UNFORGETTABLE (Able Series Book 3)

by Aceves, Gigi

  “How are you feeling? Are you trying to give my heart some exercise?”

  Burying her face on my pillow, she mumbles, “No. I didn’t think you’d care.”

  “Alright, I guess I deserve that.”

  “There’s more where that came from,” sarcastically, she answers.

  I quickly answer with humor I hope she’ll find funny, “That’s what she said.”

  I have a feeling this conversation is heading south before I can even say I’m sorry. Glancing her way, I can tell she didn’t find my humor as funny as I thought she would since she’s wearing a scowl on her face.

  “I love you, T. You have . . .”

  “I know you love me. I also know, you want me to know that. You also want to tell me you’re sorry, that you were shocked when I told you about our baby, and now you’re ready. You’re willing to take the risk of loving and losing another. You need me to understand your pain and all that emotional stuff you’re so afraid of. Am I right, so far?”

  Embarrassingly, I nod my head. Thanking God she didn’t repeat the hurtful words that left my mouth last night. How can I possibly make it up to her?

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my first child. I’m sorry I said those hurtful things. I want this baby. I.love.our.baby. Everything you said is all true, but one thing you’re forgetting is me wanting to protect you from . . .”

  “Stop thinking we’re going to lose our baby . . . please.”

  “I can’t help it. I’ve been through it. My own parents, God, experienced it three times. I feel as though it has something to do with me. You gotta understand where I’m coming from because I’m trying, really trying hard to understand you.”

  “You said you can’t risk loving and losing another child. Do you know how much that hurts? God, I’m already pregnant, Brian. I can’t undo it. How can you say that even if . . .”

  “Stop!” I cup her face firmly, not giving her the chance to look away. “Stop,” I repeat myself softly this time. “Yes, I said that, and no, I never meant a word—not a single word. If there’s anything I’ve done in my life I regret deeply, it’s what I said.”

  “What do you think it makes you?” She softly asks.

  “I guess, it makes me a man in need of his woman. There’s no way I wouldn’t love our child . . . not in this lifetime. Half of everything our child will be is you. How can I not love that? It was my own fear talking, T.” I take a deep breath before saying what I need to say, “Say you forgive me?”

  “I get the apprehension, I do. You must have been scared back then. Gosh, you were just a child yourself, but . . . you can’t live in the past, and worse, you can’t allow it to dictate your future, either. It’s not fair for me, or the baby, or you. I’ve had relationships before you. I’ve been hurt before, and yes it may not be the same as losing a child, but hurt is hurt, right? I moved on from that hurt because I wanted to live and love again. Do you?”

  “I do, but only with you and him or her, whichever God will bless us with, as long as the baby’s healthy,” I say while I rest my palm against her warm tummy.

  That earns a smile, and hopefully, there’s more where that came from.

  “New slate, okay? I’m not saying you can’t be scared because we all are, just don’t let it affect us. Deal?”

  “Kiss first.” I lean forward wanting to seal said deal.

  “Too demanding,” She whispers against my lips.

  “Forever.”

  “With no end. Now, kiss me before I change my mind.”

  Just like that, my upside down world turns right side up when her awaiting lips greet my very eager ones with a simple, yet emotional and very forgiving kiss until someone disturbs our little world.

  “You got your ass handed to you? Do you still feel your balls? Or, are they shoved so far up your ass we need a damn Hoover to suck them out?”

  That doesn’t even deserve a response, so I continue loving on my girl while my hand is securely anchored on her belly.

  TAMI

  Two weeks after my pregnancy revelation, Brian and I fall into baby mode. He makes sure I’m comfortable, he kisses my non-existent baby bump every time he says goodnight. When we go for my scheduled internal ultrasound, we both see our baby’s four chamber heart, and a picture of our little one is now on full display in a baby picture frame the girls gave me. Once he was so against it, now he’s so into me being pregnant, everyone is calling him Jake Junior.

  As I’m preparing to go to work, a sharp pain hits me that almost brings me to my knees. Clutching my stomach, I take in a couple of deep breaths while I pray the hardest I’ve ever prayed in my life.

