Shattered & Mended

by Julie Bailes

  I check my phone for the time and see its 8pm. Great, I’ve been out for over eight hours. Looks like I slept through my alarm, which I set for two p.m., not eight. Looking at the phone, I see there’s a voicemail notification at the top of my screen, but I don’t remember receiving a call since Allie’s been in the hospital. Then again, my phone’s been dead since Sophie brought it to the hospital Saturday morning.

  Sitting on the side of the bed, I slip on my shoes and call my mailbox. The voicemail is dated Saturday 3:15am. My heart drops into my stomach at the sound of her voice, her choked up and worried, beautiful fucking voice. “Hey, it's me. I'm really sorry our argument ended the way it did, but I'm really worried about you.” There’s a short pause and a few sniffs, and I know she’s crying. “It's late and I haven't heard from you ... Will you call me if you get this, please?” Allie pleads. Why am I just now getting this? Sophie’s right; we have shit to talk about. I need to know what the hell happened between us, but I’ll deal with her after I know Allie and I are fine.

  I go downstairs and it’s pitch black. I peek out the window and see that Lucille’s car isn’t in the driveway. I flip on the lights, pull my phone out, and search for local cab companies. I find the closest one near Jacksonville and call them up. My jeep is still at Sophie’s apartment, hopefully. Surely, they haven’t towed it. Wouldn’t someone have called me if they did? Fuck it; I don’t even care right now. I just want to get to Onslow. I call for a cab, and since they’re the only company that’ll come this far out of town, it’s going to be at least forty-five minutes before they get here.

  ***

  An hour and a half later, I arrive at Onslow Memorial. I rush up to the eighth floor and ask if Allie is allowed visitors, but the receptionist tells me Allie’s no longer on their floor. She’s been moved but they can’t—rather they won’t—tell me where they’ve moved her to. I wore a hat for a disguise, and as soon as the lady asks for my ID, I turn away and leave. I take my phone out and call the only person I know to call. Lucille doesn’t answer either time I call her, and then it dawns on me that she’s working. I take the elevator all the way down to the emergency room and search for her. I find her wheeling a patient back out into the waiting room. “Lucille,” I call.

  She looks up, surprised to see me. “Why aren’t you at home resting? I told you that I’d wake you if anything changed,” she scolds.

  “I rested for eight hours. I’m good to go,” I begin. “I went up to visit her and discovered she’s not in her room; it’s perfectly clean,” I say, my eyes wide and brow arched.

  “Oh, yeah, but it’s no big deal. She’s stable, so they moved her down a few floors, out of the ICU,” she informs me, waving her hand as if it really is no big deal.

  “It’s change, Lucille. You promised good or bad, remember? Will you tell me which room she’s in?” I virtually beg.

  Lucille parks her patient and motions for me to follow her to her station. She pulls out her pen and a notepad. She scribbles down some numbers and places the note in my hand. “She’s here, but you need to know she doesn’t look good. Also, she doesn’t remember the fall or anything that happened Friday night, at all. The argument y’all had; she doesn’t remember,” she says. Stepping closer to me, she reaches up on her tiptoes and whispers in my ear, “She didn’t even remember she was pregnant. They had to do an ultrasound just to prove it to her. So please, don’t push anything on her, okay? And one more thing, she’s not having a baby.” She steps away and brings her hand up in front of her face, putting up two fingers before she adds, “She’s having two … twins!” Wow. Really? I should be thrilled that she and the babies are doing well, but I’m not. Fury is what’s in my blood. She gives away our one and only daughter and is having two with that dickweed, Blake? Holy fuck … I’m at a loss for words. Two babies? I swallow back my anger, remembering she’s the only person who matters right now; not our baby or their babies—just her and her wellbeing. We’ll worry about all the other shit once she’s back home and fully recovered …

  I take the elevator up to the third floor and race across the entire damn hospital to get to Allie’s room. Thankfully, no one stops to ask for my ID; I wouldn’t have stopped even if they had. I race down the hall and skim the doors for her room number, room 323. Her door is cracked, so I place my ear close to the door and listen to see if she’s alone before I enter. Thankfully, I hear nothing but the television playing softly in the background. I push the door open and quietly close it behind me. As I turn around, all oxygen escapes my lungs at the sight of her. Her head is bandaged up, her eyes are black, her lips are crimson stained, and her arms are covered in multi-colored bruises. She doesn’t have any monitors hooked up to her like she did the first time I saw her, and all that’s left is the IV in her hand. Her head is lying off to the side while her legs are extended down the bed and her hands rest over the cover on top of her stomach.

