My throat tightens and I struggle to control my emotions, wiping away the few stray tears that leak from my eyes. I take Huntley’s hand in mine, lacing our fingers together and soaking up the feel of her skin. I don’t know how long I sit there, staring at her sleeping form, listening to the steady beep of her heartbeat mixed with that of our child. I lose myself, allowing time to slip away from me.
I was so lost before Huntley stumbled into my dark world, wearing that white sundress and those damn red cowboy boots. Her light shattered the walls around my heart and showed me how to live again. I’m not me without her. It’s that simple.
Huntleys’ hand moves and my head whips up. She rolls on to her side. Our eyes crash and collide and there’s so much I need to say to her. But the words lodge themselves somewhere between my ribs and my throat.
“Grayson?” her voice is scratchy and hoarse and I hate it. It can only be like that if she’s been screaming.
“Yes baby, I’m here.” I move and take a seat next to her on the bed.
“Where am I?” Huntley looks around confused.
“You’re in the hospital,” I reply gently.
Her eyebrows shoot up and a look of horror crosses her features.
“I’m going to get the nurse ok?” I kiss her forehead and walk out to get a nurse. Luckily the nurse who was in here earlier sees me and I tell her Huntley is awake.
I follow in behind her as she starts checking the machines again.
“Why am I here?” Huntley asks the nurse.
“Miss Morgan, you were attacked.”
The machine attached to Huntley’s finger starts screaming as her heartbeat spikes. I rush over to the bed, stroking her hair and rubbing my thumb on the back of her knuckles. “It’s ok, you’re safe now. You need to stay calm.”
Her eyes flit frantically from me to the nurse but her heartbeat doesn’t slow.
“Miss Morgan, you need to calm down. Panicking is not good for the baby.”
Huntley stiffens and her face goes white, like every ounce of blood is being drained from her. Her eyes widen in shock.
“Baby?” she chokes out. “What baby?”
“You’re twelve weeks pregnant,” I tell her softly. When she snatches her hand from my grasp, I wince at the loss of contact, and watch her carefully. Something doesn’t feel right about her reaction. A knot forms in my stomach and sinks into my gut like an anchor.
“No,” she cries, shaking her head wildly from side to side. “I took a test, and it came back negative.”
“It’s possible that you got a false negative,” the nurse explains sympathetically. “It’s rare but it happens. Either you took the test too early or the test wasn’t sensitive enough to the HCG hormones in your urine.”
“Oh God,” Huntley cries. My heart breaks at the sound of her obvious distress. Doesn’t she want this? I feel the hurt and confusion fuse and move around restlessly inside me.
“It’s ok,” I assure her. “It’s a surprise but a good one right?” I search her eyes for a glimmer of acceptance but only find her empty blue iris’ staring back at me, the storm I’ve become familiar with gone. I’ve never seen this look on her face before. It’s unnerving.
“No, it’s not ok.” Her words slice me open and leave me guttered. The nurse exits the room and we’re alone again. The room suddenly feels too small, like the walls close in on me with every delivery of Huntley’s painful words.
“How can you say that?” I question slightly angered.
“B-b-because this can’t happen.” She looks away from me and my hands ball into fists at my sides. I feel my jaw tick as I work to reign in the sudden anguish that blooms in my chest. Her words swirl around in my head and force the air to leave my lungs in short, quick pants.
“You don’t want our baby?”
Her head hangs but she doesn’t respond. I take a step closer and grab her chin between my fingers. “Answer me,” I demand harshly. I’m way past the point of being ‘gentle’. She’s talking about not wanting the life growing inside her, the life that we made together.
“Don’t touch me,” she growls behind gritted teeth. “Don’t think for a second that I don’t remember how your ex-girlfriend had her tongue down your throat not too long ago.”
“I can explain –“
Her hand shoots up, halting me. “Don’t Grayson. I can’t deal with your excuses right now.”
“It’s not what it looked like, I promise.” I plead with my eyes but it doesn’t work when Huntley refuses to look at me. The acid in my stomach rolls and I feel sick with guilt all over again.
