“Jaxon?”
My head shot up, and I saw a huddled figure coming out of the trees.
The moment I saw my mother, I instantly regretted the mere idea of cutting her out of my life. I needed her. Ached for her. She had to be here. Someway. Somehow. Her coat was tattered, the one I’d given her when she got out of the hospital. She shivered; the night was cold. But I thought she was shivering more because she hadn’t gotten high in a while.
I understood Mom’s addiction problems. Her problems had become mine. We were both empty. Only, I wanted to be full. She’d given up.
We looked alike. Same black hair, same dark eyes. She was skinny and frail, but she was also beautiful. I sighed looking at her. I wanted to hug her, but she’d never let me. She hated me.
“Hey,” I said gruffly.
She came to stand beside me, hugging herself as she gazed into the river.
“Want to go get something to eat?” I asked after a few minutes of silence.
She nodded. “New car,” she noted, after she’d gotten in.
Mom didn’t know about Miya. She didn’t know I had golden light in my palm. Pink petals in the other. A minivan and spit up in my future. I didn’t know how to tell her. Didn’t know how to live without her.
I turned the heater on and fixed her vents, aiming them at her. She shivered hard and moaned. My heart squeezed in my chest for her. “You need to get high?” I bent to catch her dark, tortured gaze.
She wouldn’t hold my eyes. Never had been able to. She gave me a second of contact before skirting her gaze away. “Too sick to work.”
She meant prostituting herself out for money, so she could buy heroine. My heart fucking killed. I wanted Miya, but Miya didn’t need to be here. Watching my darkest secret play out before me. We’d always be this. Enabler and enabled. I handed her my cell phone. “Call your hookup. Not the fucker who sold you the fucked up shit.”
Her dirty fingers scrambled for my cell. I ignored her movements and actions as I drove. My eyes were focused on the road. My heart was focused on her. As a boy, she was the only woman in my life. She hung the moon and ruined each and every one of my stars. Now she stabbed at my moon and took away my world. I was still there, though. Looking up at the sky waiting for one more star to sparkle in a starless sky.
I drove to the location she gave me and parked in the back alley. I peeled off a fifty-dollar bill and handed it to her. She took it softly, with her fingertips. I ignored the tears on her face as she ran in front of my car and exchanged the cash for a baggie. She got high in my car. She passed out a few minutes later. I drove. Drove us around for hours as she floated on a plain of clouds and breaks. When she woke up, it was a little after midnight.
She wasn’t shivering anymore, and she had enough dope to keep her off her back for a few more days. I hoped.
“Hungry?” I murmured, my tone flat.
“I’ll pay you back,” she said.
She always said that. She never did. I always said, “You’d better,” but I’d never take it. “Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
The only thing open was a diner down the street. “Go clean up,” I told her once we made it inside. I sank down at a booth and ordered coffee for us both. I took my cell out while I waited. Miya had called ten times and texted a million. I sent her a text off, and then put my phone back in my pocket.
Me: I love you.
When Mother came out, she was slightly more bright-eyed, and her face and hands were clean. She’d even buttoned all the buttons on her jacket.
“Mmm, coffee,” she moaned, bringing the black liquid to her lips and taking a long drink.
She stared at the table top.
Never looking me in my eyes.
She couldn’t face me. Didn’t like looking at me, because every single time she did, she saw the boy she let get hurt and abused. She saw her failures.
Well, that was just too fucking bad right now. She failed. I was the product of her addiction and neglect. But I had substance. I had to remember that. I was full of holes, but I could still stand. Riddled and empty. Smile maybe. Strangle my monster once and for all.
How long would we both let our mistakes ruin us?
I dug the prepaid credit card from my pocket and slit it over to her. She couldn’t use the card for drugs. She had to use it for other things. Unless she hawked the entire thing for heroin.
She took the card with her delicate fingers and put it in her pocket.
“There’s five-hundred dollars on that card.”
Her wide eyes shot to mine.
“We’re going to have dinner together right now. You’re going to take that card. Then I’m going to drop you off wherever you want me to. And then that’s it. We won’t have these meetings again.”
I was a monster.
I’d done atrocious things to beautiful things.
I’d even plucked the petals from Miya, my pink rose.
But nothing compared to the look in my mother’s eyes when I broke off our meetings. She hated me. I knew she did. Maybe she’d missed the money. But the look in her eyes didn’t appear disappointed. It looked shattered.
“What do you mean?” she asked, her tone wispy and brittle. “Jaxon? What does that mean?”
I stared into my mug. I hadn’t even bothered to put sugar and cream in it. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”
Her breathing increased. I heard her. I did not look up. “You don’t… want to see me? You always want to see me. You search, Jaxon, from sun up to sun down for me. What do you mean, you don’t want to see me?”
“I can’t do it anymore.”
“Why not? Are you leaving the state?” Her breathing got louder. “Are you leaving me all alone? I won’t last out there on my own.” She sobbed.
She was the reason I never left Portland. I stayed here because that’s where she was. Even when Miya left, I couldn’t bring myself to leave my mother here all by herself. The thought was too painful.
