Losing Seven (Falling for Seven Book 2)

by T. A Richards Neville

  The look in Angel’s eyes was an even division of vigilance and fearlessness. “Dare I ask what you’re going to do about your sister?”

  “She isn’t my sister.”

  “Okay, fine. Sorry. Rebecca. What are you going to do about Rebecca? You can’t ignore her forever, not when she’s reached out to you. I know you’re better than that, even if you don’t.”

  My phone buzzed on the tabletop.

  “It’s Angela. She’s calling you.” Angel turned my phone around, pushing it toward me with one finger.

  I let the call ring off. The music playing in the bar was too loud for a phone conversation, so I texted Angela instead, typing out: What’s up?

  Angela: I can’t find Dog’s leash. Do you know where it might be?

  “Shit, it’s in the car.”

  “What is?” Angel asked.

  “Dog’s leash. Angela’s looking for it to take him out.”

  “Don’t you have a spare?”

  “Why would I need a spare?”

  “Because you left one in the car…”

  I texted Angela back. Forget the walk. I’m coming home soon, I’ll see to Dog

  “You mind if we get out of here in a little while?” I asked Angel. “Dog needs to go out, but we can come back after. Or you can wait here for me—” A text showed on my home screen.

  Angela: Way to waste my time, Rookie! You owe me, and I don’t forget a debt x

  I replied: If it wasn’t for me you’d know what it feels like to take a sack. Consider your debt repaid

  Angel glanced once more at my phone. “We can stay in. I don’t mind what we do.”

  I let Angel finish her drink and I ordered her another before we went back to the condo. I took Dog down to the parking garage and clipped on his leash while I waited for Angel.

  The rain showed up unannounced, hammering down on the road and sidewalk, blowing in sideways. “I’ll go grab you my jacket,” I said to Angel, handing her the leash. I jogged back to the Range Rover and unlocked the trunk, pulling out the training jacket I’d left in there.

  The material was thin and clingy, but it had a hood. Me? I was soaked through, my t-shirt and jeans plastered to my skin. We kept the walk short, taking Dog to the nearest rec park so he could do his business and sniff what the other dogs had been up to.

  That was another quirk I was getting used to: the fickle Florida weather. One minute the heat was sweltering, the desert-dry pavement cracking under your feet, and the next minute you were caught in the middle of a tropical thunderstorm. Then back to sunshine, like the sky couldn’t make up its damn mind.

  I dried off Dog in the kitchen and then changed my wet clothes for shorts and a dry t-shirt. Angel sat on the rug in front of the sectional wearing her Pajamas, Dog at her feet pulling on a chew rope, prizing it from her grasp with over exaggerated twists of his head. As I brought her soda from the kitchen, my chest swelled with the darkest feeling that I didn’t want her to leave. Didn’t want to walk into my own living room and not see her in it.

  I touched the soda can to her shoulder and she flinched, rearing away from the cold bite. “Thank you,” she said, taking the can. “I’m hungry, should I order food?”

  “You know the answer to that. I can fix us something.”

  Angel popped open the soda, Dog sniffing around the can and licking the condensation. “What, like Cecilia’s leftovers?”

  “I didn’t carry that shopping bag around with me all night for nothing. I’ll heat you some.”

  “Heat me all of it. I’m starving. You may not have noticed, but no one at Jorge’s party was quite as concerned with feeding me as they were you.”

  I took the soda can when Angel offered me a drink. “Those women were wild. Not to sound like a dick, but I was relieved when we finally got out of there. Jorge’s cool, but I avoid big crowds when I can. And that was a big crowd. You Latinos are crazy.”

  “That’s loco to you.” Angel snatched her can back and Dog sprang to his feet defensively, as if readying for a fight to break out. A low growl built in his throat and he lay down next to Angel, nudging at her thigh with his nose.

  The sight of him protecting her made me as proud as it did resentful. “He thinks I’m going to hurt you.”

  Angel held up the soda can for me to take and then she stretched out beside Dog, burying her fingers deep in his fur. “It makes me happy he’s got you now. He’s seen some bad stuff.”

