by Chloe Walsh
Well, this was… awkward.
Driving off into the sunset on the back of my husband's motorcycle had seemed like the most romantic and endearingly beautiful gesture earlier. But now that I had time to think about what a huge plunge I had taken? Well, my mind was reeling and in complete and total overdrive.
You know that feeling you get when you make an impulsive purchase at the store, an expensive purchase you haven't quite thought through? A purchase that's going to affect your spending for the next six months? You know that horrible feeling of dread that settles in your stomach when you come down from the high and realize that 'hey, actually, I shouldn’t have done that'?
Well, I was in the throes of said feeling.
And I felt horrible because of it.
What was I saying; I was horrible.
Who thought like that?
Bad people, that's who.
I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting to see when I walked through the doors of that halfway house in Denver earlier either, but I had felt humbled. The seriousness of the environment, and the sheer devastation of those men's situations, made the mortification inside I had been feeling fall onto the back burner. Sure, there were people in that building I would have crossed the street to avoid in normal day to day life, but it was an eye-opener for me.
Jordan was a counselor.
He helped people.
Those desperate and lonesome looking people I'd seen back in that house? Jordan took care of them, gave them hope, and the foundations of a drug-free future.
I thought that was pretty amazing and, when I hadn't been worrying myself into an early grave about the repercussions of my rash life choices, I had been in awe of Jordan the entire time.
I even ended up watching Noah's fight in the common area of the house with the residents. Unable to express the pain and heartbreak I had felt when I watched Teagan scramble into the ring and throw the fight on Noah's behalf had been too much for me and I had bawled like a freaking baby – along with at least two other big, butch men. I had tried calling her at least a dozen times since the fight ended, but she never picked up.
Those unanswered calls bothered me long after Jordan finished his shift, and when we finally arrived at his house after midnight, the fight was still on my mind.
We had come straight to his house after his shift and I was still trying to familiarize myself with my surroundings.
His house was tiny – only slightly bigger than my apartment back in Cork. The only difference that I could see was the fact that the two bedrooms and bathroom in Jordan's house were on the second floor. My apartment was all on the same level. Back in Ireland, I had a decent sized, open plan kitchen/living area. Jordan's kitchen and living area were split into two tiny rooms and separated by a narrow hallway; his living room at the front of the house, and the kitchen at the back. And where I had a balcony, Jordan had a tiny eight feet by eight concrete yard outback that was home to a clothes line and nothing else.
The kitchen was a small, lemon painted room, tiny in size, with just enough room for the two-chaired table we were sitting at.
The cupboards were an off-white color and the countertops were littered with copious amounts of paperwork and textbooks, not to forget at least half a dozen dog-eared paperbacks strewn into the mix.
The clutter was chaotic and it kind of reminded me of what living with Teagan used to feel like –pre-Noah. She was a hot mess to live with and from the looks of this kitchen, so was Jordan.
"They're fine, Keychain," Jordan announced, breaking my thoughts, as he set a cup of coffee down in front of me before joining me at the small breakfast table in his kitchen. "Noah's probably pissed she threw the fight," he added before taking a sip from his mug.
"Did you see his face?" I heard myself snap, immediately jumping to Teagan's defense. "If I had been in Teagan's shoes, I would have thrown the fight three rounds ago."
Jordan's brows raised in surprise. "I didn’t say I didn’t agree with what she did, Hope. I just meant that it may have caused an issue between them."
Guilt churned inside of me. "Sorry," I mumbled, feeling like a dick for getting ratty with him. Jordan was obviously trying to soothe my anxiety and I was being a bitch.
"It's okay, Hope."
No, it wasn’t.
Nothing about this was okay.
Something felt wrong.
I was antsy and agitated and it was taking every ounce of my self control to make myself stay in this chair and not pace the floor. I was feeling on edge about something. Not allowing myself to believe that my edginess had anything to do with the huge life altering decision I had just made, I focused on Noah and Teagan. It was a safer topic for my frazzled mind to concentrate on. I was worried sick about them and I couldn’t explain that to Jordan. I couldn’t delve into details because those were details I needed to take to the grave. Dangerous and illegal details. The only one who could even begin to comprehend what I was feeling I didn’t dare think about.
Pulling my thoughts away from Noah and Teagan, I cast a glance around the tiny kitchen, trying to distract myself only to stiffen when my gaze locked on three or four baby bottles on the draining board next to the sink.
Baby bottles?
What the fuckety fuck!
With my body alive with suspicion, I began to search for more incriminating evidence. It didn’t take me long. On the window sill, next to the back door, were a handful of unused diapers neatly stacked one on top of the other. Beside them was a container of baby wipes and what looked like a tattered stuffed rabbit.
"Do you have something you need to tell me, Jordan?" I heard myself ask, tone demanding and laced with unspoken accusation. His eyes landed on mine and I inclined my head towards the sink.
If Jordan had a child, I was done. Seriously. If a miniature version of my goddamn husband popped out from behind the woodworks, I was hightailing it out of here. I liked to think of myself as a tolerant woman, but him having a child was not something I could put up with. It would be too much. Knowing that he'd lied to me and procreated while I'd spent the majority of my adult life in a foreign country mourning him? Hell no.