  I tiptoe over to the rocking chair that’s sitting in the corner of her room. The chair’s too far away for my liking. I pick it up as quietly as I can to bring to the side of her bed and place it on the floor. Once I’m seated, I take her in with my eyes, wondering if I am truly the reason she’s here in this condition.

  After listening to her voicemail, I’m pretty positive I am. Knowing Allie, she went searching for me. And low and behold, she probably found me obliviously balls deep in her best fucking friend. I take my hands and rest them on top of hers. Then, I bow my head, rest it on the side of her stomach, and cry out a silent prayer. I pray to God that she didn’t see anything, and if she did, that she’ll forgive me for the things I have no recollection of doing. Because living a life without her isn’t a life worth living at all.

  As I’m drowning in my sorrow, I feel Allie’s hand slip out from under mine. She pulls her hand up and rests it on the back of my head. “Wyatt, what’s the matter?” she asks. Her voice is weak and strangled. I lift my head up and look into her big, beautiful eyes. And to my surprise, her eyes aren’t filled with anger or hate; they’re filled with love and concern.

  “Oh, God, butterfly … I’m so sorry,” I sob into her side. Her fingers glide through the back of my hair.

  “For what?” she asks.

  “For this.” I pull my head up and motion along her beat-up body. “For you being in here. For the pain you’ve been through, the pain you’re in now. I’m just—I’m so fucking sorry, baby.” I lean up and kiss her, but I don’t receive the reaction I was hoping for. Her lips fall down into a frown. “Wyatt, you can’t do that … you can’t kiss me.” What the hell does she mean I can’t kiss her? She always falls into my kiss, every time.

  “Why not?” I ask.

  “I’m with Blake, you know that.”

  “No. I don’t know that, actually,” I argue. She knows just as well as I do, she’s mine.

  “Wyatt, I don’t feel like fighting, okay? If you came here to argue, just leave.”

  She’s got another thing coming if she thinks I’m leaving her side. “Al, I’ve been away from you for too long as it is. Hell’s flames will turn into ice before I let you out of my sight.” Her frown turns into a lazy smile. She uses her hands and weakly pushes herself up the bed, gasping as she does so.

  “You okay? You need me to get someone?” I ask, concerned. She holds out her index finger and slowly releases a breath. Impatiently, I wait for her to finish exhaling, but I’m about ready to bolt my ass out of here and drag a doctor in here to check on her.

  Just as I stand, she begins to speak. “No, I’ll be fine. They say I have a few cracked ribs. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Besides, there’s nothing they can do for it.” She winces in pain as she attempts to shrug. “What’s wrong with you? You look anxious,” she asks, acknowledging me drying my palms on my jeans. I feel like the temperature in this room has risen about sixty degrees. I’m sweating profusely, my hands are shaky, and sweat’s gathering on my forehead. “Look at me,” Allie orders. Nervously, I turn all my attention to her. “Why
are you so edgy? You look like you’re about to be sick.” I am. I’m not sure what to say to her. I’d feel guilty as shit if I just sat here and talked to her as if nothing’s happened. Do I bring up what happened Friday and Saturday or not?

  “I don’t know why you’re acting all weird and shit. You know you can tell me anything.”

  “I know,” I say, the beat of my heart throbbing within my ears.

  “Spill it,” she demands.

  Reaching out, she rubs the tips of her fingers along my forearm, sending chills throughout my entire body. Her touch doesn’t help calm my heart rate at all. Hell no. It sends my heart into overdrive, beating faster than a jackrabbits. Fuck. “I’m sorry for turning my back on you, again. It’s just, once you told me you were pregnant and had put our baby up for adoption … I got so mad I couldn’t see straight,” I express.

  She looks taken aback by something I’ve said. “What did you just say?” she asks, speaking through clenched teeth.

  “When you told me you were pregnant and about the adoption, I—”

  “I know what you said,” she says, cutting me off.