I did not look up. “I’m getting married.”
“What?” she gasped, and her sobbing increased.
She knew then, what was coming. I had to let her go so I could have a chance.
I did not look up. “I’m having a baby.”
Her sobs tore through her.
“I don’t want you around my child.”
She bawled.
“Around my wife. Around me.”
My monster ached for her. He wanted to wrap our arms around her and never let go. For her to forgive herself, for me to forgive her too. I wanted to bring her with me. I wanted her to be happy.
Her hands reached for me and settled on mine. Her dirty, brittle nails, chewed on and sore, held on to me. “I don’t want your money. If that’s what you think.”
“It’s not.” She took my money because I made her. It made me feel better to make sure she had it.
“You’re mine,” my mother whispered defiantly. “You’ve always been my Jaxon. Who thinks they can take you from me? Huh? What woman is better than me?”
I was glad I wasn’t a dominant anymore. If I were, some poor soul would suffer tonight. I had to swallow my lack of control and turn it into strength. “She isn’t taking me. She’s healing me.”
“I need you,” she admitted in a huff of despair. “I know that no matter how hard it gets, no matter how sad and alone I am, how high, how empty, no matter how much time passes, my son will always come back to me. I need that to keep going. How could you take that from me?”
I flinched. My fingers wrapped around hers. “My child needs two healthy, good parents, Mom.” I finally looked up, my tear-stained red eyes meeting hers. “I don’t want my baby to go through what I did.” I let my pain go, matching her heavy sobs. “To be forgotten, abused, and ruined. You’re still ruining me. Even now. And I’m so fucked up I don’t even care. Because I love you. I want you there for me. Right now. How can I raise a fucking kid? But you’re not there. You’re getting high and doing what you always do. A
bandoning me.”
She held my hands tighter and looked down.
“Do you have any idea how much you fucked me up? The things I’ve done just trying to survive? I don’t want that for my kid. And I don’t want to blame you anymore either. I’m a man who is about to be a father and a husband, and I need to let everything that hurt me go. That means you.”
But even as I said it, I didn’t believe it.
She didn’t look up.
That was our way. Spill our guts when the other wasn’t looking.
“You’re really going to be a father?” she asked, instead of acknowledging anything I’d just said.
She looked up. Her red eyes were faintly sparkling with something else. It made me pause. I’d never seen that look in her eyes before.
“Yes.”
“A baby?”
“That’s usually how it works.” I pulled back, wiping a hand down my face.
“A boy?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“I hope it’s a boy. I hope he looks like you. And I hope he smiles like you used to as a baby. So big, it made a lot of things bearable to see you do it.”
Shit. My monster and I both agreed that that line of conversation wasn’t going to happen. “Stop.”
“How far along is she? You’re getting married? I didn’t think that would ever happen.”
I snorted miserably, wondering why she looked so freakishly alive all of a sudden. “She’s only three months along.”
“I remember being pregnant. I craved the strangest things.”
I glared at her. “Stop talking.”
“Coffee with ketchup.” She smiled, her crooked, damaged smile breaking my heart. It was the first time I’d seen her smile in decades.
“That sounds disgusting. Miya doesn’t crave anything really so far.” Just my cock. I didn’t think she’d want to hear that part, though.
“Miya,” she said, her smile growing. “What a pretty name. Is she pretty? I bet she’s pretty.”
I glowered at her, my lips pressing shut.
“Where will you get married? Will you wait for the baby?”
I didn’t respond.
“You should do it after the baby gets here, that way he or she can be in the wedding.” She gave me a crazed, breathless giggle, and then she started sobbing. “Don’t leave me, Jaxon.”
I didn’t move.
“Any names picked out?” She wiped at her snot.
I sat still.
“You should pick your name. I loved your name. It was strong, and masculine, and different. When you were born, you were my little Jaxon.”
I glared at her.
“Or something pretty if it’s a girl. Something soft and free. But nothing dumb, like a celebrity name. Apple,” she snorted, and I frowned. “Gwen’s a pretty name,” she hinted, like she hadn’t just suggested her own name to me.
My brow quirked at her and I crossed my arms over my chest, studying her.
“Would you like to order?” the waitress asked, setting down menus.
“No,” I said.
“Yes.” Mom took a menu and looked it over.
The waitress backed away from this freak show.
“I can help you,” I spoke up. “I’m an addiction counselor. Have been for a while. I’m still a psychiatrist. I know your mind. I know my own. I can help you, Mom. And maybe if I do, my kid will get a grandmother.”
“A grandmother…?” Her eyes bled tears at the same time that weird shining that existed in them increased.
Thankfully, the waitress arrived to take our orders.
“I’m not really hungry,” Mom said.
The waitress frowned.
I grabbed Mom’s menu from her and piled it on top of mine to hand off to her. “We’ll both have cheeseburgers and fries, please.”
She nodded, quickly taking off.
“We’re scaring the waitress.”
“She should be scared,” she muttered, staring back down at the table. “Don’t leave me.”