"I don’t own that bottle," he announced, roughly clearing his throat. "Or the baby it belongs to."
Inhaling a deep breath, I bit out, "Then whose is it?" Pressing my fingers to my temples, I foresaw my head spinning clean off my shoulders if he didn’t hurry his ass up and explain this to me.
"The bottle and every other piece of baby equipment in this house belongs to Ryder," Jordan was quick to respond. "And Ryder belongs to Annabelle."
"Annabelle," I repeated, deadpan. "As in your fake, former, whatever-the-hell-it-was fiancée Annabelle?"
"Yes." He cleared his throat again before adding, "She, ah… she and Ryder sort of live here."
"You're kidding?" I asked flatly. When he shook his head, my mouth fell open. "Jesus Christ, Jordan."
"As roommates, Hope," he was quick to add. "That's all it's ever been. Just roommates and friends."
"Are they here now?" I shrieked, wide-eyed and dumbfounded.
Jordan nodded. "They have their own room upstairs."
Okay breathe, Hope. Breathe. Don’t lose your shit on him right this minute. You've just gotten back together. Give it a day at least…
"And Ryder's father?" I bit out, tightening my grip on my cup so tight I was surprised it hadn't shattered in my hand. I was struggling with this revelation. I really was. In fact, I was having a hard time staying in my seat. Some of Teagan must have rubbed off on me because all I wanted to do was run. "Who is he? Where is he?"
"He's a bad guy who's not in the picture anymore."
"Okay," I muttered, striving to remain composed and not reach across this table and scratch his stupid, beautiful face. "That's not going to work for me. I think you better tell me everything."
I surprised myself with how calm I managed to remain as I listened to Jordan explain how he first met Annabelle six years ago when he came to li
ve at one of the sober living projects in the city. She was his counselor and sponsor back then and the only one who had absolute faith in his ability to become sober. They had bonded over their similar home lives – she, too, was from a broken home with no parental role in her life and, once he’d gotten clean and finished his social studies degree, had later helped him gain employment in the sector.
He told me about how even though they had drifted over the years as their careers took them in different paths, they had always remained close friends.
And then Jordan revealed to me how she had come to him for help two years ago when she had taken one punch too many from her violent ex.
She'd been four months pregnant with Ryder when she arrived on the doorstep of this very house on a cold night in December with nothing but a duffel bag and a broken nose to show for herself. She'd been here ever since. He'd been at the birth, held her hand through the labor, and had been the only consistent male in Ryder's life these past eleven months. He had even been honored with the title of Ryder's godfather, the same role my parents had given his father when I was born.
"Why?" I heard myself ask before blowing out a breath. I tried to form some semblance of an intelligent thought to explain how I was feeling in this moment, but the only thing I could say was, "why?"
"Why?" Jordan looked at me in confusion. "Why what?"
Why had he done all this for them?
Why were they still living here?
Why was he shacking up with another woman?
Why was he raising another man's child when he could have given me a chance and raised babies with me?
He didn’t know her.
Not really.
He knows her more than you, a voice in my mind hissed, but I silenced that voice with a shake of my head.
"I'm trying to understand this," I whispered. And truly, I was, but it was hard to comprehend. "Does she know?" I heard myself ask then, locking eyes with him across the table. "About you. About what happened to you?" I swallowed deeply. "Does she know about that?"
"She was my sponsor, Hope," he replied, and I felt the floor fall out from underneath me. "She knows everything about me."
She knew.
About his life.
About everything.
He had confided in her while he had blocked me out.
"Hope," Jordan said gruffly before reaching across the table and covering my hand with his. "I know this is a lot to take in one night, but I promise there has never been anything but friendship between me and Annie. I love you."
Annie.
Ugh.
Christ.
We drank our coffee in silence after that, with me deep in thought and Jordan sensibly silent. Finally, when the last remnants of coffee were drained from both our cups, Jordan pushed his chair back and stood. "It's late." He paused and looked down at me before exhaling a shaky breath. "Should I call you a cab or…" his voice trailed off as he slowly reached for his phone, obviously waiting on me to make the decision about our future.
"Put your phone away," I muttered, exhaling a weary sigh.
I watched as relief flashed across Jordan's face. "You sure?"
No, I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure about anything anymore. A bitter taste had settled in my mouth, and I could only pray that it was a temporary thing. "I'm sure," I whispered as I pushed my own chair back and stood.
When we reached the top of the staircase, Jordan walked over to the last of three doors and pushed it open before gesturing me inside. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of resentment towards the woman sleeping behind the other bedroom door as I walked past and into the bedroom my husband had been sleeping alone in this past almost decade.
As I looked around at my surroundings, the small double bed with a dark navy comforter strewn messily across it and matching closet and dresser, it was with a bolt of annoyance and my mind began to reel.
This was where he had been all those years. Every night I had cried myself to sleep over him, he'd been here. Here! In this house in freaking Colorado.
