by James, Marie
“Fuck,” he mutters as new tears replace the ones he wiped away. “Way to make me feel like a pussy.”
“Kids will do that to you.” I give him a few moments to pull himself together, keeping an eye on Phoenix as he shows a little girl his truck.
“I never expected that,” he offers.
“I’ve shown him your picture over the years. Told him stories about you. I never expected that reaction either. I just assumed he had no idea what I was talking about or wouldn’t retain the information.”
“What were you planning to tell him when he eventually asked where I was?” His eyes search mine, almost begging me to say anything but my plans to tell Phoenix the truth of his father’s addiction. I see the shame, the regret he harbors for the choices he made.
“Work?” He frowns. “I haven’t thought that far, Blaze. Parenting is a twenty-four-seven job. Some days I forget to eat. When he goes to bed, I crash because it’s exhausting.”
“I’m here. I can help you, and you don’t have to lie when he asks now.” It’s my turn to frown at him. “I know I wasted every chance you’ve given me, beautiful, but that’s not happening this time. I’m not going anywhere.”
I don’t allow myself to think about anything but the sun on my legs and my son splashing with the other kids when he rests his hand on top of mine on the table. I don’t pull it away like I did at his house several days ago, but I don’t let it control me either. He’s always been smooth, able to sell water to a drowning man. The tingle I feel creep up my arm is hard to ignore, though.
“I can keep him for a while.” I jump with a start and whip around to look at him, the baritone of his voice startling me.
“I’m sorry?” I ask, my cheeks flushing at having to admit I didn’t hear what he said.
“I said I can take him for a while. I’m off tomorrow.” I furrow my brow. “So you can get some rest. You said you’re exhausted.”
“I’m on vacation,” I say, which means this week will be more exhausting than the weeks I work and he’s at daycare. “I’m not ready for that.”
“I understand,” he says before getting up from the table and walking to Phoenix, who is trying to strong-arm his car back from the little girl he offered it to earlier.
Joy fills my heart watching father and son interact for the first time. Blaze, having worn a t-shirt and swim trunks, must have anticipated spending time close to Phoenix today, and that warms me toward him even further. He gets down on his hands and knees, splashing and laughing like the half dozen toddlers swarming him.
I’m not the only one who is enjoying the way his clothes cling to his body, outlining every dip and valley of his muscled back and legs. A cluster of mothers to my right swoon just as hard. The same jealousy I felt when girls would come on to him with me standing right there years ago begins to creep in. I push it down, reminding myself he’s no longer mine. My rights to those feelings disappeared the day he walked out almost four years ago.
An hour later, Blaze walks back over to his chair. Mouth gaping, I watch as he strips off his wet shirt and pulls a towel from his duffel bag, and glare at him when one woman from the group whistles. His eyes never leave mine, not missing one second of the proprietary way I’m watching him. Smirking, he drops the towel on his chair and leans down to retrieve a dry shirt.
“Your nipples are hard,” he whispers so only I can hear.
My arms immediately cross over my chest. “I see some things never change. Yours are too!”
He rolls his lip between his teeth to keep from laughing. “It’s because I’m wet.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. Same here, buddy.
I move my eyes from his body back to where Phoenix is playing like he has more energy than TXU.
“Damn, beautiful,” he groans, plopping down in his chair. I chuckle when he places the towel over his lap and divert my eyes back to my son, the sight of his chest and abdomen burned in my mind. He’s more defined than he ever was, a thicker layer of hair on his pecs and stomach. My fingers tingle with the need to touch him, taste him, have him do the same to me—all things I can’t afford to have in my mind, much less allow in real life.
“What are your plans for the rest of your vacation week?”
“His birthday party is Saturday. He’d like it if you were there.” My brain warred with my mouth about bringing the subject up, but a sense of rightness washes over me. I look over at him, needing to see his expression when I say the next part. It’s how I plan to keep my distance, lending an olive branch, but then delivering details of what he missed that I know will hurt him. It’s the only power I have. “His actual birthday is on Monday, but I have to go back to work, so…”
His eyes soften as he watches the kids play. “My birthday is on Monday.”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
He clears his throat three times before pushing down the emotion.
“I was still in a really dark place when I went into labor. I didn’t want him to share the day with you, but it was fate, I guess.” I pull my gaze from his, unable to see the pain my words have caused him. “I named him Phoenix because he’s the product of transformation—the amazing thing given to me after my world caught fire and burned to the ground.”
“You don’t love me anymore.” Not a question, a heartbreaking statement.
“I don’t think I can ever stop loving you, Blaze, but I gave up on the possibility of us that day.” Tears sting my eyes, reminding me of the ones that fell when I was exhausted from pushing, wanting to give up, wanting him by my side, but unable to have any of those things. “What were you doing on your birthday three years ago?”
“Passed out from a three-day coke binge,” he answers with more honesty than I thought he would.
“I wish I could make you cry.” I don’t even look at him as the hateful words escape my lips. “So hard, you couldn’t breathe.”
