by K. I. Lynn
I remembered talking to Dr. Morgenson about my boss’s behavior.
My stomach dropped. Darren had to explain the grieving process to me like I was a child. A process he and his extended family were going through over the same loss as my boss.
“We were married after we finished our undergrad. When I went to Harvard, she came with me and got a job, working while I attended classes. It was a bit of a strain, as I know you are aware law school is, but we made it through. After Harvard, we moved to Indianapolis and found a house and talked about children. Grace always wanted a big family,” he said, his shoulders slumping while he fingered through the box. “Four miscarriages. She made it to the end of the first trimester only once, and it was ripped away.”
Thoughts about having children had never crossed my mind before the dream, so to even think about wanting them and then losing them was lost on me.
“When she finally made it to the second trimester with her fifth pregnancy, my trial of Via Marconi ended. In all my bravado, I failed to recognize the danger I put my family in. I managed a conviction of a Marconi family member, something that had never happened before. Not only that, it was the daughter of the head member of the family. All the time away from my wife and the nights without sleep, working eighty plus hour weeks while I gathered as much information on them as I could, paid off in the end.”
I remembered that trial. Young, hotshot prosecutor had done the impossible, they said. “Rising star,” they called him.
“Vincent Marconi wasn’t too pleased, and I gloated in his face,” he said through clenched teeth. “Fucking stupid.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I slipped my fingers in his, giving him any comfort I could.
“It was about two weeks after my birthday that we went to Grace’s parents’ house for a combination Father’s Day and my belated birthday celebration. Her whole family and my parents were there. That was when she gave me this: the first glimpse of my son.” With shaking hands he handed me a framed photo.
The frame was wracked; the corners loose and bent. Evidence of the glass could still be seen in the powdery sand in the edges and the scratches on the picture in my hand. The ultrasound picture was in such bad shape it was difficult to read the printed words “I’m a boy!” I swallowed hard; he’d been so close to having a child.
“Not even that survived unscathed.”
My eyes looked up at him. “It happened that day,” I said, the answer coming to me, filling in the gaps. Nathan hated it when I mentioned his birthday.
He nodded in response. A sad smile formed and his arms raised, his hands making a circular form. “She had a perfectly round stomach. We’d made it to the third trimester after so long.”
Grief was what overtook Nathan. I recounted the stages in my mind: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Nathan was still stuck on step four—depression—along with his up and down visits with two: anger. It was obvious to me now he’d never moved on from there. Even after four long years, step five, acceptance, remained out of reach.
He sat there for a moment, and I could almost see the memories flickering behind his eyes. His jaw clenched a couple times. “It was just after dark when we decided to head home. It wasn’t too long a drive, about forty-five minutes, from their house to ours. There was a two-lane road that was almost a straight shot and a nice drive. We were about halfway home when this car came up behind us fast. We weren’t in any hurry, so I pulled over to let him pass. But when I pulled over, so did he.”
My chest tightened. I knew what was coming. The end. I knew the outcome.
“That was when it was obvious something was wrong. I told Grace to hold on and gunned it when I saw the driver’s side door start to open. We were up to seventy in no time…but so were they.”
He tipped his head back, trying to keep the tears at bay. I squeezed his hand in mine, my eyes beseeching him to continue.
“My mind was racing with what to do while I tried to stay ahead of them, but soon we were passing eighty. By then we’d reached the point where the road ran parallel to the interstate. They were separated by about forty feet of grass and a wire fence. It was then the fight of our lives started. They caught up, going faster to catch up in the oncoming traffic lane. I glanced over and the window was lowering. There were two men; the one in the passenger seat was aiming a gun at us. I reacted on instinct and steered the car into theirs. The motion caused them to lose some traction and they ran off the road, but were soon gaining on us again.”
He paused, his gaze on the box, his hand absently moving the objects around. “I remember telling her I loved her, but that’s where it gets foggy. An eye witness, who was silenced, said that was when the struggle began. Our car and theirs battled back and forth to stay on the road. With a powerful hit, they pushed us off the road and we went through the grassy area and the wire fence into oncoming traffic on the interstate. We were clipped by a semi, thrown into the median wall, bounced out, and hit a sedan before a delivery truck mashed us into a bridge support.”
My whole body was frozen in shock, my hand covering my mouth.
“All my fault,” he whispered as he stared blankly into the box. “It was all my fault.”
“Why?”
He blinked up at me. “Because I baited them, flaunted my success in their face, gathered enough information to begin bringing down their organization. Once I had one, the others would be easier. People would see even they couldn’t get away with everything.” He sighed. “In the end, they could. The eye witness’s testimony, the bullets they found… all evidence disappeared under mysterious circumstances. It was labeled an accident, and I ‘lost control’ of the vehicle.”
“Are they still…after you?”
His gaze met mine and he stared into my eyes, his hands bringing mine to his lips. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because of what I hold. The information I have on them. When I started poring over all the evidence for the case, it became a rabbit hole and I was able to link it to more and more cases.” He shook his head. “I wish I didn’t have it anymore so they would leave me alone.”
