When Forever Changes

by Siobhan Davis

  Heather has tears in her eyes, and her arms wide-open, the instant we walk through the door. Unbuckling Billy from his carrier seat, I carefully hand him to Grandma. She dots little kisses all over his face, whispering how precious he is and how much she loves him.

  “How you doing?” Slater whispers, circling his arm around my waist when I sway on my feet.

  “I’m okay. Sore and tired but it’s fine.”

  “How would you feel about me staying here for a couple days? I could help mind Billy while you rest.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that, Slate.”

  “You’re not asking. I’m offering.” He peers into my eyes. “And it’s not like I have much else to do. I’ve already given my notice at the club, and most of my stuff is boxed up back at the house. I can ask Austin or Ryan to deliver them to Mom’s house for me.”

  “I feel like I’ve already asked too much of you.”

  “Belle. You know how I feel about both of you.” He lowers his mouth to my ear. “I want to be here with you. If you send me away, I’m just going to wallow in misery. Let me help take care of you while you take care of Dylan.”

  “You’re a good man, Slater Evans.” I press a kiss to his cheek before turning to Heather. “I’d like Billy to meet his daddy now.” She nestles my precious boy back in my arms, and I walk upstairs with Slater protecting me from behind. Outside Dylan’s room, he squeezes my shoulder and presses a kiss to Billy’s soft cheek before going back downstairs.

  Dylan is sleeping when I step inside the room. Rowena looks up with a great big smile on her face. “Oh, Gabby. He’s a little beauty.” She touches his cheek, beaming at him. “And he looks so much like Dylan.”

  “I know. Except for the eyes, he’s the image of his daddy, and I couldn’t be happier about it.”

  “Dylan tried to stay awake, but he was drained; however, he gave me strict instructions to wake him once you arrived.”

  “I’ll do it, thanks, Rowena.”

  She quietly slips out of the room, and I move over to the bed, sitting down beside a sleeping Dylan. I’d like to say he looks at peace while he’s asleep, but his face is contorted in pain, even in slumber, and I hate how much he’s hurting.

  It’s selfish to pray to God to prolong Dylan’s life when he’s in so much pain.

  I should be begging God to take him as painlessly as possible.

  “Dylan, baby.” I press a kiss to his mouth. “Wake up, Freckles. I have someone here who wants to meet you.”

  Dylan stirs slowly, grimacing as he gradually opens his eyes. I lie down, placing Billy in between us. “Say hello to your son.”

  Dylan’s eyes instantly flood with tears, and he reaches out, running the tip of his finger down our baby’s cheek. Billy murmurs, but he doesn’t wake. “Oh, Gabby. Look at him.” His voice is laden with emotion.

  “I know, right?” I press a kiss to the top of my baby’s head, reaching my arm over to hug Dylan. “We made a beautiful baby, Dylan. And he’s so much like you.”

  Dylan places a shaky kiss on Billy’s forehead, closing his eyes and inhaling. I wish he could smell that gorgeous baby smell, but his senses aren’t what they used to be, another side effect he’s had to deal with lately. “And he’s okay, Gabby? He’s perfectly healthy?”

  “He’s absolutely perfect, Dylan. Passed all the checks with flying colors. He’s even a good weight for a preemie.”

  “I was so scared I wouldn’t make it to this day,” he admits. “I’m glad I didn’t miss this.” He watches Billy’s tiny chest rising and falling with awe and adoration on his face. “It helps, you know,” he whispers, curling his finger through Billy’s small hand. “At least I’m not leaving you totally alone. That there’s this part of me left to comfort you and Mom.”

  “He already brings me so much joy, and while nothing can compensate for your loss, I know he’ll help me get through it.”

  “I want you to move forward with your life, Gabby. To find love again. I don’t want you to be sad, Dimples.” Dylan takes my hand, linking our fingers and resting them over Billy’s stomach. “I know you will be at first, but promise me you’ll try to remember all the amazing times we had together rather than focusing on the time we didn’t have.” His breathing becomes labored, and he pauses for a bit. “I would rather go out like this having loved you for nine years than live a long, healthy life without you in it.” He raises our joined hands to his lips, kissing my fingers. “Thank you, Gabby. For filling my life with love and happiness and for giving me this most precious gift.” His breath is wheezy, and he’s clearly struggling, so I reach over for the oxygen mask and fit it over his mouth.