“I think you need to leave.” I barely hear her and hope to God that what I think I heard is wrong.
When I stand rooted to the floor next to the hospital bed, Huntleys’ head comes up and she fixes me with a glare filled with hurt, and anger and betrayal.
“Please,” she whispers. “I need you to leave. I need some time.”
I struggle to keep my reaction in check as realization of what she’s saying dawns on me. She doesn’t want me or our baby. It’s like a sucker punch straight to my stomach, stealing the breath from my body and making my chest ache.
“You don’t get to decide this on your own,” my chest constricts and I do nothing when I feel hot liquid slide down my hot cheeks. I don’t care if I look like a wuss for crying. What she’s doing right now fucking hurts and she’s treating me like I have no say. “I won’t let you give up the part of me that’s living and growing inside you,” I sniffle, clinging desperately to what’s left of my composure. “I will fight for you and our baby with everything I am, even if it kills me. You don’t get to walk away like we mean nothing.”
Huntley’s hand cups her mouth and her shoulders shake. We stare at each other for what feels like a lifetime, both crying and I can’t escape the grave recognition that I’m the only one fighting for us. I take a step closer and lean my forehead against hers for what I hope isn’t the last time. Her breath shudders as I look her in the eye. “I love you,” I breathe. “I will always love you.”
Turning my back, I ignore every impulse to disregard her wish for me to leave and walk out the door. Her broken sobs echo and die as the door closes, the metaphor unmistakably obvious. That door is the only thing separating me from the love of my life, yet it now seems impenetrable.
“Holy shit Gray, are you ok?”
I don’t look up but as soon I feel Brody at my side, the dam breaks. I haven’t cried this hard since my sister died. The tears flow and I want nothing more than to rip my own heart out just so that it won’t hurt so much. My body caves and I have to lean on Brody to keep myself from crumbling onto the floor. Like my heart has crumbles in my chest.
“Oh my God, is he ok?” I hear Demi ask. Brody doesn’t respond and neither do I. I don’t know what to say. I’m not ok, and I have no idea if I’ll ever be the same after this.
Brody takes me to his truck and puts me in the passenger seat before turning to talk to Demi. I block them out and wait for Brody to get in. The drive is silent, and once we’ve stopped at the liquor store, Brody takes me straight home.
We sit in the living room, still littered with trash from the party, and Brody brings out some old friends. Tequila. Whiskey. And Vodka. He slams the bottles on the table, unscrewing the lids and throwing them away. Brody knows what I need. And like the best friend he is, he helps drown out my emotions, my thoughts, and my feelings until I feel nothing. Blissful nothingness.
** ** ** ** **
The thing about drinking to obliterate everything is that it’s temporary, and when the numbing liquid leaves your system, you’re still left with everything you tried so hard not to feel and a killer headache to boot. My head feels heavy and my temples throb with a dull ache. There’s a pounding noise and I think it’s all in my head, but then I hear the door open and then click shut. I make no move to get up from…
Where the fuck am I?
I look around, only able to muster enough strength to
open one eye, and take in my surroundings. I’m on the floor, that much is obvious, and there’s a bed. If breathing didn’t fucking hurt I’d let out a sigh of relief at the sight of my room. But it hurts. So fucking much. The gaping hole is still where my heart should be, pulsing angrily as if I need reminding of its presence.
My bedroom door flings open and the crash has me cradling my head between my hands. The loud noise reverberates through my skull and bounces back and forth.
“How long has he been like this?” a deep, gruff voice rumbles. I work to push away the haze surrounding my brain, I know that voice.
Coach Morgan.
“Three days,” Brody’s voice comes.
Three days? No wonder it feels like the Hulk is using my head as a punching bag.
“C’mon, help me get him in the shower. We can’t talk sense into him when he stinks worse than a drunk after Labor Day.”
