by Shade, S. M.
Most of my morning and afternoon are spent in the fetal position wrapped around a heating pad. The bleeding lets up a little and I breathe a sigh of relief knowing that means I’ll probably be over the worst by tomorrow. At least I manage not to soil the bed again, though I keep a towel under me just in case.
A little after three o’clock, I get a text from Dani.
Dani: Sorry, tried to talk him out of it.
What the hell does that mean? There’s no time to text her back before my question is answered when Axton enters with an older man behind him.
“This is Dr. Hadlin,” Axton says, and the older man nods.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Damn him. “It’s nice to meet you too.” I regard Axton. “I told you I don’t need a doctor.”
Ignoring me, he turns to Dr. Hadlin. “I’ll let you get on with it. I’ll be out in the living area.”
Dr. Hadlin approaches the side of my bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you weren’t aware of this appointment. It’s your choice whether to be examined, of course.”
There’s no reason to be rude to the doctor who’s only doing his job. I can’t imagine the amount Axton must’ve had to pay to get a doctor to make a house call. “It’s fine. I’ve tried to tell him I know my condition well and when to seek treatment, but I guess he’s just worried.”
He pulls out a blood pressure monitor. “When were you first diagnosed with endometriosis?”
“When I was sixteen.”
We spend a few minutes talking about my condition while he checks my vital signs and gives me the usual warnings. A few minutes later, he leaves me with a bottle of stronger painkillers and tells me to continue to take the iron supplements for a week after the bleeding stops.
As he’s preparing to leave, I nod toward the door. “You’re welcome to tell him I’m not dying so he doesn’t bring in another doctor for a second opinion.”
“I’ll do that,” he chuckles, leaving the room.
I should be furious with Axton for just barging in with a doctor against my will, but the anger isn’t coming. No, strangely, I feel touched that he was concerned enough. It’s stupid because of course he’s concerned. He’s in the middle of a tour, his nanny is sick and leaving his assistant with her job when he probably needs Dani. He needs me back on my feet.
I expect to see Axton back in my room after the doctor leaves, but instead I hear the door to the suite shut and silence. Sighing, I take one of the stronger painkillers and flip through the TV channels to find something to watch. I’m an episode into an old series I’ve been meaning to watch for years when I hear the door open again, followed by Caden’s babble.
“Hey.” Dani peeks in the bedroom door. “Are you up for some company?”
“Sure.” The painkillers have kicked in and the combination of pain relief and a slight opiate buzz have put me in a good mood.
“Naymi!” Caden cries, crawling across the bed to me when Dani sets him down.
“Come here and give me a hug,” I tell him, picking him up. He lets me love on him for about three seconds before grabbing the TV remote to play with.
“Good god, that boy is something to keep up with now that he’s walking everywhere,” Dani sighs, sitting on the end of the bed.
“He’s tried to run a few times, but he trips himself. It won’t be long,” I caution.
The door opens again, and Axton struts in carrying a few of Caden’s gifts, including the books I got him. Dani grins at me. “If you’re up to it, we thought Caden could open his presents here.”
Stupid period hormones put a lump in my throat. They want me included. “Of course. What did you do with that huge pile?”
“Axton helped him open some and we kept a few toys he was interested in, but it’s way too much. He’s going to donate the rest to the community center in town. They distribute them to foster kids at Christmas.”
Dropping my voice, I tease. “Did you get him a lobotomy or something in the last twenty-four hours?”
Caden looks at her when she bursts out laughing and answers it with a toothy grin.
“He does some charity stuff. He just doesn’t announce it,” she whispers. “Remind me to tell you about it later.”
“What’s all the fucking whispering about?” Axton demands, setting the packages on the bed.
“None of your business. And you need to stop cursing so much now that Caden is learning to talk,” Dani scolds.
Caden isn’t paying attention to any of us. His eyes are on the brightly colored paper which he now understands is wrapped around toys. Charging across the bed on his hands and knees, he grabs the package of books and tears away the wrapping. As soon as he sees the first book with the animals on the front he says, “Mooo.”
Everyone laughs and he grins up at us, happy to be the center of attention. Like father like son. Leaning over, I open the book. “No cows in this one, buddy. But there are lots of new animals for us to look at.”
It takes about three seconds for him to forget the books and move to the next gift, this one from Dani. It’s an adorable, goofy looking stuffed frog that Caden immediately squeezes, then tosses aside to get to the last gift from Axton.
It’s a bigger package and Axton helps him unwrap it, then gets it out of the box.