  We ate Cecilia’s leftovers while watching an episode of Narcos, and called it a night early, Dog trudging up the stairs after us and crawling to his favorite spot under the bed. I felt like I’d waited a day and an age to get Angel back into bed. Overcame every obstacle that existed to slide my hands under her silk nightie and feel her warm skin on my fingers. Her compliant body underneath mine, thighs slowly and willingly spreading for me.

  “Have you worn no underwear all day?” my fingertips traced her moist skin, searching for any scrap of lace or cotton, but there wasn’t a damn thing between me and her other than my shorts.

  “And to think you had no idea.”

  “Think yourself lucky I didn’t, or Jorge’s birthday would’ve no doubt been ruined.” I gave Angel a quick grin and familiarized myself with her body, gripping her thigh in one hand and pushing her leg out wider. “I should punish you, though. For keeping that from me.”

  Angel grimaced, pressing a hand over her eyes.

  “You okay?”

  She peeked out from behind her hand. “I just got the worst stabbing pain in the side of my head.”

  “I’ve got painkillers downstairs.”

  “There’s Ibuprofen in my purse. It’s on the dresser over there. I’ll take two with the rest of this soda.”

  I eyed the can. “It should be water.”

  “But this is right here. Don’t school me on medicines now, please. Save it for tomorrow.”

  I shifted from above her and walked over to the dresser, unzipping her purse and checking the inside pocket first. “Your purse is full of shit,” I said, digging through the contents, sure some of it was actual garbage. I pulled out a business card from the hidden pocket. The words Women’s Health were made easy to read with the streetlight slanting in through the thin drapes. A date had been scribbled on the backside of the card in handwritten ink and something just didn’t feel right about what I was looking at. Unease twisted in my stomach.

  “I can’t find the medicine, I’ll go get you some.” I slipped the card into my pocket and jogged downstairs, my breathing as heavy as if I’d just wrapped-up a ninety-minute practice. In the kitchen, over the white glare from my screen, I searched the clinic on my phone, tapping on the first result that came up as a match. I stared at the home page. In a few introductory lines underneath the title, I’d seen enough. Seen more than e-fucking-nough.

  “Christ.” I rubbed a hand over my mouth. “What the fuck has she done?”

  J ulian didn’t come back, and if it wasn’t for my splitting headache, I’d probably have fallen asleep waiting. I got out of bed and padded down the stairs. A mixture of moonlight and streetlight bathed Julian’s muscled back in an ethereal glow, his forearms resting on his knees and his head hung low.

  The first sensation to run up on me was ice-cold panic, scattering to each individual nerve ending until I could eventually feel the strength of my own beating heart.

  I held onto the banister. “Julian?” I squinted through the darkness. When he said nothing, I walked to the bottom of the stairs and sunk down onto the sectional beside him. “Julian, what are you—”

  The arm nearest to me raised from his leg, a piece of card between his middle and index finger. “Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did, and this isn’t what it looks like.”

  He wouldn’t look at me, his gaze trained to the glossy floor.

  The air around us thickened, congealing with my prolonged silence. As of right now, I hadn’t lied. In Julian’s eyes, there was a chance I was still a decent person. He and I
were formed on a lie, and not much about our relationship was pure, other than our love. Love that I was tarnishing, withholding the truth or not. Once I told him, there would be no going back. I’d have to deal with whatever his reaction was. And I could sense from his body language it wasn’t going to be good.

  But the lie wouldn’t come.

  Inconsequentially, I had made things worse for myself, and I watched Julian’s shadowed profile for signs he wasn’t anticipating the worst from me, and maybe he’d got it wrong—jumped to conclusions. But there were no such signs. His rigid posture, his bunched muscles and tight jaw. I could walk out of here and not say anything, and he’d know.

  Talking to the side of his head wouldn’t bring success in getting my reasoning across, so I sat on the rug in front him, at his feet that were firmly planted apart. His concentrated gaze steadily rose to mine, affording me what felt like my only chance to somehow save myself. Save us. “Let me explain,” I started with caution, “and I’ll tell you everything.”

