits there and stares. When she catches one of us looking, she gives us this smile meant to ease our pain. Where’s her pain? How is this healthy? Why won’t she talk?”
He’s an endless track of questions. I hear the pain and terror in his voice and this time when my own pain makes an appearance I hold it in. “Then, out of nowhere she scream
s,” he huffs out a breath. “She did it today with Grace here. Grace suggested I play music. Fuck if that didn’t make it fucking worse. She just screamed until I shut it off.”
“Music, Mazzy! Music made her do that. The sound that came from her sounded like she was in the most wretched fucking pain ever.” My heartbreaks with every confession and it takes every ounce of my resolve to let him have this moment.
“What am I going to do? I just want my Izzy back. I know we lost something, but we didn’t lose us,” he pauses as if waiting for an answer. “Baz, you don’t have to do that.” He pauses, waiting for Baz to finish what he has to say. “No.” There’s another pause. “Lito won’t take no for an answer either. Está bien, hermano.”
“Mazzy,” he implores, “Lito and Baz will be here, you don’t need to come, too.”
“You’re right,” I hear the surrender in his voice, “she probably does need you. But Mazzy, I need her to need me, too.”
The sob that I couldn’t rein in has Diego hastily ending his phone call and darting up the stairs. He’s shocked when he sees me sitting at the top with tears streaming down my face. While I can’t find my voice, I manage to reach out to him.
“Oh, Izzy,” his voice cracks as he reaches out to scoop me up into a cradling hug. He sits us on the top of the stairs and I nuzzle into my space between his chin and his collar. He carries me to our bedroom where he removes the day’s outfit and replaces it with a nightshirt. He gathers me in his arms again and crawls into bed.
I lay their cradled in his arms, my head tucked beneath his chin; ear pressed to his chest. The beat of his heart lulling me to sleep, the rubbing of his hand up and down my arm soothing. “Come back to me, Izzy.” I hear before I doze off.
Chapter Twenty-One:
Tears in Heaven
Love Turns With Twisted Fates (Truth About Love Book 2) Page 14
