Mad Addiction (Crazy Beautiful #2)

by Jessica Huizenga

  I chance glancing over to her, and see she’s trying not to laugh. I throw my head back against the couch. “Shit.” I look back to her before admitting, “It’s fucking harder than it looks.”

  “Trust me, I know. You’re preaching to the choir with that one.”

  “So what am I supposed to do? This fucking sucks.”

  Kinsley chews her lip as if contemplating what to say. Finally she simply states, “You decide to let go. It’s scary at first, but you learn it’s not so bad. And it’s worth it if it means you finally get what you want.”

  “And what if what you want is also what scares the shit out of you?” I ask, dead serious.

  “That’s usually how you know it’s something really good. What scares us makes us stronger, right?” I shrug, not sure what to say. Kinsley’s voice gets softer before continuing, “Look, Luc told me you haven’t had the easiest past, and trust me I know what it’s like to feel like you’re defined by all the shitty things you went through; like that means you deserve a shitty life. But it doesn’t have to be that way, Ry. You just need to confront the past and realize it doesn’t have to control your future.”

  She squeezes my shoulder before getting up to leave. I know what she’s saying is probably really fucking smart, but for some reason all I can focus on is her talking about confronting the past. In my irritated state, I suddenly have the urge to not only confront my past, but punch it in the fucking balls.

  Two hours later I’m pulling up to a huge house three towns over. It only took a quick internet search to find out where Richard Blake lives, and knowing he’s lived so close this whole time without ever trying to contact me or my sister only fuels my determination to face him.

  I ring the doorbell and shove my hands in my pockets, steeling myself so I don’t completely lose my shit.

  A few seconds later the door opens to reveal an older looking man in khaki pants and a blue button up shirt. I catch a whiff of bourbon and am immediately transported back to my ten-year-old self. I’ve pictured my dad’s face many times over the years—how I thought I remembered it—and am surprised to see it is spot on. Only his hair is grayer and more lines slice across his wrinkled forehead.

  “Can I help you?” he asks, completely unaware of who I am, which makes me laugh.

  Without moving I ask calmly, “You can tell me why the fuck you walked out eighteen years ago.”

  “Ryan?” He sighs and avoids looking me in the eye as recognition finally dawns on him, but I don’t back down. He rubs the back of his neck, a gesture I’m disturbed to realize I inherited. “What do you want me to say, son? It was a long time ago.”

  Hearing this stranger call me son fuels the fire. “So that’s it. There was no actual reason for you to abandon your family? You were just able to walk away and never look back, easy as that?” I squeeze my fists shut and feel all the pent up anger I’ve carried with me for the past eighteen years burn behind my eyes.

  “I’m sorry it happened that way, but it was what was best for me. I wasn’t happy and I needed a fresh start. I don’t know what else you want me to tell you. It was easier to leave it all behind; it wasn’t worth the fight to get into it with your mother.”

  He shrugs weakly and looks like a complete coward, allowing me to understand with absolute certainty that while I might share some physical traits with the guy, I am nothing like him. Not in any way that matters. Because I know I could never, ever walk away from my son for my own selfish reasons. From the moment Kelley told me she was pregnant, my life became about her and my kid and no matter what crap has happened between us that has never changed. Even if Kelley and I aren’t meant to be together, my family will always be worth any shit I have to go through. It’s not about what’s easiest, it’s about what’s right. If Kelley needs me, then I’ll fucking be there. No questions, no hesitation. If giving her space is what is best for her then I’ll fucking do it even if it rips my heart out. But I’m also not going down without a fight.

  And this, I suddenly realize, is exactly what love is. It’s not a fucking weakness, it’s a privilege. One my father lost a long time ago. One that I hopefully still have time to earn back.

  I shake my head and snicker, “Thanks, dad.”

  “For what?” he asks, rightfully unsure.

  “For showing me what kind of father not to be.” Without hesitation I turn and head back to my truck, never once looking back.