Two sets of hands wrap around my arms and hoist me up into a semi-standing position. My clothes are stripped until I’m only left with my boxer briefs. Everything around me is a complete blur. Coach Morgan and Brody help me climb into the shower and turn the hot water on. When I’m left alone, my body sags until I’m sitting on the floor, hot water cascading over my weary body. I sift through my memory, trying to remember anything from the last three days, but I draw a blank. I groan. Even that hurts.
When I’m sure I can stand, I stumble my way out of the shower and pull on a clean shirt and sweatpants. By the time I make it downstairs, Coach Morgan and Brody are talking in the living room.
Coach Morgan looks at me, his grimace firmly in place. “Welcome. It’s about time you got your shit together Carter.”
I blink several times. Hearing Coach Morgan cuss is strange. He only does it when he’s really really pissed, and judging by the look he’s giving me right now, he’s pissed with me.
Brody walks to the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water and some aspirin. I chug the water and the pills greedily, eager to knock the Hulk punching my head on his ass.
“What are you doing here Coach?”
“I want to know what the hell happened between you and Huntley in that goddamn hospital room and what the hell you plan on doing to fix it.”
I’m too occupied with how much hearing her name hurts to be taken aback by the anger in Coach Morgan’s voice. It’s misplaced considering I’m the one who was left devastated.
I pull both my hands through my hair, exasperated. “She told me to leave.”
Brody and Coach Morgan both frown at me like I’m crazy. “Why would she do that?” Brody asks.
“I don’t know,” I sigh heavily. Talking about this is going to kill me but I need to know. “How is she?” I look at Coach Morgan and try desperately to hide how vulnerable and helpless I feel.
“She’s a mess. And she’s so damn stubborn,” he exhales audibly. “Emma has been trying to get her to talk about it but it’s like she’s gone into hiding.”
Coach Morgan’s phone rings, interrupting our conversation. His eyebrows scrunch in confusion as he steps away to answer it. My thoughts immediately go to who he’s talking to. Is it Mrs. Coach? Is she calling about Huntley? is something wrong with her? Is something wrong with the baby?
“Gray,” Brody’s voice distracts me from all the questions exploding in my mind. He’s watching me, every part of his face emanating concern.
“Hmmm?”
“How do you feel about Huntley being pregnant?”
Coach Morgan walks back into the living room before I can answer. His expression is a mixture of shock and relief.
“That was the Police Department,” he says, “Jake died in the holding cell last night.”
My mind draws a complete blank as I stare at him. If I wasn’t already sitting down my knees would’ve given in and left me flat on my ass. My mouth opens and then closes several times but nothing comes out.
What?
“Did they say how?” Brody asks. At least one of us is able to find his voice. This news has all three of us dumb-struck.
Coach Morgan slumps onto the couch, still staring wordlessly at his phone. He shakes his head as if to drag himself out of a stunned trance. “He somehow got a knife snuck in and killed himself.”
“Holy shit,” I mutter. I should be a doing a damn happy dance now that Huntley will no longer have to be scared of him, but I can’t bring myself to revel in the death of another human being, even if he killed himself. “Are you going to tell Huntley?”
“I don’t think that poor girl can deal with much more at the moment,” he looks at me pointedly. “I’ll speak to Emma and we’ll decide what we think is best.”
“I’m sorry Coach,” the words slip out of my mouth effortlessly. “I never meant for her to get hurt.”
He sighs, running his hands through his thinning hair and down his face. It’s then that I notice how tired he looks and that he’s got a bit of stubble.
“Why haven’t you kicked my ass yet?” I ask quietly.
“Do you love her?” he shoots back.
I answer without hesitation. “With everything I am.”
“That’s why.” He pauses, resting his elbows on his knees thoughtfully. “It will take me some time to get used to the idea that y’all are going to have a baby, but if I know that you have no intention of skipping out on her then y’all will both have mine and Emma’s support. Huntley has been through too much already, and all I want is for her to be happy, to be loved. She deserves that, and so much more.” His eyes glaze over. “I need to know that you’ll step up, and be the man I know you are. Fight for her, no matter how stubborn she is.”