“I’ve cried more tears than I can count over what I’ve done to you, over the millions of things I never should’ve missed. I’d break my own bones if it could heal your pain.” I finally look over at him, and he doesn’t bother to hide the tears streaming down his cheeks.
“You can’t unbreak my heart.” The urge to pack up and run hits me like a boulder to the chest. Coming here, spending the day with him, was a bad idea. I know there’s no point in living in the past, but I can’t let it go. Forgiving and forgetting isn’t an option. The second I do, I destroy every promise I made to my child—to myself.
“I thought you’d wait for me.” I snap my eyes to his, angry he’d be upset, blame me for his addiction. “When I left that day, I had it in my mind you’d be waiting with open arms.”
“Your ego knows no bounds,” I snap.
“The day I saw you on the patio of the café with that douche bag…I got clean after that. That big fucker broke several ribs and I landed in the hospital. I knew you’d never take me back if I was still using. You told me as much that day. I saw the hope in your eyes. I knew then I’d do anything to win you back.” He’s spewing the things he should’ve said days ago in his house out in public, not even concerned if people are listening.
My cheeks flush pink, but I blame it on embarrassment from his rising tone and the looks we’re getting from those around us. In truth, a large part of my unease stems from not really taking his emotions into account and being slapped in the face with them all at once. I wasn’t prepared for this.
“We shouldn’t do this here,” I urge. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”
He shakes his head and continues. “I was two days away from getting my sixty-day chip from NA. I was coming for you then, and I didn’t plan on taking no for an answer. You’re my wife and I was getting you back, douchebag be damned. Then you came into the shitty diner I was working at to use the restroom. My boy. That’s what that asshole said with his hand on your stomach,” he spits out like venom on his tongue, and I gasp.
His eyes remain focused in front of him, as if looking at him will st
op him from finishing. I don’t remember the day he’s talking about because there were so many times I had to run into random places to pee, even more times when Julian put his hand on me and spoke to Phoenix while I was pregnant
“That’s the day I knew I lost you, and it was cemented in stone when I watched him kiss you on the temple and carry our son into the house.”
I glare at him. “You were following me?”
“I spent the next seven months high as a fucking kite,” he continues without acknowledging me. “I’d think of you every time I tossed back a handful of pills, every time I used a dirty dollar to snort a line of coke. I’d cry myself to sleep damn near every night, knowing what I wanted wasn’t what I needed. I had to have the drugs to make it through because living this life with you in the arms of another man wasn’t something I could handle sober.” His eyes finally meet mine, exhausted, red-rimmed. “So, don’t for once think I haven’t regretted every fucking second of my life since I walked away from you, that I haven’t cried an ocean full of tears because of the mistakes I made.”
“Blaze,” I start, but it’s as far as I get, because what the hell do I say to that?
Chapter 40
Blaze
“Where the fuck have you been?” I’m on the verge of punching Jacob in the face as he slowly takes off his baseball cap and replaces it with his hard hat. “You were supposed to be here two hours ago.”
“Traffic,” he lies.
“My ass,” I seethe. I know exactly what the fuck’s going on. The signs are there. He’s lost weight in the last couple weeks and the dark circles around his eyes are a dead giveaway. “You’re using.”
This factory, run by a former addict who got his shit together, allows those of us who have a colored past to work. We have random drug tests and he’ll fire anyone who’s dirty or he suspects of relapse. I met him when he was visiting another guy while I was in rehab. He had this job set up for me when I got out.
“I had a rough night, asshole. Back the fuck off.”
I don’t have time for this shit. “Don’t ask me to cover another one of your shifts. Show up high again and I’m taking that information to the foreman.”
He glares at me. “What, are you some kind of snitch now?”
“No, I’m a pissed off dad who pulled a double fucking shift so you could fuck around and get high. Do what the fuck you want, man, it’s your life, and no one knows that shit better than me, but don’t fuck around with the limited time I have with my son.”
I ignore his half-hearted apology as I make my way out of the factory. My fingers tap on the steering wheel, anxious to get across town. I don’t bother stopping by my place for the shower I desperately need. I’m already an hour late to a two-hour party and Fallyn is going to be pissed.
Adding to my already crappy mood, I see The Douche standing in the front yard talking to a young girl—nineteen, twenty tops. Her head is bowed in submission as he whispers in her ear. Fascinated by whatever dynamic they have, I can’t pull my eyes away. He speaks, she nods, but when she tries to add something to the conversation, the look he gives her makes my spine tingle.
We’ve never talked about him. I knew I couldn’t contain my anger in regards to him and Fallyn has never broached the subject either. She knows my intentions, that I’m here to try to win her back, that I’ll never love another woman like I love her, but seeing this guy makes me question everything. Not knowing if they still have something going on causes concern. Still being friends and hanging around a man she was once intimate with has alarm bells chiming. I know how addictive she is, and he must too. They may not be together, but he’ll want between her thighs again, at a minimum.
Proving my point, he all but snarls in my direction when I give him the single head nod while walking past him and the girl he’s talking to. Let that fucker try something. With the mood I’m in, and my size compared to the last time we went to blows, I’d kill him.
Fallyn’s head is turned toward the living room when she pulls the door open and the smile on her face drops immediately when she looks at me.