  My dad fucked up, but that’s his shit to deal with. There is no use comparing myself to him or wondering what could have been. That shit is in the past, and that’s where it’s going to stay. If I walk away from Kelley and Caden now then I’d be just as bad as him, but I know I won’t. All I need to worry about now is taking care of my own family and screw everybody else. When life stands there and grabs you by the balls, beating the ever-living shit out of you, you can either pussy out and run from it or you can pick yourself up off the floor and accept the challenge. And I fully intend to look that fucker in the face and tell it to go to hell.

  I just hope it’s not too late.

  Kelley

  Thirty-eight Weeks

  I thought time away from Ryan would help get him off my mind.

  Boy was I wrong.

  A few days after I left his apartment I went to the office thinking I could throw myself into work in order to forget him. As soon as I walked in I saw the final, signed lease agreement for Grind on my desk. I walked right back out and called in my maternity leave.

  The next day I stayed on the couch with a tub of ice cream, determined to watch nothing but sappy chick flicks and bawl my eyes out. The first channel I flipped to was playing The Princess Bride so I turned off the tv and tried not to puke instead.

  Two days after that I swear the mailman smelled like cinnamon, so I shut myself in my room and have successfully avoided any type of human contact for the past few days.

  Now it’s three a.m. and I can’t stop tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable. My bed feels too empty. My apartment feels empty. My fucking life feels empty. I have nothing, except for this baby growing inside me, which is now bittersweet.

  The good news is I will always have a piece of Ryan Blake to hold onto.

  The bad news is I will always have a piece of Ryan Blake to hold onto.

  I find myself wishing our son’s eyes will be the same shade of blue as his dad’s, but I know that would also break my heart. I have enough trouble getting images of them out of my head as it is. First I see them looking intense and sincere as he vowed to spend forever with me, and then I think about how wild and lost they were when I told him it was all a mistake. That we were a mistake.

  Except that was a lie—ironically the first one I ever told him. Not only is Ryan the father of my child, but he’s also my best friend . . . and that is something I didn’t expect to mean so much to me. I would do it all over again if it meant we could be together, even knowing how painful it would turn out in the end.

  For the past two weeks I’ve done nothing but replay every moment we spent together, trying to understand where exactly it went so completely wrong. Looking back it seems like I had everything, but at the time it felt like nothing. I didn’t want him to choose me because he had to. I wanted so much more with him . . . I wanted everything.

  He thinks I left because I don’t love him? I left because I love him too fucking much.

  And that’s the sad, harsh, ironic truth—a lie brought us together, and the truth tore us apart.

  The pain I feel in my heart suddenly shoots across my abdomen, making me double over. It feels like someone has my insides in a tight vise and then it releases.

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed when I’m hit with another wave of spine tingling pressure that makes me cry out. I grip the side table to steady myself as I try to stand. When I look back I notice a red stain on the sheets. Panic grips me as I fear the worst—I’m not due for another couple of weeks. This can’t be happening. Not again.

  Cradlin
g my stomach in my hands, I reach for my cell phone. As the phone rings on the other line I whisper to my belly, “Please Caden. Hang in there. I promise to take care of you and love you more than anything just please be ok. I need you to be ok.”

  Finally the call picks up and amidst another round of sharp pain I grind out, “Kins, I need to get to the hospital. I think I’m about to have this baby.”

  Fifteen minutes later Lucas and Kinsley pick me up and I spend the entire ride to the hospital yelling at Lucas to drive faster.

  “I’m already going forty over the speed limit. Unless you want to get there by ambulance you’re going to have to chill out.”

  I called Dr. Conners as soon as I got off the phone with Kinsley, and while she told me a little spotting is typically normal, I’m anxious to make sure everything is ok.

  I’m about to make some crack about my grandma driving faster than this, but Kinsley pipes in and squeezes my hand reassuringly. “We’re almost there, Kells, promise.”

  When we get to the hospital entrance a nurse comes out with a wheelchair. Kinsley and Lucas follow as I’m wheeled into the waiting room. As we round the corner I hear shouting. I look up to see Ryan at the nurse’s station, looking like he’s about to deck someone.

  I glare at Lucas, even though I’m secretly relieved. Of course he called him.

  Ryan spots me and he rushes over as I’m hit with the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life. I try to breathe through it, but it fucking hurts.