“Coach, she’s my life, and I know we’re young, but I can’t wait for her to have my baby. I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with her, taking care of her and our family. I would rather die than live another day without her at my side.” My hearts constricts inside my chest and my throat swells until I feel like I’m choking back tears.
“You do right by my girl,” he says. “Because if you hurt her, she won’t survive you.”
His eyes are full of warning, his unspoken threat echoing around me. He’s fiercely protective of Huntley, but so am I. “You have my word.”
We stare at each other and when he nods I know he believes me.
All I can think about is my beautiful girl. And the life she’s carrying. My little life.
That I’m prepared to fight for, whether she believes it or not.
Chapter 25
~ Huntley ~
“Huntley?” a soft voice tickles my ears and I stir. I roll over, the pain in my ribs almost gone. The bruises are yellow and look better in comparison to how they looked two weeks ago. My Aunt Emma’s warm, loving face greets me, her eyes shining with kind-heartedness. “It’s time for you to eat something sweetheart, you’ve been asleep for over four hours.”
That’s no surprise. I’ve been napping a lot since I left the hospital a few days ago. Apparently that’s normal.
“It’s just some soup,” she encourages, “You must be starving.”
As if on cue, my stomach grumbles and I giggle. The sound is so strange. I haven’t laughed, or smiled, since I watched Grayson leave my hospital room. I haven’t done much of anything really, except sleep and wallow in my self-pity. And my stupidity.
“Hmmm,” I breathe in the delicious smell of the soup through my nose and my belly does a little tumble, reminding me that I’m eating for two. “It smells delicious. I’m starving.” I pat my slightly burgeoning belly. “I mean we’re starving.”
“How are you feeling?” Aunt Emma’s concern is heart-warming and I don’t think I would’ve made it through the darkness that has surrounded me without her. I take a spoonful of the yummy soup and groan when the taste explodes in my mouth. Dear Lord it’s so good. My belly tumbles again and I imagine my little Jelly Bean agreeing with me.
“I’m ok,” I lie, feeling the ache in my chest vibrate with every word. Not speaking t
o Grayson for so long hurts worse than finding out Jake died. I cried, but out of relief. The shadows of my past have finally disappeared but my fears are still standing in the way of my future.
“Have you spoken to him sweetheart?”
I look away from my aunts’ knowing gaze and swallow, feeling the sudden lump in my throat. I shake my head no. I’ve stared at his name on my phone a thousand times but never gathered the nerve to press ‘call’, no matter how many times I’ve needed to hear the voice that fills every dream I have.
She sighs and I recognize her slight exasperation. I’m on quite a few peoples’ ‘shit list’ after all my sulking lately. I don’t blame them. I’m pretty fed up with myself too. “Why don’t you call him? I think you’ve tortured that poor boy for long enough.”
“I don’t know how to fix it,” I whisper. “How do I explain to him how I was feeling when I asked him to leave?”
“Well, how were you feeling when you spoke to him?” My aunts’ eyes probe me, as if the answer will magically appear on my face. Nope, no such luck. I have to physically open my mouth and say what’s been bothering me.
“Scared,” I sigh. “And confused. But mostly conflicted. It felt like I was reliving the same mistakes over again and I kept punishing myself. I didn’t want to believe that I could be reckless enough to get myself into the same situation a second time.” A few stray tears slip down my cheeks and I wipe them away quickly. Stupid pregnancy hormones. I can’t even watch a damn dog food commercial without crying.
Aunt Emma takes my empty soup bowl and places it on the nightstand next to my bed. She looks away for a moment, her face thoughtful. “Sweetheart, I understand why you would feel that way. But I don’t think it’s fair to assume that Grayson will treat you same way that Jake did.”
She’s right, but I haven’t been able to shake the heavy feeling that my past mistakes are stuck on repeat, my history destined to repeat itself. “I couldn’t deal with the disappointment I felt with myself and worry about how Grayson was going to react to the news.”
Beneath Your Beautiful Page 22