As much as I tried to fight it away, the knowledge of seven years of nothing continued to torment me, picking away at my trust and contentment like a horrible intrusive thought I couldn’t defeat.
No calls.
No text messages or emails.
Seven long years of silence.
And then there was Annabelle, the fake fiancée, his current roommate, and her baby.
I didn’t want this; I didn’t want to hold a grudge.
I wanted to be happy with him.
More than that, I wanted him to be happy with me.
How was I supposed to handle this?
I wasn’t known for my grace. I was one of six children, five of those being boys. Grace and tact weren't my strongpoints. Ugh, my father and brothers were going to freak out when they found out about this. My mother was going to rush out and buy a wedding hat – she didn’t need one of course, but I knew she would be ecstatic at the thought of Jordan and I getting back together.
Maybe I was jumping ahead of the gun here.
We hadn't actually spoken about what we were to each other now.
I'd made an impulsive decision at the spur of the moment that decidedly and unintentionally changed the course of my life. I needed to have a ten second delay. It would be so much easier...
"It's okay to feel on edge, Hope," Jordan said, breaking me from my worried thoughts. I looked across at him guiltily and he smiled. "I let you down," he explained, tone soft and gentle. "And I've put a lot on you tonight. It's okay to feel wary of me. I'd be surprised if you didn’t."
I felt my cheeks burn as I quickly denied what Jordan had so aptly figured out. "I’m not wary of you," I said, not really lying, but not completely telling the truth either. When it came to my husband, I was a wreck. My emotions and feelings were all over the place and I didn’t know how I felt most of the time.
For the best part of my life, I had been so focused on being with him that I hadn't thought of how I might feel when we finally were together.
I had been hunting this man down since childhood and now that the day had finally come that we were together without any barriers or pretenses, it wasn’t what I had expected it to be.
I didn’t feel how I had thought I would.
Instead of elation, I was feeling oddly…numb.
That thing I had been chasing my whole life, the thing I had been so sure was Jordan and then my career and then Jordan again, still felt like it was missing.
I still felt…hollow.
Time, I decided.
I just had to give this some time.
I was twenty-six years old and hadn't been with him properly since I was eighteen. I needed to adjust and give it a little time. Everything would fall into place.
It had to.
I'd spent my life dreaming of having what my parents so effortlessly had with each other, with Jordan. He was my first love and, like my mom with my dad, I had every intention of him being my last.
I just needed to focus.
I knew I wouldn’t win any wife of the year awards, it simply wasn’t in me, but dammit, I was going to be the best wife to Jordan that I possibly could.
I couldn’t lose him again.
I refused to go through that twice.
But I wasn’t sure how this was going to work. Did we fall straight back into man and wife? Boyfriend, girlfriend?
I didn’t know and apparently, I didn’t have to make a decision about it either. Jordan made it for the both of us when he said, "It's okay, Hope. I'll take the couch tonight."
I guess we were reverting to the friend's zone for now.
Was I being friend-zoned?
Why the hell was he moving to the couch?
Was it because he thought I wanted to sleep in here alone? Because I most certainly did not. Or was it because he didn’t want me sleeping in here…with him? I didn’t want to ask, because I wasn’t sure I could handle the answer.
What he had end
ured at the hands of that bastard tore me up inside. I didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable by bringing up sex. We could work up to that. I'd managed for eight years without any, I could do it a little longer.
"No," I blurted out, quickly sinking down on his bed. "I want you to stay here. With me." He wasn’t going into any damn spare room or whatever. Jordan and I were going to be happy together and I sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin what I worked so hard to get by bringing up my horny female reproductive parts.
But what about children?
Would we have them?
And if we did, how many would he want?
How many did I want?
And what about his live-in surrogate family?
Would we all live here together?
Did he even want me living here with him?
With them?
Oh god, shut up, Hope. Shut your stupid, overactive imagination up right this minute before you ruin this!
"Are you okay?" Jordan asked me, his raspy voice drawing me back to the present, and I balked before swinging my gaze to meet his. My heart ached at the sight. He was so beautiful and I loved him so much. I truly did. I hated that there was a part of me that wasn’t okay with this… a part that wasn’t accepting. I'd always given myself fully to this man and having a part of my subconscious pull away from my decision troubled me deeply.
"Hope?" Jordan's soft voice flooded my mind and dragged me from my terror inducing thoughts.
Blinking rapidly, I looked up at him and smiled sheepishly. "Huh?"
"Stop overthinking this," he replied with a knowing smile etched across his handsome face. "We can take this one day at a time, okay?"
I nodded and returned his smile, all while I buried down the feeling of disappointment churning inside of me. "One day at a time?" I heard myself ask. "And what does that mean exactly?"
He cocked a dark brow. "I think the term speaks for itself, Keychain."
I shook my head. "What does it mean for you?" For us?
Awareness dawned in Jordan's eyes, as he caught onto my meaning, and he let out a heavy sigh. "I'm not the person you remember. I'm not that boy anymore, Hope."
I nodded in agreement.
Neither was I.
It was an impossible ask, to expect the boy who walked out on me almost a decade ago to return inside the man standing before me.