  Her anger bemuses me; I don’t understand it. “I told you about Lacy?” she asks. Her voice is shaky and tears begin to fill her eyes.

  “Lacy? Is that her name?” I question.

  “Yes, our daughter. Well, not your daughter; she never was,” she replies. She pulls the covers up and over her face.

  “Don’t do that, Al. Don’t hide.” I reach out, tug the covers down and reveal her face.

  “Shit … I can’t believe I told you about her,” she mumbles.

  “What do you mean, you can’t believe you told me? I have a right to know, yeah?”

  “You would’ve had a right to know if you hadn’t left us, but unfortunately, you did. So no, Lacy is none of your concern.”

  “Bullshit. You know why I left, Allie.”

  “Yeah, fucking four and a half years later,” she argues.

  Gah! She’s so damn frustrating! Yes, I made a mistake. I left her, but my intentions were good. And yes, I’m paying for it. Life has grabbed me by the balls, twisted them in a complete fucking circle, and made me aware of the pain I caused this beautiful woman. Hell, I’ve felt the pain every second of every day that I’ve been away from her. In fact, the pain continues to consume me.

  “Yes, I left. But dammit, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, but that’s in the past. I can’t go back and change it or I would. You said that you forgave me. Why do you continue to bring it up? You enjoy hurting me? Because you’re fucking killing me each time you mention it.”

  “I’m killing you?” she asks, agitation coating her voice.

  “Yeah, you are,” I respond.

  She continuously nods her head, crosses her arms, and sucks her teeth. Then, she cocks her head and rips out the remaining pieces of my heart, the pieces she left behind after our argument Friday. “Welcome to the club, Wyatt Cooper. You killed me five years ago. The Allie you knew, she’s no more. I’m not the loving and forgiving person I once was. You left me here, pregnant and alone! You didn’t call. You didn’t write—nothing! I tried to forgive you, but how do you forgive the man who shattered your heart, stole the pieces, and backpacked them across the fucking world? You don’t.” Just when I thought the pain couldn’t get any worse, she pushes her dagger into the deep, dark pits of my stomach and digs that bastard as far as it’ll go.

  “You have to know that when I left you, I honestly believed I was helping you, not hurting you. For Christ’s sake, Al, I would never intentionally hurt you. I came back for you … only you. Make things easier on yourself and just give me another chance, because I’m never going to give up. I’ve already told you, I’m not going anywhere; I’m here to stay. Believe me when I tell you that I’ll never hurt you again.”

  “Yeah, sure. I mean, you’re loyal, right?” Sarcasm fills her voice as she laughs evilly. I nod, because I am loyal. “Ha! You’ve left me every time I’ve ever needed you—just like Friday.” Her voice fades as she speaks. Suddenly, her facial expression turns from mildly upset to completely livid. She begins panting and shakes her head. “Oh, fuck, this is what the doctors warned me about. I’m so fucking stupid. All it took was you coming into my room and pissing me off,” she babbles under her breath. She pulls her hands up to the sides of her head and squeezes her eyes shut.

  I place my hands to the sides of hers and beg her to tell me what’s wrong. “Allie, look at me. Tell me what’s happening, please,” I beg.

  At my plea, she stops shaking her head and lifts her eyes to mine. Her glazed eyes bore into mine, her glare sinister enough it’d make the toughest of men cower. “Get the fuck out of my room,” she growls.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Get out of my room!” she screams.

  “The fuck I will. Allie, dammit, tell me what’s happening right fucking now.” Her eyes are dark as midnight, and tears pour from them like a busted fire hydrant. “It’s all coming back to me … Why I’m here, what you did, what I saw … Oh, God, why?” she cries.

  “Al, you have to hear me out. You have to know that I—”

  “You can take your excuses, shove them up your ass, and get the fuck out of my room!” she bellows, reaching to the side of her bed and pressing the call button for the nurses.

  “Fuck no, not until you tell me what you saw. I’m not fucking leaving!” The nurse comes over the speaker and asks how she may help Allie. “If you’re considering telling them to come get me, you better tell them to bring every soldier they have enlisted in the United States military. Every. Fucking. One. Because I promise you, that’s what it’s going to take to haul my ass out of here if I don’t get some answers to my motherfucking questions,” I spit.