  “It’s been my absolute pleasure to share my life with you, Dylan. You’ve shown me how amazing it is to love and be loved, and, for as long as I live, I will never forget you. Billy and I will love you forever.” The heaviness pressing down on my chest almost makes it impossible to go on, but I do it for him. “Now, sleep, Freckles. We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

  Billy wakes me a few hours later, emitting noisy, hungry little cries. Before I can even rub the sleep from my eyes, Slater is there, kneeling by the bed. “I can feed him if you want to go back to sleep,” he whispers, already reaching for Billy.

  “Are you sure?” I ask through a yawn.

  “Positive. And I’ll bring him back in here when he’s done.” He casts a concerned look in Dylan’s direction.

  “Thank you, Slate.”

  I’m asleep before my head even hits the pillow.

  The next morning, the house is a hive of activity. The photographer arrives to take some family photos, and I should be amazed Dylan organized it at such short notice, but I’ve seen him in action these past few months, and he’s been on a mission. It’s the same photographer we used to take our maternity shots, but that time, Dylan had been mobile, and we’d gone to his studio. This time, he has to work around the poor lighting in Dylan’s bedroom, but I don’t care how they turn out, because they’re the only family photos we will have, so they’ll be precious to me anyway.

  Dylan’s in a lot of pain today. I can tell by the way he winces with even the slightest movement, but he refuses his usual morphine shot, saying he wants to be fully conscious every second he has left with his son. I hold Dylan while he feeds his son a bottle, keeping my arms propped underneath his the entire time. He struggles to keep his eyes open, falling asleep before his son does. I lay Billy down beside his dad, snapping more pics as I sit in the chair by his bed. Heather sits across from me, and we share knowing looks. We both know the end is close, but neither one of us can admit that out loud.

  Slater takes over when Billy wakes, changing his diaper and taking him out for a walk in his new stroller. Then Mom arrives, insisting on making lunch and practically force-feeding myself and Heather. We refuse to leave Dylan’s side, so she carries everything up on a tray.

  Terri and Caleb arrive in the late afternoon, and I race down the stairs to say a quick hello before returning to Dylan. I’m terrified to leave his side for even a minute.

  My maternity nurse arrives, and she runs a few checks on me and Billy. She cautions me to get some sleep, telling me my body needs rest and good nutrition, but I zone her out. There’s no way I’m going to sleep while Dylan is at death’s door. I doze a little in the chair, but I can’t fully fall asleep, and that’s the way I prefer it.

  Dylan moans a lot in his sleep, and it’s heartbreaking. I can’t bear to see him in so much pain. I tell Rowena to give him the morphine, and he drifts into a more peaceful sleep. When he wakes a few hours later, he’s lost the ability to speak. Every time he opens his mouth, no sound comes out, and my heart aches for him. Tears leak out of his eyes, and I wonder how much more indignity he can take.

  I beg God to take him.

  To spare him any more pain.

  I don’t want this for him.
r />   I hate to see the man I love like a shell of his former self.

  I’m happy he got to hold his son in his arms. That he got to kiss him and tell him he loves him. That we got some family photos taken and I’ll have something to show our son when he’s older.

  Over the last few hours, everyone comes in to say their goodbyes. I’m numb as I sit in a corner watching it happen. The only time I leave Dylan’s room is to go to the bathroom. The next time I take a bathroom break, Slater is waiting for me outside when I emerge. “Billy’s fed and bathed and fast asleep in his crib.”

  “Thank you for taking such good care of him.”

  “Your mom and the maternity nurse helped too. Turns out changing diapers isn’t as easy as it looks.” That pulls a tiny smile from my mouth. “And don’t even get me started on how difficult it was to figure out the stroller. I’m an engineering major, and it still took me at least an hour to fit it together. It only worked because I had to enlist your brother’s help in the end.”