  Please, God, don’t take my little miracle . . . please.

  Another crippling pain hits me, and this time, I’m down on my knees. Pain—pain is everywhere, it’s all I feel.

  “Oh, God! No!” A blood curling half sob, half wail leaves my mouth.

  “Tami! Tami! Where are you?”

  “Tami!”

  I can hear Brian’s incessant yelling coupled with Roxy’s. Even though my brain is willing my mouth to move, nothing is coming out but tiny whimpers and weak sobs. Slowly sitting down, I watch blood drip down my legs, pooling on the bathroom floor.

  As the door swings open, Roxy’s blood curling shrieks slice through my whimpers, but Brian’s closeness makes my sobs even louder—more desperate. His reaction—stiff body, worried face, and a stillness that doesn’t bring comfort but rather dread, because even I know something is really wrong. Without uttering a single word, he carries me and takes off running to his car. I can’t see Roxy or Cody, but I can hear their voices and heavy footsteps behind us. Everything happens in a blur, and the next thing I know, we’re at the hospital with Brian yelling for someone to help us.

  “Go, Brian; we’ll call everyone,” Cody’s calm voice brings a certain amount of peace, but Roxy’s loud cries bring me back to my reality—my very painful reality.

  In two very long painful hours, we mourn the loss of our child. Tears of grief cover our faces. Both physical and emotional pain sucks on me like a vacuum, gripping sadness coats my heart, and Brian’s distraught face adds to my already broken heart. He hasn’t released my hand and hasn’t moved a muscle. The intensity of his pain increases as time goes by while overpowering misery overtakes him.

  Pain—it’s intense.

  How can I describe it other than I feel as if I’m being ripped in half. But, the most unforgettable feeling is when the doctor sucked my angel out of me. How I wish I could see a glimpse of my baby, but I refuse to see my angel in that state. I couldn’t even look when the doctor asked if I would like to see. Instead, Brian gives him the death glare.

  The smell of blood—I hate it.

  It represents death, at least for us. The end of a life that should’ve been. The end of our joy, and the start of our pain. The pain feels as though we’re climbing a mountain so steep and treacherous, it’ll take a strong and solid heart to get to the top.

  Words—there are none.

  What can one say? Nothing. There are no words in the English dictionary that could ease the burden. Not even my mother’s favorite saying, ‘this too shall pass’ makes me feel better. What fits I think is silence, because right now, there’s silence everywhere, especially inside my womb. Though, the silver lining is in Heaven, a little angel is probably making a whole lot of noise.

  Feelings—there are a lot.

  A gigantic ball of ache, misery, disappointment, the will to fight, the determination to forge forward, strength, weakness, belief, doubt, and consuming anger for whom I don’t know. . . . what a tragedy—but it’s our tragedy.

  We remain this way until I’m discharged. Even driving home he never talks, never looks my way while I field calls from Roxy, Trish, and my mom. I take two more Advil to minimize the pain. He carries me again, this time to our bedroom, laying me gently on the bed. His pain and misery are a dark cloud looming over the horizon before the storm hits, before
something triggers it.

  “Brian?”

  One nod is all I get, not even a glance my way, or a hug for comfort. Just a nod—simple, indifferent, cold. Carefully, I stagger my way in front of him to say something that may enlighten him. A tactic I’ve used one too many times to calm his raging mind and ease his aching heart.

  I lift his head up so his eyes meet mine. “Today is not the end, even if it didn’t turn out to be the beginning we wanted. It’s not the period, in ‘the story of us,’ but rather a different page in our story. It’s not a closed door, but rather a door leading to another. It’s not a dead end, but rather a detour. Do you understand me? I need more than a nod.”

  I wait as he stares into my eyes. Without uttering a single word, he gives me his answer in his kiss. There’s two parts to his kiss, one part I like, the other not so much. The first part—confident. I feel his love for me in every swipe, every flick of his tongue against mine. It’s full of power and strength. It’s like a vacuum sucking all my heartaches so he can shoulder them for us. In this kiss, he’s devoid of fear. The other part—self-deprecating, in every intake and exhale of his breath, the way his brows are scrunched up, his body language is telling me this is all his fault. His past, once again, is making its appearance.