“You’re late,” she hisses, blocking the doorway so I can’t enter.
“Work ran over. Fuck,” I groan, smacking my forehead with my hand. “I didn’t even go home. I left his gifts there.”
“Your eyes are bloodshot and have shadows under them.” I swallow down the rage at the accusation in her voice, knowing I’d look just as bad after a three-day bender on pills. I have to gain her trust, so getting pissed when she suspects I’m using isn’t helpful.
“I just got off an eighteen-hour shift, Fallyn. I’m fucking exhausted, but I’m here.” She looks over her shoulder when my voice gets louder than I intended.
“Don’t,” she hisses. “He’s not a burden. This was a bad idea.”
“Is there a problem here?”
My body tenses with anger, frustration, and a debilitating fatigue as the douchebag shoulders past me. Rage fills my blood, heating my skin from the inside out when Fallyn opens the door to allow him in. He posts up behind her, hands on her shoulders, protective and possessive.
My hands twitch with the need to knock the smug look off his face, taunting, knowing. The same way he looked at me that day in the café. Almost as if he’s daring me to act like a piece of shit, to prove to Fallyn I’m worthless. It worked then, but I had enough drugs in my system not to feel the blows to the ribs as I lay on the ground watching my wife walk away from me the same way I’d done months before. Today is different. I’m dead tired, pretty much asleep on my feet, but my mind is straight, able to make the right choices.
The Douche runs his hand up and down her arm—no, not his hand, the tip of one finger. It’s seductive, as if he’s purposely trying to provoke me.
Unable to watch any longer, I turn my eyes back to Fallyn.
“I’m just late. I was at work. Look at my clothes, I’m filthy. I didn’t want to miss another second. I came straight here.”
Douche squeezes her arm and the anger on her face turn into resolve, like she needed his reassurance.
“You should go,” she insists.
“What about tomorrow?” We made plans to go to the park the other day at the water park.
She shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“Please don’t do this,” I plead. She doesn’t answer me, just looks past me, through me. “You know I wanted to keep this out of court, Fallyn.”
Douche huffs a laugh. “Court would be best.”
She shoots him an angry look over her shoulder.
“Don’t threaten me, Blaze.”
Douche has the fucking nerve to wink at me, and my hands clench involuntarily. My world is falling apart and this fucker is mocking me in his designer clothes and expensive watch. I wouldn’t be able to hide my anger right now if I wanted to, which I don’t. All I can think about is never getting to see my son again, and it makes me murderous.
“Fallyn.” My voice is guttural, my body on the very edge of responding exactly how this fuckwad wants me to.
“He’s pretty pissed, Cariño. I don’t think him being around Phoenix is such a good idea. We don’t want him to learn violence is the way to solve his problems.”
I lunge for him, but her soft hand on my chest stops me.
“You only act this way when you’re high.” The sureness of her words kills any hope I had of convincing her to let me see my son.
I take two steps back, nearly falling on my ass when the heel of my boot catches the edge of the first step.
Douche raises an eyebrow. Can’t even stand up straight, his eyes scream.
Fucked up part is when I look at Fallyn, her eyes are saying the same thing, but not with expectation, disappointment. She believed me when I told her I was clean, and from the look on her face, I just destroyed any trust I built over the last week.
I hold my hands up in surrender and take a deep breath, knowing begging and pleading with her to believe me isn’t going
to work, especially with that asshole right there whispering in her ear. “Okay. I’ll go.”
I fight every urge in my body telling me to turn around and beg as I walk back to my truck. I want to plead my case, prove to her this isn’t what it looks like, but at the same time, I’m disappointed in her readiness to accuse me of using again.
If either one thinks I’m throwing in the towel, giving up on my chance to have my son in my life, they better think again. As much as it hurts to admit, I know I can live without Fallyn, I just don’t want to. My recovery was centered on getting clean for myself, not using the idea of anyone else to help me stay clean. My counselor drilled into my head that my sobriety can’t be based on another soul, including Phoenix. He hammered in that even if the courts took away any and all rights, I had to be strong enough to survive that without using. It’s why it took so long for me to show up on her doorstep.
I stop by the house to grab the toys I should’ve put in my truck before I went to work yesterday and head back out. One more stop before I go back over there to prove I’m better than the man she met that first night—to prove the man who chose pills over her is long gone and never coming back.
Chapter 41
Fallyn
“What the fuck was that?” I hiss, turning on my heel and facing off with Julian the second the door closes on Blaze’s retreating back.
He shrugs. “You invited me. If you didn’t want to throw up a wall between you and him, why am I here?”
We haven’t spoken very often in the two years since he moved out. I keep up with him mostly on social media, which consists of sporadic, generic posts.
“You’re not here because of him. I invited you before he was ever back in the picture.” I sweep my hands over my hair, feeling disheveled and exposed after the last few minutes. “You’re here because Phoenix loves you.”
He huffs a laugh. “He doesn’t even remember me.”
“Whose fault is that?” I try to walk past him, but he grabs my arm, not rough, but with an authority I can’t ignore.