  I full-on laugh at that. “Damn. I would’ve paid good money to see that.”

  Slater cups my face, looking at me softly and sweetly in a way I don’t deserve. Tears leak out of my eyes unbidden, and I mash my lips together to trap the anguished sobs threatening to emerge.

  “Come here,” he says, opening his arms, and I fold into his embrace without hesitation. “You’re going to get through this, Gabby.” He rubs a hand up and down my spine. “It won’t be easy, but you have so many people who love you and want to help. Including me.”

  “I know.” I press my head to his chest and close my eyes. “I just want this to be over for him because I hate seeing him in so much pain.”

  “That’s the worst. I felt like that with Mom.”

  I hold Slater tighter. “I couldn’t have gotten through this last month without you. Thank you.”

  “I’m here for you, Belle. Always.”

  Reluctantly, I pull out of Slater’s embrace after a couple of minutes. “I better head back. I don’t think he has long.” Silent tears cascade down my face.

  “I’m so sorry, Belle.”

  I swipe at my eyes, removing all trace of my tears. “I know you are.”

  Smiling sadly, I turn around without another word and walk back into Dylan’s bedroom.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Dylan died in his sleep during the night. It was peaceful in the end, and I’m grateful for small mercies. Heather and I were by his side, each of us holding his hand. Heather sobs. Huge, wracking, gut-wrenching sobs that shake her whole body. Her head is on Dylan’s chest, and her hand is still laced in his. Rowena removes all the tubes from Dylan’s body with tears streaming down her face.

  I don’t cry even though the pain in my heart is indescribable. I’m incapable of releasing my tears. Perhaps I’m in shock. Or I’m storing them up for the right time to let loose. I just stare at him in the bed wondering how it came to this. Cursing God for taking all my hopes and dreams away. Screaming at him in my head for stealing the boy I’ve always seen as my forever.

  Can you go on living when your heart is irrefutably broken beyond repair?

  Will I find the strength to be both mother and father to the son Dylan left behind?

  How can I move forward when all I want to do is go back? To return to a time when we were so in love and tangled up in one another.

  My mind churns painfully as I stare at the lifeless body of my love.

  My family comes into the room. They’ve been here all night, and they already said their goodbyes, so I know this is for me and Heather. They surround me as Heather says a few prayers. Slater sits down beside me, taking my other hand in his. He has the baby monitor in his free hand, and I glance at the screen, grateful my son is sleeping soundly and that he isn’t a witness to this. Then Caleb arrives with two guitars, extending one to me, but I shake my head. I can’t play. Not now. Maybe not ever. I’ll always associate it with Dylan, and, right now, it’s far too upsetting.

  Caleb plays some of Dylan’s favorite songs while my mom lights candles and incense around the room. “Dylan would really like this,” I say in a voice barely louder than a whisper. The singing, the candles, and the love of family. The prayers, not so much, but, like he said, this part is for the living. Although, I like the thought that maybe his spirit still lingers in the room, watching over proceedings.

  Myndi and Ryan stand behind me, each placing a hand on my shoulder. Mom and Dad sit on either side of Heather, comforting her while sending waves of love in my direction. Caleb sings his heart out for Dylan. A heavily pregnant Terri sits at his feet, rubbing her belly and clinging to her fiancé’s leg. Dean swipes tears away when he thinks I’m not looking.

  I’m surrounded by love, by people who would do anything for me, but their support and love can’t extinguish my heartache. I shiver, feeling unbearably cold on the inside, and this deep void, this cavernous hole, in my heart aches with the knowledge I lost a part of myself too today.

  The next few days are incredibly difficult, and my son is the only thing keeping me sane, tethering me to this existence. The pain isn’t as overwhelming when I’m holding him in my arms. I cling to him like a life preserver, and I’m hugely selfish, resisting giving him to anyone but Heather and Slater.