  Brian ends the kiss as he rests his forehead against mine. Inhaling deeply, taking in my strength, and exhaling loudly, expelling every negative thought playing in his brain. I give him a smile, a swipe of my thumb on his lips as I lovingly plant my palm against his cheek, pulling his head down as my lips tenderly land on his forehead.

  I thought I was able to offer him a distraction, but once he glances over my shoulder straight to our dresser where our little one’s picture is on full display; I know . . . I just know he’ll break soon. Walking away from me breathing hard, he sits on the foot of the bed as he laces his fingers tightly, forearms resting on his knees, head down, and eyes closed. Witnessing him bent like this from the time I told him I was pregnant to this very moment does something to my already weak heart. It only exacerbates old wounds—wounds that never healed. I sit next to him, laying my head on his shoulder as we wait in silence.

  “Talk to me.”

  His silence brings tears flowing freely down my face as shallow breaths escape his lips. Two painful losses—two for him and one for me, two angels in Heaven, two broken hearts, and many unrealized dreams. All this shatters my heart into a million pieces while it decimates my love’s heart and crushes both our worlds.

  When the fog of pain clears and the rage of anger hits, Brian turns, reaches for the baby picture frame, and throws it against the wall. Not content, he hits the wall over and over again with his closed fist until a gaping hole the size of my head now decorates it.

  Hit.

  More tears fall.

  “I’m fucking tired.”

  Hit.

  My heart suffers its first fracture.

  “How much more, T?” His voice cracks.

  Hit.

  My heart splits open.

  “How many more times?” His voice breaks.

  Hit.

  I beg the Lord to take his pain away and give it to me.

  “Give me a reason, and I promise you, I won’t give up,” he’s sobbing.

  Hit.

  My heart bleeds for him.

  “Give me a reason . . .” He cries out and falls to his knees.

  I stay glued to the bed as my own tears veil my face. But, when he cries out one more time without words but whimpers, I lunge at him, covering him with my arms. Protecting him as best as I can from whatever pain that’s slowly destroying him. My chest plastered on his back, my hands cradling his head as we share tears and cries of disappointment mixed with a little bit of hope.

  “Love. The love I have for you, and you for me is the reason, Brian. I love you so much, so much I’m willing to try through the pain. Dreams. The dream we both desire to raise and love a child. Hope. The hope that in time it’ll happen when God wants it. He’ll make everything right—everything beautiful and perfect in His time, not ours. All we can do is try, and if the time comes that you don’t want to anymore, we’ll stop. We’ll do what you want.”

  “Hurts too much . . .”

  “I know, but together we’ll hurt. Together, always.”

  “Forever?” He whispers.

  “Without end.”

  With his hands resting lifelessly on his thighs, the only answer he gives me, yet again, is another nod. Maybe to appease me, I don’t know. All I know is, I have before me a man whose heart has been hammered down one too many times.

  BRIAN

  I KNOW I’M SPIRALING DOWN—losing myself in my own grief. I can’t stand being in Tami’s presence because her sadness is consuming me. It’s adding to my already drowning heart filled with nothing, but—emptiness. I overload myself with work. I leave before she wakes, and I come home when she’s asleep. Avoidance, that’s the name of my game.

  Talking is her way of coping, while mine is denying it ever happened. How can one really deny something as grave as losing a child. There’s no way of forgetting the hurt, unfeeling the pain, and undoing the reality of it all. Somehow, that’s what I do anyway. Denial plus avoidance is the cure for my pain—at least for now.

  An intervention is happening in our house. Regretfully, I leave Tami to sleep in our room while I face the people willing to lend an ear to listen, maybe an arm to console, and a heart open to give understanding. Do I face them? Of course not. Instead, I sit in the living room covered in darkness, wallowing in self-pity, and utter loneliness.

  “What are you doing in the dark, Son?”

  Hearing my mom’s voice brings a certain calmness in me, but not enough to overpower the ache. It’s still there, jabbing at my heart every chance it gets.