  The nurse looks at me before stating, “We need to get you into a room right away. Your friends can wait here.”

  She starts to wheel me down the hall and Ryan follows closely behind. Since we barely acknowledge each other and I don’t offer an explanation, the nurse holds him back. “Sir, I’m sorry, you can wait here.”

  Ryan looks at me, unsure, and I become anxious as another agonizing contraction rips through me so I loudly confess, “He’s my husband!”

  I don’t miss Lucas and Kinsley’s shocked and confused expressions, but I can’t deal with that right now. I’m being ripped apart from the inside out and regardless of whatever happened between us, Ryan is the only person I want with me in that delivery room.

  The nurse helps me change into a gown and a short while later Dr. Conners appears. All I keep repeating is, “How’s the baby? Is he ok?” That’s the only thing that matters. I already lost one Blake boy . . . losing the other would destroy me.

  I look restlessly at Ryan, fear and panic blazing in my eyes. He kisses my forehead and squeezes my hand. Dr. Conners assures me everything is fine, and I burst into tears.

  The next surge of crippling pain pulls me back to the situation at hand, and I get the overwhelming urge to push. I hear the doctor say something about ten centimeters and the nurse coaches me on how to breathe through each contraction. Every time I feel one hit I take a deep breath and push with all of my might for about ten seconds, then relax until the next strikes a moment later.

  Funnily enough, I can’t help but think labor is a lot like being in love: It starts out all great and happy . . . you’re excited about what’s going to happen and think everything will be sunshine and rainbows from here on out, but then reality—no doubt coupled with pain—eventually kicks in, swiftly and suddenly, and it takes everything in you to get through it. You feel drained and weak, positive you can’t go on, but somehow you survive, and all you can do is take deep breaths and try to push the feelings aside. And while you might get some small glimmer of temporary relief, just as you begin to relax, the hurt hits you out of nowhere yet again, causing you to scream in agony.

  I grind my teeth together and bear down as hard as I can as the next wave of torment crashes into me, thinking I deserve every single ounce of misery coming to me.

  The next hour passes in a blur as I experience just about every emotion humanly possible—fear, pain, excitement, anxiety, more pain, and relief. But as soon as they lay my son on my chest time passes in slow motion and everything goes quiet as the most profound sense of complete and utter amazement overtakes me. I know without a doubt this fascinating being we created was more than worth every ounce of pain I had to endure. I look up to Ryan, who runs his hand down my shoulder and kisses Caden’s forehead, smiling bigger than I ever thought possible, and I know loving him was worth it, too.

  I just wish he could love me back.

  And just like that everyone and everything in the room resumes its normal pace as noise and excitement fill the air. After Caden’s cleaned and wrapped I get to hold him for a while before exhaustion overtakes me and I finally drift off to sleep.

  When I finally open my eyes, I see Ryan standing at the foot of the bed. He’s wearing the same worn pair of jeans and purple t-shirt he had on yesterday. His hair looks adorably messy, like he spent all night running his fingers through it. While he’s never exactly been hard on the eyes, the way he looks holding our son—strong and proud—steals the air from my lungs. When he notices I’m awake he smiles, and the sight has my throat choking up.

  Needing to focus on anything else I ask in a raspy voice, “So, was the nurse right?” He raises a quizzical eyebrow. “Was birth magical to watch since it was your own kid?” I tease, pushing myself against the pillows to sit up.

  He rocks Caden back and forth, stroking the tops of his tiny fingers. “I didn’t think it was possible to feel so much for someone you just met until they put this little guy in my arms.” He pauses to look at me and chuckles. “But it was still fucking gross.”

  I laugh out loud before extending my arms. “Ok, my turn. Hand him over.”

  Ryan comes around to the side of the bed and places Caden in my lap. I stare down into his soft, sleepy face, fully aware he looks just like his dad. Fuck my life.

  After a moment of awkward silence Ryan clears his throat. “Kelley, I—“

  I cut him off before he has the chance to say anything. “Please, Blake. Don’t. I don’t want to talk about what happened, ok?” I just want to enjoy this . . . this one chance for it to be the three of us before reality slaps me back in the face. I focus on Caden, relieved he’s so little and has some time before life gets complicated. All he has to worry about right now is eating, sleeping, and pooping. Lucky.