I didn’t respond for the rest of the meal. She ate switching between, “Don’t leave me,” and discussing baby names and diaper techniques. Even if I wanted to respond, I wasn’t sure how I would. Part of her was begging, the other part of her was planning. But in reality, she was blocking out the part where our relationship was over. Everything in me hurt. Even my monster was huddled in the corner rocking in denial. These meetings with my mother were hard on me, hard on her—but like an addict, I understood this pain for what it was; the only relationship I’d ever have with my mother. How could I not take it? Since I was a young-adult I’ve tracked her down, refused to let her push me away, and now it was all over.
At two in the morning, I rose from the table.
She looked up, setting her mug down. She started to get up, too.
“No,” I said forcefully. “My offer stands. You want to get help, I’m here. If you don’t, then this is goodbye. I need to say goodbye to you,” I hissed, leaning down so only she could hear me. I threw a few bills on the table and stepped back.
All I wanted was my Miya.
She blinked at me. I knew how hard it was to imagine being sober with the drug in your veins. She had dope, money, and food; as far as she was concerned there was nothing to change. But she didn’t have me—that’s the part I hoped changed her mind.
“Raise them right,” she whispered, looking down.
My fucking heart exploded. I could physically feel it breaking. I clutched at my chest, a little boy all over again, begging his mother to see him. To save him. I didn’t know why I was so upset. She’d chosen drugs and alcohol over me my entire life. I was a thirty-three-year-old man.
The little boy who’d been held down and abused, who’d been forgotten and hurt, was my monster. It wasn’t some dark entity inside me that formed over the years. My monster was the little boy who’d had no choice but to become one to survive.
I had to let him go too.
Let the little boy in me free. Swallow his hurts and let them go.
Out of everything, that had to hurt the most. I wanted to protect that little boy, but the time to do so had gone, and now that little boy was hurting the man I had to become.
I walked away from my mother once and for all.
I drove home to my Miya.
The prospect of seeing her soothed my shattered soul.
4. – Miya
Fire raced up my throat.
My thighs quivered.
My fingers trembled on the smooth, slick surface.
I felt like I was being torn apart.
Jaxon grinned up at me.
I glared down at him.
And then I zipped my jeans up. Finally! Heartburn burned up my esophagus. I was seven months pregnant, and I felt, looked, and was every bit of it. Our room was in disarray. Our things were packed, and the movers were set to come in a few hours. I tried not to think too closely, look too hard at our items; I wasn’t entirely ready to let go of Jaxon’s forest dreamhouse. He wasn’t suffering from the same feelings. He was hellbent on getting rid of the house, even if that meant burning it down.
His hand reached over and rubbed my belly, skimming his fingers over the mound gently. Every time he touched my stomach, he did so with a gentle, reverent touch. Careful eyes. He was afraid of our child. I saw it, he had to know it too.
I put my hand over his. “You’re going to be a daddy.”
His jaw ticked and his eyes glimmered. He was downright terrified.
“How does that make you feel, Jaxon?”
He peered up at me. “Nervous. Sick. Happy. Excited. Sweaty. Like a fraud. Entirely fearful.” He kissed my belly and then got up. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to leave this fucking house behind.”
We were moving into the mansion on the coast. By tonight, this house, and all the things that had been done in it—both good and bad—would become a memory. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Ideally, I’d like to leave the past behind as well. But I wasn’t
as willing to do so as Jaxon was. He was ashamed and fearful of the past. I was smart enough to recognize that the past had a hand, even painful, in giving us our present.
And damn it, I wanted the present.
I held my breath for the rest of my pregnancy. The larger I grew, the more distant Jaxon got. At first, I thought his fears were muting his personality. But he was afraid, not quiet. Soon, I started to truly wonder if he wanted this. Me? A baby? The stark reality of what I wanted, as opposed to what he wanted, began to taunt me. My growing belly taunted me. Every wrong thing we were taunted me with all the right things I wanted.
What if I made the ultimate mistake? Trying to chain the beast.
I hardly slept that night. Sleeping itself was uncomfortable. No position worked. When the alarm went off, neither one of us moved other than him turning the alarm off. We lay there; my belly protruded above us. A sense of protectiveness overcame me. I held my belly. My baby would always come first.
I peered at Jaxon.
His eyes were on my stomach.
He looked like he was burning a hole through my flesh to see inside.
The ring on my finger sizzled.
I wanted it to warm. Not burn.
Maybe the distance I felt came from not having sex. I’d been too everything to even think about it. Nauseas, swollen, tired—I wasn’t in the mood at all for anything but sleep and jeans that fit.
“Stay in bed all morning, please,” he stressed, getting out of bed and grabbing his pillow. He propped my feet up, and then kneeled onto the ground. He massaged my feet, grinding his knuckles over my arch.
I moaned, burrowing down in my covers. “I have to get the nursery finished.”
Living in the mansion on the coast was a dream. Every morning I awoke to the roar of the ocean, and the chirping of birds from the forest. The air was cool and fresh that spring, and the sky was cloudless and blue. The patio off our bedroom was open; golden light spilled into our room and onto my belly.
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