  Someone turns on the light and momentarily blinds me, but slowly my eyes get acclimated with the light. The light showcases my sadness and displays the pity looks on everyone’s face. Patti and Trish go check on Tami while my mom and Roxy try to scramble food for everyone. My dad tips his head toward the deck, his typical M.O. which means he needs to talk to me.

  He walks out, and I follow, closing the sliding door quietly behind me. I still my heart and prepare my mind to accept the words of wisdom or comfort he’s about to share with me.

  “Son, I know how you feel. It doesn’t get any easier, but together with the woman you love, both of you can overcome the grief and pain that comes with it. You’re stronger than this, trust me.” My dad turns to face me as he grabs my face willing me to look up, but I don’t.

  “Look at me.”

  I stubbornly shake my head as tears of pain slowly trickle down my face. Fuck this pain. I hate it. I hate it so much, I want to rip my heart out of my chest to stop feeling it—to stop feeling anything at all.

  “Brian, look at me. You can’t hide from the pain.”

  Swiping the stupid tears off my face, I lash out at my dad, “I’m not hiding!”

  Soft but firm, frail but strong arms embrace me from behind—my mother’s.

  “Accept the pain, Son, so the hole the loss left in your heart will start healing. Don’t cradle or feed the pain, the only thing that’ll do is break you. Tami needs you as you need her. Be each other’s strength, but she can’t do that with you refusing to accept anything.”

  “Why? Why take our baby, Ma? Why?”

  As my dad backs away, my mom steps in front of me. Tenderly, she holds my face and pushes upward to meet my eyes. Shaking her head ever so slightly, she smooths my hair with her right hand, all the while her eyes only speak of love.

  “No one knows the reason why. Perhaps, you should ask what? What is it that He wants you to learn? What He wants you to feel? What He wants you to ask of Him?”

  “I don’t understand. The only things I understand are Tami’s aches and mine, the guilt I have for not protecting her, the longing in my heart and hers that nothing and no one can fill.”

  “Brian, He wants
you to learn to accept without anger. He wants you to feel the sadness and the pain without letting it fester, and He wants you to ask Him to bless you with another child. Ask for His strength, because you’ll need it to overcome the loss. You have to believe He’s faithful to give it.”

  My dad’s hot breath fans my face as he whispers, “Clear your head and cry it out. Expel all the pain, and then, leave it at the cross. It’s where it belongs, bare yourself clean, and He’ll show you the way.”

  I hear the sliding glass door open, and if I want to guess, I’d say it’s Jack. Of course, he’d want to talk to me . . . any father would.

  “Lorenzo, can I have a word with your son?”

  “Of course, Jack.”

  My mom kisses my cheek as my dad gives my shoulder a love pat. I stand and wait for Jack to speak. Maybe he wants to rip me a new one because I’m being stubborn, or because he’s blaming me. Either way, he can’t make me feel sorrier than I already do.

  “Sit down, Brian.”

  I do as I’m told, as always. I wish someone could just say stop feeling that way, or you should feel this way and your heart just follows—follows orders without asking, just like a good Marine.

  “This is a devastating loss. A loss that not only you and Tami feel, but the whole family as well. The moment that child was conceived, he or she was part of this family. My heart hurts for you and my daughter. I wish I could ease the pain, carry it perhaps and pass it to someone else when the pain hits me too, but it doesn’t work that way. Life goes on for the living. It’s unfortunate but true. It’s harsh, but it’s the truth. It’s something that happens that can’t be undone. Go through the pain head on, Brian, and take Tami with you. Don’t go in separate directions—fight through it together. I’m not here to pound on you to be strong, because if I were being honest, I’m ready to fall on my knees, myself. What I’m trying to say is, do it together.”

  All I can give him is a nod. He can take that nod however he wants to because I don’t have an answer—none at all.

  Clearing his throat he continues, “I told you the special bond she and I have is nothing compared to what you have. Use that connection, pull from it, squeeze every ounce of strength you can from it, because she’ll need it and she can only get it from you as she does the same thing for you.”