“Why don’t you get rid of it?”
“Because it wouldn’t make a difference, and because they died for it.”
“Are you sure they’re still after you?”
He let out a huff. “It’s been a while; I think they like seeing me miserable. In a way they think it’s better than being dead because I’ve suffered a worse fate than his daughter. But, yes, they still keep tabs.”
My fingers shuffled through the items in the box: pictures of them in college, their wedding day, their home. It was all he had left of her—a wooden box filled with paper and faded memories.
I stared at one of the photos, and something Jack had said to me long ago came back.
You remind me of my daughter.
“I’m not her, you know.” His brows scrunch together in confusion at my words. “Jack said…I reminded him of her.”
He thought about that for a moment, his head nodding a bit. “I’ll admit there are a few similarities I noticed in you in the beginning, and it was one of the many things that drew me to you. But then I saw you, really saw you, and it was then it hit me you weren’t her and the similarities were just that. No different than how you are.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, the hackles on my neck standing up.
“I’ve been watching you for months. You shy away from bald men,” he said, ticking off more subtleties I’d never noticed myself. “You cringe at men wearing combat boots. Why?”
“Adam always wore them, especially when he kicked me. My dad went bald at an early age.” My voice was mechanical as I answered, and my chest tightened, the walls reinforcing themselves, so I redirected. “It’s the same with you, though. If I cringe from them, you are drawn to me. These photos show our similarities. You can’t refute it.”
His lips formed a thin line. “When I first saw you at the office
, the physical similarities, your hair color and size, even some of your mannerisms were hard to distinguish. Over time I saw the pain behind your eyes, the emptiness.” He paused and looked to me, his fingers ghosting over my cheek. “I saw the mask you wore.”
He took a deep breath before continuing. “I resigned myself to a solitary existence. Convinced myself I would never love again. And then you came crashing into my life. You didn’t fawn over me like the others, and you saw through my façade into the man hiding inside: destroyed and angry.”
“You slipped around me.”
“I did,” he agreed. “You do that to me. I tried to ignore you for weeks. I saw it in you, the same pain and loneliness in myself. At first I thought it was because you reminded me of Grace in some ways, but then, after the first few times I was with you, I realized that, while it was something that drew me to you in the beginning, it no longer applied. I wanted you, craved you. I struggled every day with that knowledge. You saw the evidence. I pushed you away, along with the pull and feelings you were stirring within me. But when I took you, I gave everything I could and it was raw and primal. I craved you to the point of insanity.”
I pursed my lips, the war raging inside between wanting to believe him and wanting to protect myself. “Are you sure? Are you sure that’s what you’re feeling? Are you certain you aren’t using me as a replacement for her? If she was alive, you would still be with her, not me. You don’t really feel about me the same way I feel about you.”
He stared at me for a moment, trying to form words for feelings. “I’m struggling with the realization of my feelings for you. What it means for you and for me. I never thought I’d fall in love again. Then I met you, and no matter how hard I pushed you away or how much I tried to not feel anything, it didn’t do any good. If I believed in fate, I would say I was destined to meet you; that I had to go through all this so I would understand you and see you.”
I thought about it for a moment. The feeling I had was the same, like something tied us together. “It’s a force, but is it love?”
“I loved Grace, very much, and I’m struggling with guilt over the fact I love another and you could mean more to me than she did. That I want you more. That this connection we have is greater. To be honest, it scares me, because I would be decimated if anything were to happen to you, especially if it was because of me. Every time I said I didn’t want you, it was me trying to convince myself.”
“What about your nightmares?” I asked, finally having an arena to ask a long wondered upon thought.
“My nightmares?” He paused and looked deep into my eyes. He was gauging me for something, but I couldn’t tell what. “They were about losing you, seeing you dead. The day of your accident, I saw one of my nightmares come to life.”
My chest constricted, and I was on the verge of crying. “Why wouldn’t you tell me any of this before?”
“Because I couldn’t admit it to myself, but your accident split me open and made me look…at you, at us, at the feelings I was trying to disown. The thought that I lost you…well, you saw.”
“You’ve had a session with Dr. Morg… with Darren, haven’t you?”
He nodded in response. “I refused to acknowledge how I felt about you. I thought if I didn’t admit it to myself, then it wasn’t true and you would be safe from them. That backfired and made you unsafe from me. Darren helped me to realize everything I kept closed off. I was angry at myself and the situation I created. You didn’t deserve to see that anger.” His hands fidgeted with the fabric of his shirt that lay over his heart. “I want to live again…with you. You’ve changed my world. I’m altered, no longer stuck in purgatory.”
Tears welled in my eyes before they began to slide unbidden down my cheeks, hot and heavy. His hands moved to my face, thumbs gently wiping the small beads from my skin.
"After seeing and hearing all this, do you still want me? Do you want to try, really try?"
