Trying

by Heather MacKinnon

  With a quick splash of cold water on my heated face, I dried my hands and left the bathroom. I’d barely taken a step before I almost ran into the hard chest of someone in a crisp white dress shirt.

  “I’m sorry, excuse me,” I mumbled.

  “Are you still not feeling well?”

  I glanced up to see it was Mason I’d almost steamrolled in my haste to leave the bathroom and my failures behind me.

  “Stomach’s still off,” I admitted.

  Mason’s brow furrowed. “I went out and got you this on my lunch break.” He produced a can of ginger ale from behind his back and my eyes immediately filled with tears.

  That was another side effect I’d had to endure the past few days. My emotions were completely unpredictable, and it seemed as though the tears lay right beneath the surface at all times, ready and waiting to fall at a moment’s notice.

  “You got me ginger ale?” I sniffed.

  He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, seemingly uncomfortable with my show of emotions. I couldn’t blame the guy, I could barely stand myself these days.

  “I know you said your stomach has been bothering you and I wanted to help. Since you refuse to stay home,” he shot me a quick glare, “I thought the least I could do was try to help you feel better while you’re here.”

  The tears that had been gathering in my eyes had finally reached max capacity and they overflowed, both sides racing each other down my cheeks. I choked back a sob, covering my mouth with my hand.

  Mason’s eyes widened, jaw hanging open as he stood there speechless for a few moments. Finally, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the nearest exit.

  We stepped out into the cool afternoon and Mason led us over to a small picnic table along the side of the building. He released my shoulder and took both my hands in his as we took seats facing each other.

  “Kenny, what’s going on? Why are you crying?”

  I sniffed unevenly. “It was just so thoughtful of you to get me a ginger ale,” I cried.

  Mason squeezed my hands. “You’re crying because I got you a soda?”

  “No,” I wailed.

  “Kenny, you’re killing me here. Tell me what’s wrong so I can help make it better.”

  “It’s just all so much. I can’t… I don’t know… I just…” I trailed off without making a single coherent sentence. Mason must have thought I was a lunatic at this point.

  He leaned forward until his forehead was pressed against mine. “Kenny, just take a deep breath. Calm down and then we can figure out how to fix it.”

  I did what he suggested, but knew it was no use. There was no fixing what was wrong. There was no way for him to make things better when in fact, he was part of the problem.

  Sweet Mason who was always there when I needed him and sometimes even when I didn’t know I needed him. Always there to help or take care of me, even when I’d been trying to make it clear for months that nothing could happen between us. It hadn’t deterred him once. As selfish as it might be, I was thankful for his friendship. I knew he wanted it to be more, but I was grateful for what it was.

  After a few silent moments of deep breathing, I’d finally calmed myself enough to sit back and dry my tears. Mason produced a clean tissue, and I used it to try to pull myself back together. “Thanks,” I mumbled, hoping he’d understand I was thanking him for more than just the Kleenex.

  “Wanna’ tell me what’s going on?”

  I sighed. “Not really.”

  “Kenny, you can tell me. You can trust me.”

  The words were bubbling up inside me and I swallowed, hoping to keep them down where they belonged.

  “You haven’t been acting like yourself lately and I’m worried about you,” he continued. “I want to be there for you, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

  “There’s nothing you can do about this. Trust me.”

  His clear blue eyes assessed me, seeing more than I bet most people did. “You’ve been tired for weeks, been throwing up for the past few days, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry, but today you burst into tears because I brought you a ginger ale.”

  His eyes burned as they looked inside of me and in that instant, I knew. I knew that he knew, and I also knew there would be one more person in this world that knew I was pregnant before the father of the baby did.

  “Kenny are you pregnant?”

  My insides froze at his words and I bit both my lips to prevent any sound from escaping them. What could I say? I hadn’t wanted anyone else to know before Bryson, but how could I be held responsible for someone figuring it out simply because they paid attention. If my husband paid half as much attention to me, he’d know by now too.

  Knowing I couldn’t lie, but feeling awful just the same, I simply nodded.

  Chapter 21

  “You’re pregnant.”

  It wasn’t posed as a question this time, so I decided it didn’t need an answer. The tears continued to stream unchecked down my cheeks as I sat there under Mason’s scrutiny.

  “This is…” he trailed off. His jaw pulsed with words he was holding back from me and he was quiet for a long time. Finally, he spoke up again, “What did your husband have to say about this?”

  I looked away, the tears flowing faster now. Mason reached out and grasped my chin, turning my face back toward him. “Tell me he’s over the moon about this.”

  I shook my head and pulled away from him and out from under his gaze that missed nothing. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Kenny. Tell me this guy isn’t the happiest fuck in the world knowing that he has the privilege of having a child with a woman like you.”

  His words pierced my chest, scrambling my insides and making the tears fall faster. I didn’t deserve his kind words or praise.

  “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Kenny, please, tell me what’s going on. I want to be there for you.”