  His only acknowledgment was that he didn’t interrupt me.

  “I went to the doctor not long ago, feeling really under the weather. Just not like myself at all. I felt sick and tired and I could barely eat anything. And then I get there and the last thing I’m expecting her to tell me is that I’m pregnant. But I was, and I had to make a decision, Julian.”

  His intense stare collided with my aching heart and I knew I’d lost him right then. Could feel the impending divide as clear as I could see it. “You were pregnant?”

  “Yes. I’m not anymore. I handled it and I did it for you.” I was no longer talking—explaining—I was desperately pleading, trying to convince not just him, but both of us. “A baby would’ve ruined your career.”

  “When did this happen? You were taking your pill. Weren’t you?” The accusation carrying in his voice was unmistakable. The incrimination in his eyes pinning me in place and tearing me down the middle.

  “It could only have been when you came home, after Nellie died. I was drunk and upset, and I must have forgotten to take it. Apparently once is enough, even though I don’t actually remember forgetting. I’m always so careful. It’s why I’ve switched to the implant instead. It’s more effective.”

  Julian scratched his eyebrow, his expression transforming in an instant while he did the math. “That was ages ago.”

  “I was eight weeks.” That wasn’t nice, saying it out loud. It hadn’t felt real until now. Until I was forced to confront Julian, opening up to him and looking through a window into what could’ve been. He could’ve helped me through this and supported me. I’d been an idiot not to tell him. I’d taken his choices away and made it so he didn’t matter.

  Why was I only just seeing that now?

  “Are you going to say anything?” I asked when the silence threatened to consume me. I felt the most exposed I ever had, and I didn’t like the feeling at all. In this moment, Julian had the power to pull my comfortable life from under my feet and all I could do was hold on.

  “What would you like me to say?” The razor edge in his voice knocked me off balance. One wrongly spoken word and it was over. “I still can’t believe what’s coming out of your mouth. I need a minute here.”

  I kept my lips tightly sealed, as much as it killed me to do it.

  “Abortion?” The question dislodged from his throat. Clung to his tongue like he was testing the offensive sound to see if it was real. “You got rid of my baby?” That tone, so deep and cruel. “Behind my back? Who else knows about this? Who told you that would be okay with me? Who thought you getting an abortion would be a good-fucking-idea? I want to know, now. Because I know you aren’t that cruel. Or, I thought you weren’t. Looks like I don’t fucking know you at all.”

  “It was my decision,” I said vehemently, rising to my knees and holding onto his thighs. “I thought I was making the right decision. You said children should be planned, that this wasn’t the right time. I couldn’t raise a baby alone, Julian. Or drag you away from your dream to do it with me. What kind of life would that be, for any of us? You would’ve hated me. Maybe not at first, but eventually—”

  Two determined hands circled my wrists, pulling me up from the floor. I stood flush with Julian’s body as he pinned my arms to my sides, his grip biting into my skin, strangling my bones. “That wasn’t your assumption to make. You should have told me, and I would have told you not to fucking do it.”

  “You say that now.” I worked to jostle my wrists free, to wipe the tears that tracked shamelessly down my face. “But is that what you would have done? You really believe you’ve got the strength to stand by and watch your future flush down the toilet? Or would you have carried on as normal and left me to pick up the pieces of a broken family? Would it have been my baby, Julian, or ours? Be honest with yourself now.”

  He released my wrists in one rapidly fluid motion, rejecting me, and I stumbled backward. He recaptured my gaze in his much darker one as I regained my footing. Drawn in by an invisible thread, neither of us looked away or was willing to back down in our self-preservation. I wanted him to understand, he wasn’t willing to listen. We both had all the answers and neither of them were the right ones.

  And then he was walking away from me. Bounding up the stairs two at a time, returning in seconds fully-clothed and with his shoes on. I watched helplessly with my heart in my mouth as he swiped his snapback from the kitchen countertop and pulled the bill low. The door slamming resonated throughout the condo, echoing in my ears, deafening me. I slumped to the floor and let the tears fall, flooding me from inside until I felt like I was drowning in them.