  I can’t sleep, because every time I close my eyes, I see Dylan’s tormented face and hear his ragged breathing, as he clung to the last vestiges of life. I argue with the maternity nurse when she suggests I take some sleeping pills. Then I argue with Slater after I fire her. He begs me not to do this. Tells me I need to take care of myself if I want to take care of Billy. I relent, apologize, and ask her to come back.

  The funeral service is tomorrow, and I’m dreading it. Which is why I’m up at four a.m. nursing a bottle of vodka on the couch. I fed Billy an hour ago so that should buy me a few hours of solitude to drink in peace.

  “I guess it’s a good thing you’re not breastfeeding yet,” Slater says, yawning as he strolls into the room. He’s only in low-hanging sweats, and the sight of his naked torso stirs something in me, but I ignore it and the lustful thought that enters my mind.

  I’m disgusted with myself.

  My boyfriend, my best friend, and the father of my child isn’t even in his grave yet and I’m having immoral thoughts about another man.

  “I don’t need a lecture,” I snap, unfairly venting at Slater.

  “I wasn’t criticizing,” he softly confirms, sitting down on the couch beside me.

  “I know.” I sigh. “I’m sorry. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not the best company these days.”

  “You’re grieving. I understand.”

  “Am I?” I swig straight from the vodka bottle. “Is that what this empty, numb feeling is?”

  “If I could absorb your pain, I would. I would do anything to spare you this.”

  I swig from the bottle again. “Mr. Smirnoff is doing a pretty good job right now.”

  Slater looks like he wants to say something, but he wisely stays quiet. “Want some?” I offer him the bottle.

  “Why the hell not.” His fingers brush against mine, sending ripples of electricity shooting through me. I squeeze my eyes shut, hating myself for my reaction to him. While it’s understandable—because Slater and I had something good and it didn’t end because those feelings ceased—it’s still wrong.

  We take turns drinking in silence, and my head is starting to cloud over.

  “I spent the entire two weeks after Mom’s funeral either drunk or drinking,” he admits.

  “Did it help?”

  “I thought it did, at the time, but it only prolonged the agony. Everything I worked so hard to avoid was still there when I came out of my alcoholic coma.”

  “I just need this one night. To try and blot it out, because I don’t know if I can get through tomorrow otherwise.”

 
“I’m here for you. You can lean on me.”

  “I can’t offer you anything, Slate. We can’t pick up where we left off,” I blurt. “I’m empty inside,” I say, even though it’s not fully true.

  “The only thing I’m asking for is the ability to support you and Billy. You’re still one of my best friends, and I’m not doing anything I wouldn’t do for any other friend in the same situation. I don’t expect anything in return.”

  I should tell him no because that’s not a fair bargain, and, deep down, I suspect he’s hoping for more of something I can’t give him. But those aren’t the words that leave my mouth. “Hold me, please?”

  “You never have to beg, Belle,” he replies, hauling me over and into his lap. He takes the open bottle from my hand, placing it on the table, and then he wraps his big, warm, strong arms around me. I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling less alone as my eyes drift shut.

  I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I wake, I’m lying on the couch with a blanket wrapped over my front and Slater curled around me from behind.

  “I thought you could use some coffee,” Heather says, holding it out to me as she eyeballs Slater and the bottle of vodka suspiciously.

  “This isn’t what it looks like,” I rush to reassure her. “I mean the vodka is, but nothing happened with Slater. I just got drunk and fell asleep.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Gabby. But you do need to hurry if we’re going to make it to church on time.”

  “Shit.” I glance at the clock on the wall. “I missed Billy’s seven a.m. feed.”

  “It’s okay. I gave him his bottle, and he’s napping in his bouncer now.”

  Guilt washes over me, and I vow that’s the last time I’m turning to alcohol. I can’t afford to blur the pain with vodka because I have responsibilities. Billy is my entire world now, and I won’t let him down. Not when I’m the only parent he has left and he’s relying on me.

  The funeral is every bit as horrendous as I expected it to be. Heather disapproved of my plan to bring Billy with me, but she doesn’t get to make that call, so I overruled her. She doesn’t realize how much I need to hold my baby in my arms to survive this day.