I thought about it; my mouth opened to say yes when something nagged at me. That voice I knew so well in my head. You’ll always be second best in his heart. I sat back and slumped against the pillows.
"No," I replied in a whisper. I watched the hope drain from his face, his jaw clenched tight. Tears welled in his eyes, and I took his hand in mine. "I can't be a replacement. I won't be. You haven't had closure and until then…after all that has happened between us, I need to matter more than a memory. Not only that, I don’t know if I can let you back in. You hurt me more than anyone else has in my life.”
He nodded. “I understand. A small part of me wants you to tell me to fuck off, because I’m afraid. I’ve only ever loved my wife; this is all new to me. I don’t want you to be hurt or killed because of me…because you’re with me. At the same time I don’t want to let you go, I won’t. I need you, so bad. It’s your decision to give it a try with me, to be in a real, healthy relationship. If I’m honest, that scares me almost as much, but I promise to work at getting better, and I won’t push you away anymore.”
“How do I know I can trust all that?”
“I’ve never made you any promises, because that would be confirmation of the feelings I wouldn’t allow myself to have. So I buried them.” He picked up my hand and placed it palm down on his chest over his heart. “As cheesy as it sounds, this changes now because I’m promising you – my heart is yours.”
My brow scrunched together. “Not all of it.”
Sadness washed over his features. He couldn’t deny it.
CHAPTER 6
We lay there for a while, me absorbing everything, Nathan taking in my answer. I scratched at one of the scabs on my thigh and looked down. My legs were hairy and had bothered me all week. It shouldn’t have, but what else did I have to think about after I was done counting the dots on the ceiling? It hit me that I was home now; I could bathe.
“Nathan,” I began, breaking the silence. “I want a shower.”
I turned to look at him, and he nodded. “Okay.”
Climbing off the bed, he moved to my side and picked me up, carrying me into the adjoining bathroom. Once there, he sat me down on my good foot, careful not to bang my bad leg on anything before stripping me of my clothing.
“Hold on to my arms.”
It was then I got my first good look at myself in a mirror.
Just when my bruises had finally disappeared, I had a whole new horrifying set.
My face was just as bad off as I thought. Black and blue had turned to yellow and purple and covered the left side of my face from where I’d hit the glass window. Part of my hair not far above my ear was shaved off to get the area around the laceration on my scalp cleaned and stitched. My arms also held varying shades of bruise, darker around the countless number of stitches that held my skin together. Not too much longer until those came out.
My focus moved to the other figure in the mirror. Nathan was stripping, and my eyes went wide. I was about to ask him what he was doing when I recalled the state I was in; I wasn’t going to be able to shower on my own.
It was the first time I’d seen him without his clothes on in nearly a month, and I hated to think about how much I wanted him right then. It was like his body was calling to mine, and mine was desperate to answer, as always.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have felt that way with all that had happened, but I still felt the pull to him. I was such a mess, my mind and heart both having two different opinions; the push and pull was exhausting.
Once we were both naked, he helped me to sit on a stool that had been brought in. I didn’t ask because I noted a few new items around that, when I thought about it, were all to help me in some way.
He pulled some rubbery looking thing over from the counter and began stuffing my casted leg into it, being as careful as he could.
He looked up at me and smirked at my expression. “This will seal off your leg so no water gets into your cast. You really don’t want that. Trust me.”
“Oh. Okay.” I sounded stiff and off to my own ears, but I
wasn’t sure how else to respond. I hadn’t even thought about something like that, and he had it ready to go whenever I was. He had planned everything out for my arrival home. I didn’t know how to react to something I wasn’t used to, but it did make my chest clench.
He moved to the shower and turned it on to warm it up. Tears prick at my eyes. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, feel his lips on mine, and forget the last month had even happened so we could go back to how it used to be.
I was lying, and I knew it. I wanted to know everything he had told me, the honesty he displayed. The man in front of me was not the man I had known a month ago.
I took in a deep breath.
“Lila?” I looked up at him; a tear escaped and slid down my cheek. His face twisted in pain as he walked over to me. “Come on, the water will feel good.” He bent down and carried me into the shower.
I was grateful for the first time that my shower had a built in bench, because I was already exhausted from the previous ten minutes. He sat me down, the spray hitting me all over right away. It felt so good to have the water running over my skin. I felt cleaner already, just from the spray drenching me; it was the cleanest I’d felt all week.
Nathan grabbed the handle on the removable shower head and I placed my hand on his, directing where the spray would go. After a while I kept it over my head and let it fall down my body, my muscles relaxing; the tension rolling away with the water.
He soaped up a washcloth with my body wash, but before he connected with my skin I pulled it from his hand. He looked down at me, startled.
“It’s the only independence I have at the moment,” I said, explaining the need to do it myself.
He nodded in agreement. “Sorry, I got a little carried away.”
I scrubbed my body as clean as I could, making several passes. All the movement left me winded and he didn’t want to hand me my razor, but when I pleaded, he relented. I couldn’t stand being furry any longer.