  Ryan looks like he’s going to say something more so I brace myself. I’m terrified to hear whatever it is. He sighs deeply and runs his fingers through his hair. “We still have to figure some shit out, Brooks.” He motions to Caden, and I know he’s right. I thought I’d have more time to think of what to do . . . I don’t even have any diapers at my apartment, let alone a crib or anything. Note to self: next time you break up with your baby daddy, pack a bigger bag.

  Caden yawns and looks so content the tears automatically well up behind my eyes. So much for the chance to have his family together—I ruined it for my own scared, selfish reasons. Well, kid, you’re not even a day old and I’ve already screwed up your life. Best mom EVER.

  Ryan shifts closer, softening his voice as a single tear slips down my cheek and onto Caden’s blanket. “Let me take you both home with me. At least for a couple of days?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and nod, snuggling Caden close to my chest.

  I know being around Ryan with my confused feelings is a terrible idea, but I realize now how much I’m willing to sacrifice for my son. I’ll do anything as long as it’s what’s best for him.

  And who knows . . . maybe it will somehow magically be best for me, too.

  Ryan

  One Week Old

  “Dude, what the hell are we feeding you?”

  I look at Caden’s innocent, unaware face and can’t help but soften.

  I also can’t help but cringe as I see what a fucking bomb he left in his diaper.

  The past week has been a crazy ride, learning everything there is to know about taking care of an entire person on the spot: He needs to eat like twelve times a day, doesn’t like to sleep for more than two hours at a clip, and sometimes he even sleeps
with his eyes open, which is pretty friggin’ creepy.

  We’ve been so busy taking care of Caden, trying to get some sleep ourselves, and entertaining visitors that Kelley and I have barely had a chance to see each other, let alone talk. When she’s with Caden I try to work, and when I’m with him she tries to sleep. She was up with him most of the night, so right now I expect her to be out cold for a while. She mentioned in passing her mom was coming to stay with her to help with the baby, so I suppose that means she will be leaving soon. What did I expect—she’d come back here and everything would go back to normal? What the fuck is normal for us anyway?

  I breathe through my mouth and try to keep from gagging as I change my son’s offensive diaper. I get him cleaned up, making sure to cover his junk so he doesn’t piss all over me (learned that one the hard way), and slide a new diaper on with an efficient, skilled execution. I feel like the fucking Pampers’ Pit Crew. I go to pull the tabs on the diaper to secure it around his little body when I pull a little too hard and it rips. Shit. I reach for a new one stacked under the changing table to find it empty. Double shit.

  Ok, I got this. Think, Blake, think. I look around the room and see my toolbox in the corner. Bingo. Holding Caden in place with one hand, careful he doesn’t roll off the changing table, I reach for the toolbox with the other and feel around inside until my fingers grip what I’m searching for. I pull out a roll of duct tape and hold it up like it’s the fucking Heisman Trophy before tearing off a piece big enough to wrap around Caden’s lower half a few times. Once I secure the diaper in place, I lift him up to make sure it holds. Perfect.

  “Your dad is a fucking genius, little man. I hope you get that from me.” He wriggles his little legs and gurgles.

  I lay him down in his crib, leaning over to study his face. I see so much of Kelley in him that it makes me smile. “But I hope you get a lot more from your mom. She’s the fucking coolest and she’s going to need you.” I sadly shake my head. “I screwed up, and as much as I want to be there for both of you, I don’t think your mom wants me around anymore. It’s all my fucking fault, so don’t ever think it’s hers, ok? I’m going to need you to take care of her, though. Can you do that for me?” He blinks at me with his fierce blue eyes. Logically I’m aware he has no fucking clue what I’m talking about, but somehow it helps to say it out loud. “I’ll hate myself for the rest of my fucking life knowing she doesn’t believe I can be Mr. Right for her, so now it’s up to you, kid. I know that’s a lot of pressure to put on a guy, but she’s worth it. I promise.”