“I’m going to kill you,” I tell him, holding back a laugh as he pulls Caden off the bed. He stands him on his feet then shows him how to push the toy corn popper across the floor to get it to make the popping noise.
Caden is fascinated. It takes him a minute to get the hang of walking and hanging onto it, but as soon as he does, he’s off, giggling and watching the brightly colored balls pop around.
“Whoa, dude, you have to watch where you’re going,” Axton snorts, grabbing him before he can run headfirst into the wall.
Axton returns to sit on the bed with Dani and me, plopping Caden back in the middle of us. Caden grabs the frog and starts babbling to it, making us all laugh. “I think he’s happy with everything,” Dani says.
Glancing around, I feel the lump return to my throat, and I’m horrified to find my eyes burning as well. Sitting here with them, and with the little boy I love like my own, feels so much like family, that it claws at my heart.
It’s not as bad during the day when the sun is shining and I have a world to face. It recedes, balls up in a corner of me. But when the nights are long, it weighs on me, the thing I’ll never have.
Family.
It fills every gap, pulls me down, and I mourn it again and again. It’s not just the lack of love, not just the absence of a hand in mine or the screaming silence of an empty room, but the thought of all those years ahead with more of the same.
Caden has helped to fill that empty space. He may not be mine, but I’d do anything in the world for him.
Dani lays her hand over mine. “Are you okay? Are you hurting?”
Laughing, I wipe my eyes. “No, I’m fine. It’s just hormones. Ignore me.”
Her lips tilt up as she looks from me to Caden with a fond grin. “He’s growing up fast, huh?”
Running my hand over his wispy blond hair, I nod. “It all goes by fast.”
Chapter Twelve
Axton
Naomi’s suite is dark when I let myself in after our concert. The flicker of blue light from the television through her open bedroom door shows me the outline of the furniture so I don’t break my neck crossing the living area.
“Dani?” she calls, her voice wary.
“No such luck.” The bed creaks a little when she bolts upright. Her hair falls down around her shoulders which are bare except for the spaghetti straps of the top she’s wearing. I’ve rarely seen her with her hair down.
She’s covered by the bedspread from the waist down and she draws the covers up a little higher as she exclaims, “What are you doing here?”
Good fucking question. I’d tell her if I had any idea myself.
“Checking on you.” Striding into the room as i
f barging in on her at night is perfectly normal, I set the bag in my hand on the nightstand. Kicking off my shoes, I climb in bed beside her, and lean back against the wall, crossing my ankles.
“Uh-huh.” Her response is low and drawn out. “Are you drunk?”
“No, I just got off stage.” That’s almost true. There was a little detour by my room to take a shower since I sweat like a whore in church under the lights.
“Okay. Well, um…I’m fine.”
“Good. Are you hungry? I brought some sub sandwiches. And donuts.” Her scrutinizing stare is starting to get old. “Are you just going to keep gaping at me?”
“I’m trying to figure out if you’re a clone or just on something.”
Digging a ham and cheese sub out of the bag, I pass it to her, along with a soft drink. “Just eat and save the smart ass routine for once.”
Her lips creep up in spite of her attitude. “I’ll eat. No promises on the other.”
A comfortable silence takes over as we eat, and she focuses on the show she was watching when I came in. It’s some kind of British soap opera that could put a speed freak to sleep.
“What is this show?” I ask, gathering up our trash and taking it to the can across the room.
She shifts the pillows around, piling them up, then reclines against them. I get a strange look when I get back in bed and lean back next to her, but she doesn’t ask why. Not that I have an answer to give. She’s clearly feeling better but seeing the bed all bloody earlier freaked me out more than I want to admit. What if I leave and she just bleeds out overnight?
“Downton Abbey. Do you like it?”
“I’m bored off my tits.”
She reaches to the bedside table for the bottle of pain pills the doctor provided. “Because you don’t know the whole story. Rich people and servant drama.”
“Do you always watch it during blow job week?”
She blinks at me. “Blow job week?” She rolls her eyes when comprehension sets in. “You’re such a pig. And why would I watch the same show every time?”
“Because it’s a period drama.”
A snort of laughter leaps out of her. “Are you proud of that joke?”
“A little bit, yeah.”
She changes the TV to another show featuring a bunch of kids with superpowers. “Better?”
“Couldn’t be worse than the other one,” I tease, and the edge of her mouth twitches up.
A few minutes later, we’re both caught up in the show, and I glance down at her. She’s a lot more relaxed, her eyes glazed over. I gesture to the bottle on the table. “Do the pills help?”