  The sudden urge to flee zipped through my veins as I jumped to my feet. I needed to leave. I needed to get out of here. I needed time and space to be by myself. To try to untangle the mess of feelings, untie the knots of lies and deception that had embedded themselves inside me.

  “Mason, can you please tell Josie I wasn’t feeling well and decided to go home?”

  “Of course, but–”

  “Thanks, Mason. I really appreciate it.”

  “Kenny, what–”

  “I’ll talk to you later. Thanks again,” I cut him off once more before turning on my heel and practically sprinting to my car.

  Thankfully I’d had my purse with me in the bathroom, so I didn’t need to go back in the office for my keys. With shaking hands, I unlocked the doors and slid into the car. I carefully backed out of my parking space and then drove swiftly through the parking lot and out onto the street.

  I rubbed roughly at my cheeks, willing the tears to stop, but they flowed relentlessly. I had no destination in mind, only knowing that I needed to be gone, but now that I was in my car, I knew exactly where I wanted to be.

  A few minutes later, I pulled up to my house, expecting it to be empty at this time of day. To my horror, I found Bryson’s car in the driveway, and the man himself walking up the walkway to our front door. Any hopes I’d had of driving by undetected were dashed when he shot a look over his shoulder at my car, almost as if he knew I was there.

  Knowing I couldn’t just drive off, I pulled into the driveway and reluctantly turned off the car. Bryson was standing in the exact same spot he’d been in when he first saw me. I couldn’t read his expression or see his eyes from here, but I didn’t expect any good to come from this confrontation.

  With a huff, I pulled the keys from the ignition and dragged myself from the car. My steps were slow and hesitant as I made my way toward a still and staring Bryson.

  “What are you doing home?” That question could have come from either of us, considering the
circumstances, but in this case, I’d been the one to break the silence.

  “I didn’t go to work today.”

  I stopped short a few paces away from him in shock. “Why didn’t you go to work?”

  “What are you doing here?” he asked instead of answering my question.

  I knew my face must have still been red and puffy from crying, but I wasn’t about to admit to the real reason I was home.

  “I needed some more clean clothes.”

  It wasn’t a lie. In my haste to pack, I’d only brought myself a few pairs of underwear. Thankfully I’d also packed slacks and not just skirts, because today I’d had to go commando.

  “So, you’re leaving again.”

  It wasn’t posed as a question, but I knew he expected an answer.

  “That’s the plan.”

  I opened the front door and strode inside, hoping to leave our conversation on the front lawn. When I made it upstairs to our bedroom, I noticed the bed was made up, something I found odd because Bryson hadn’t so much as straightened a sheet in all the years we’d been living together. I wondered if he’d slept elsewhere or if he’d somehow learned how to make it.

  I hauled out a spare duffel bag and began packing more meticulously than last time. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bryson approach the bedroom, but stop in the doorway.

  “Why are you leaving?”

  His voice was that same disinterested monotone I’d come to expect in the past few months of our marriage, but it was tinged with something else. Concern? Simple curiosity? Or was it something darker? Like despair.

  I shook those thoughts out of my head. I needed to stop looking further into his words and actions because it was clear he didn’t feel things the way I did. He’d gotten the point across that nothing bothered him, and nothing mattered to him, least of all me.

  He’d asked a question, and I didn’t have a good answer for him, so I gave him the simplest one. “Because I don’t want to be here.”

  He released a large sigh that I swore I could feel from where I stood across the room. “What’s so wrong with being here?”

  I rolled my eyes as I folded a blouse and tucked it into the canvas bag. “Let’s not do this, Bryson. Don’t pretend to care now when you’ve made it painfully obvious for months that you don’t.”

  “You think I don’t care?”

  “No, I know you don’t.”

  “You don’t know anything, Mackenzie.”

  I spun to face him. “There! That right there is a perfect example! I can count on one hand the number of times you called me ‘Mackenzie’ in the first five years we were together. Now it’s all you call me.”

  “It’s your name,” he argued.

  I turned back around to continue my packing. “Yes, Bryson, but it was never your name for me.”

  A scratchy scraping sound came from Bryson’s direction and I knew he was rubbing at the stubble on his face. It was what he always did when he was frustrated. I’d caused that reaction enough to know it well.

  “I’m sorry, Bryson, if I’d known you were going to be home, I wouldn’t have come. I didn’t want to have this altercation with you.”

  He finally strode into the room and came to a stop just a few feet away from me. “So, what? You were going to sneak in here like a thief, grab some more clothes, and disappear again?”

  “It’s not stealing when these things belong to me.”

  “That’s not the point, Mackenzie! Why are you leaving again? Why did you leave in the first place? What is going on?”

  “Why are you concerning yourself with me all of a sudden? Don’t you have a client you need to be attending to?” I countered with my own questions.

  He exhaled a loud throaty sound that set off a reaction in me I wasn’t in the mood to feel. I knew I was upsetting him, and the part of me who’d spent almost a decade with this man felt bad that I was causing him any pain or stress. The other part of me, the one who’d been abandoned, told the first part to shut the hell up. I had no business feeling bad for Bryson.