  She swipes her tears away, sucks in a breath, and responds to the nurse. “Yes. Can you send all of your security officers in here to remove an unwanted visitor? And you will need them all,” she replies angrily.

  “Why do you always have to be complicated? I came in here because I’ve been worried sick about your ass, not to fight. Oh, and while you’re remembering shit, you remember this …. I’ll be back. Hell or high water, I’m going to find out where my daughter is,” I promise.

  Eight

  ~Allie~

  Mother of all holy shits, this is insane. Why? Why are these painful and unwanted memories flooding my mind? I was fine with being here and not knowing why. Completely. Fine. Couldn’t they have approached me with warning? Flashbacks? The physical pain from the fall is nothing compared to what I feel from these memories of betrayal. Why? How could he do this to me? All I’ve heard since he’s returned is how much he ‘loves’ me, and how we’re meant to be. Obviously not. When you love someone, truly love them, you stay and work things through. You sure as shit don’t turn your back on them, and then find the easiest piece-of-ass to rid your anger. Oh, God, just take them away, all of them. I don’t need any memories of Wyatt and me, and absolutely none of him fucking my best friend. My eyes burn, physically burn as the flashes of him slapping her on the ass come to view. And her moaning, her pleasurable moans are like needles being jabbed into my ears.

  “Why are you still standing there? Leave!”

  “No! Tell me what I’ve suddenly done to you?”

  “You’re kidding, right? You seriously can’t stand here, look me in the eyes, and pretend you don’t know why I can’t stand the sight of you.”

  If he won’t leave, and security wants to take their precious time getting here, I’ll remove him myself. It takes all the energy I have stored to remove my covers and swing my legs off the side of the bed. I reach out and grab my IV pole to pull myself up but fall faster than I stand. I’m on my hands and knees when I see Wyatt’s shoes come into view.

  His arms cuff mine. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sensation my body experiences is abnormal, nothing I’ve experienced from him before. I become nauseous and contact with him makes my skin crawl. />
  “Don’t touch me,” I spit, pushing him away from me with all my strength. He doesn’t budge.

  “Just shut up and let me help you.”

  Help me? That’s a first. “I don’t need your help, never have.” Okay, I need him a little bit, but only to pick myself up off the floor, that’s it. I will not show my weakness in front of him, not anymore. I hold tightly to the IV pole with one hand, take the other and grab a tight hold to the waistband of his jeans, and then slowly pull myself off the floor. I turn around and rest my hands on the bed to stabilize my breathing. The more upset I get, the faster I breathe. The faster I breathe, the more pain rips through my ribs.

  I whip my head to the side and see Wyatt adjusting the covers. He then gestures for me to crawl back onto the bed. “Please, just stop. Leave,” I beg.

  “Get in the damn bed, Allie,” he orders. He untangles the tubing to my IV and grabs my elbow in an attempt to help me up onto the mattress.

  I pull my elbow away from him. “Again, I don’t need your help. I can do it,” I argue. “Where is security anyway?” I mumble.

  “Believe me, baby, security ain’t gonna be enough. I’ve already told you, I’m not leaving.”

  “Why? It’s what you’re best at. Just go. You’ve never had a problem doing so before, shouldn’t be any harder for you now,” I point out.

  He reaches out and his hands firmly cup my face, preventing me from pulling away. He bends down and stares intently into my eyes. “I don’t know what else I have to do to prove to you that I love you, and that I’ll do everything in my power to win you back. You giving away our daughter, carrying another man’s babies … none of it’s enough to turn me away from you,” he confesses.

  “Yeah, but you sleeping with another woman is enough for me to wish our paths never crossed and that you never existed. You’re the biggest mistake of my life, aside from handing over Lacy,” I sneer.

  At my words, his face contorts with pain. For the first time in my life, I find pleasure in causing him pain. His eyes gloss over and he licks his lips before turning away, leaving me with the view I’m so used to seeing—his back. He walks to the door and places his hand on the knob. Turning back, he points his finger at me and opens his mouth as if he’s going to speak but doesn’t say anything. His nostrils flare as he inhales a breath, and he’s fighting hard to restrain his tears. He bites his lip and drops his head. “Even that, as much as it hurts, is still not enough,” he murmurs.