  Time was an obscured nonexistence when the door to the condo finally opened and Julian stepped inside. It remained as dark as when he’d left, and I hadn’t moved from my slump on the floor. Only my position had changed, my body cornered to the sectional, my head resting on two folded arms on the leather seat cushion, where I had eventually fallen asleep from exhaustion. Eyes swollen from crying, my viewpoint was level with Julian’s footsteps, carrying him closer toward me in a systematic calmness. A tranquility settled over the condo, a serenity that arrives after or before a passing storm, washing away the deranged unbalance. The kind of undiluted quiet you can reach out and touch. Manipulate into a cocoon and wrap around yourself until you become part of it.

  Crouching down on the balls of his feet, one of Julian’s arms slid under my legs, the other hooking behind my back, peeling my arms from the sectional. The stable beat of his heart pulsed next to my ear and I closed my eyes. Talking meant more fighting, and I’d had enough of both.

  Julian lay me down on his bed and I folded onto my side, slipping my fingers between his when his palm spread over my belly from behind. The pressure on my midsection intensified, and I sucked in a wounded breath when he nuzzled the skin at my neck, drawing me closer to him. Maybe he wanted to hurt me the same as I’d done to him.

  And maybe I’d let him. Maybe I deserved it.

  The hand on my stomach snaked lower, my silk camisole lifting higher, Julian’s warm fingers smoothing over my bare skin. His hand traced the curve of my hip and one of his legs tangled with my own, his thigh pushing between mine, driving them apart. When I let him in and I was lying face-down on the mattress, he knocked the pillows from the bed with one swipe of his arm, the heat and weight from his body sheltering me from head to toe.

  My heart raced, slight pants of depraved air brushing past my lips and dampening the sheet my cheek was pressed to. A frenzy of need built at the juncture of my thighs, my legs quivering. Julian couldn’t get inside of me quick enough, and when his hand closed around my stomach, guiding my hips up and off the bed, I cried out for him to get it over with already. Give me something of him that would feel real, that I could hold on to and savor.

  He wrapped my hair around a clenched fist, manipulating my body into precisely the position he wanted it. My back arched, my thighs spread wider, and my heart shattered to pieces when he filled me from
behind in one barbaric thrust that left no doubt as to whether I was being punished.

  Julian slept on the couch that night.

  After restless hours spent holding out hope Julian might return to bed, he left for practice without waking me and, somehow, I’d slept through until lunchtime. My throat felt scratchy, my eyes still felt swollen, and for the first time since losing my virginity, I was sore down there. An ache at the apex of my thighs like I’d run a marathon.

  I checked my phone, but there were no messages or calls from Julian, and I’d be waiting all day to speak to him. An entire day of worrying about what was to come, what would be said.

  I made the bed and took a shower to ease my anxieties, then took Dog for an afternoon walk. More than an hour passed me by, and I found myself lost in Hallandale Beach. Dog lagged behind, and I hadn’t been tracking how far we’d walked or what direction we’d come from. My feet and my brain were currently in two difference divisions.

  “Great,” I muttered, turning full circle on the wide sidewalk, cars speeding by me on the road. I led Dog over to the beach to rest and I sat on the sand, loosening his leash enough for more comfort. Downloading a map onto my phone, I entered my location and Julian’s address. The blue line mapping the route home would take me an hour and forty to walk. Closing the app, I brought up the message feed for Marilyn and typed out: Julian knows.

  I stared at the screen with tired eyes, my vision slipping in and out of focus. I stared until Marilyn’s reply bubble appeared beneath mine.

  How? Is he mad?

  The fact her first reaction was to assume things had gone to shit stirred a tornado of uneasiness inside my chest. Marilyn knew—I knew—I’d committed to something bad, and the mark of shame burned my skin. I watched the beach crowd, people who were here having a good time without guilt and disgrace, and I wondered if their lives were as carefree as they appeared on the surface. Had one of these women done what I had? Did any of them regret it?