  With that resolve, I zipped up my duffel bag and slung it over my shoulder. I moved to leave the bedroom, but Bryson stepped into my path, hands held out.

  “Mackenzie, please, talk to me.”

  And I’d finally had enough.

  I dropped the bag at my feet and placed both hands on my hips. “Oh, now you want to talk? Now that it’s convenient for you, I need to drop everything and accommodate you? Why is that, Bryson? Why is it I have to talk when you’re ready, but when I tell you I have something important I need to tell you, you can’t be bothered to do the same for me? I hadn’t asked you for anything in months and the one thing I asked for, for you to come home at a decent time, you couldn’t even do. So, no, Bryson, I won’t talk to you. You had your chance, and you blew it. Now, excuse me.”

  I stalked around him and quickly made my way downstairs, hoping my outburst would have stunned him enough to let me make a clean exit.

  “So that’s your problem? You don’t come home for three days because I had to stay late with a client?”

  His condescending tone had my hackles raised and my claws out in seconds. I spun around to face him again as he came bounding down the stairs. “Was it even a client, Bryson? Can you at least tell me that?”

  A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest. “For the last time, Mackenzie, I am not having an affair. Of course, it was a client. Stop accusing me of this bullshit.”

  I turned for the door again. “What do I know, Bryson? I barely know you anymore. I wouldn’t put it past you at this point.”

  His hand on my elbow stopped me dead in my tracks. “Is that what this is really about? You think I’m cheating on you?”

  I ripped my arm away from him. “No. It’s not. It’s about your complete lack of regard for me and this marriage.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. I think it’s more than that. And you know what they say? A guilty mind is always suspicious.”

  My eyes narrowed and if were possible, steam would be blowing out of my ears at this point. “What are you trying to say?”

  “I just wonder if you’re always accusing me of having an affair because you’re having one.”

  My jaw fell to the floor as an image of Mason flashed through my head. I knew what he was implying, but I also knew I’d done nothing wrong. And I would not be accused of it.

  I took a step closer to him and if we were the same height, we’d be nose to nose. “This has nothing to do with me, Bryson. This is all on you. You’re the one who can’t be bothered to pay attention to me. You’re the one who puts work before me every. Single. Day. You’re the one who couldn’t come home, even when I told you it was important. Do not try to drag my name through the mud because I’ve done nothing wrong and I won’t stand for you implying I have.”

  Bryson opened his mouth to reply just as the doorbell rang. We both glared at each other until he spun around and whipped the front door open.

  And on the front step, the absolute last person I wanted to see right now, was Mason.

  “What are you doing at my home?” Bryson thundered.

  I rushed over and elbowed him out of the way. “Mason, now’s really not a good time.”

  His blue eyes calmly assessed the scene in front of him before he spoke. “I wanted to make sure you got home all right, and you weren’t answering your phone.”

  I’d left it in the car along with my purse, forgetting everything once I’d seen Bryson was home.

  “Sorry, it’s in the car. I’ll call you later, okay?” I began to close the door in his face when he reached out a hand and stopped it, his icy blue eyes looking over my shoulder to Bryson.

  “Is everything okay here? Is he upsetting you?”

  I could feel the heat of Bryson looming behind me, but didn’t bother to turn around, knowing the murderous look I’d find on his face.

  “Everything’s fine, Mason, we’re just discussing some things.”

  Mason nodded a
lthough he didn’t look convinced. “You better not be upsetting her in her condition,” he warned.

  My stomach flipped inside me before plummeting to my feet. A short breath caught in my lungs as my entire body froze in place. The ice cracked just enough for me to shake my head back and forth as subtle as I could.

  “What are you talking about ‘her condition’?” Bryson asked, his voice quiet and sharp behind me.

  Mason’s eyes bounced from me to him over and over again before finally settling on mine. “You haven’t told him?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself away from this situation because I couldn’t think of a single place I wouldn’t rather be than between these two men at this exact moment. The edge of an active volcano? Yes, please. The middle of the freeway during rush hour traffic? Sounds great. Staring down the barrels of a fully armed firing squad? Count me in.

  “Told. Me. What?” Bryson asked quietly behind me, shattering my train of thought and bringing me right back to my worst nightmare.

  When I didn’t answer him, Bryson reached out and whipped the front door closed, right in Mason’s face. The slam of the door shocked me so bad I jumped in place and spun to face him.

  Bryson’s face was as magnificent as it was furious. I’d never seen him so beautiful and so mad at the same time.

  “Mackenzie, I’m going to ask you one more time: What is he talking about?”

  This was it. Do or die. I had no other choice but to come clean, consequences be damned. My palms sweat while my pulse thudded in my ears.

  And I realized I couldn’t do it.

  “Why didn’t you go to work today?” I countered.

  Bryson reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Answer my question–”

  “No,” I cut him off. “You answer my question, Bryson. Why aren’t you at work?”

  “I haven’t been in the office since you left.”

  “Why–”