Shrugging, she shifts around, trying to get comfortable, and her arm rests against mine. “They take the edge off the pain, but they also get me pretty high, so maybe I just don’t care as much that it hurts. I’ll feel a lot better by tomorrow. Caden must be wondering where I am.”
That reminds me. “Did you teach him to say uh-oh when he drops a toy or knocks something over?”
A smile lights across her pale face. “It’s what I say, but I haven’t heard him say it yet.”
“Oh, he says it. Right after he knocks over everything within reach.”
She looks up at me. “Seriously?”
“All day today. Knocked his drinking cup off the table, my wallet off the dresser, and at least twenty more things. Just so he could say ‘uh-oh.’ Then laughed his rotten little ass off. We couldn’t take our eyes off him.”
Her eyes light up and she covers her mouth with a giggle. “Little troublemaker. What did you expect? He has your DNA.”
“Damn right. I’m not raising a kid afraid to get in trouble.”
“Solid parenting plan.” Her gaze falls to where our hands rest, barely touching. Absently, she turns mine over, tracing over the callouses on my fingertips. She’s definitely feeling those pills.
I’m not stopping her or bringing it to her attention. For some reason, I like the way it feels. I’m not used to any kind of touch from a woman that isn’t sexual. It feels natural and…intimate.
“Says the goodiest of two shoes.”
“I am not.” She continues to fidget with my hand.
“I’ll bet you’ve never done anything dishonest in your life,” I tease. Such a look of guilt wrings her face that I regret the words.
“You’d lose that bet.”
Her eyelids droop and I know she isn’t far from falling asleep. “No one is completely innocent, Naomi. We all have our shit. I couldn’t hang out with anyone I thought couldn’t break a few rules.”
Her soft hand slips into mine and she falls asleep still wearing that stormy expression. I’m intrigued by her response. What could she have done that she feels such regret about? She may be strong willed—which isn’t a bad thing. I like that she sticks up for herself. But she’s also the kindest person I’ve ever met.
It’s a virtue most people would respect but it only makes me fear for her, because kind people are the first the world chews up and spits out. If there’s another side to her, a less…socially acceptable face she hides, it may be a good thing. I’ve learned she’s tougher than she looks.
The way she dealt with the threatening letter without a panic, the way she stands up to me, smacking Niall and cursing him when he took her into the woods, all show a strength I didn’t recognize at first.
She intrigues me. Worse, she affects me.
Tonight, for example, I came here to check on her and bring her something to eat. Now I’m in her bed with her hand in mine, her head against my shoulder, watching her sleep and trying to unravel the puzzle of who she is. How did that happen?
Lying here beside her, I realize I don’t want to leave. I can’t recall the last time I held hands with a woman. It’s not the kind of thing you do with a prostitute. I’ve missed this. Just lounging in bed with someone and watching TV or talking. Even now that she’s asleep, her even breaths and warm body so near mine are calming.
Comfortable. That’s what this is.
That’s all it is. I’m comfortable after a long day and I’m just reading too much into it. I’d probably feel the same way if I had Caden or Dani asleep beside me.
The sound of the TV fades as I drift off, quieting the doubts roiling in my head. I’ll be able to think clearer after some sleep.
I’m back in that house, where the door waits for me, as it always does. This time something is different. A wheelchair sits in front of it, and I know who sits in it before I can see his face.
From that laugh.
That fucking laugh.
The same one I heard every time I hurt, every time I failed, every time I dared to let a tear fall.
“Dad.” Anger overrides the usual fear and I’m suddenly standing in front of him without ever taking a step.
“I’m not dead yet, boy.” Is he dead? Didn’t I stick him in a nursing home? I can’t remember.
“Back at it again. The destroyer. Two wasn’t enough for you.”
I want to hit him, but my arms won’t move. My feet refuse to take a step toward him. The muscles won’t work. Terror sets in when I realize I can’t even speak as the sound of his laugh grows louder and louder until I want to cover my ears like I did when I was a kid.
“One gone and one dead.” Throwing his head back, his laughter still echoing around me, he repeats the words until they burrow inside me.
“One gone and one dead.”
“One gone and one dead.”
My eyes leap open and I try to sit up, but my body still won’t work. I can hear the TV playing and move my eyes enough to look down to see Naomi’s head resting on my chest. I can feel my arm around her. But I can’t move.
Panic wants to grab me, but I remind myself I’ve been here before. If I freak out, it’s only worse. Trying to scream and thrash and not being able to is the most terrifying feeling, and I won’t let it happen. Instead, I focus on breathing and talk to myself.
You’re breathing. You’re fine. Close your eyes. Relax and it’ll
pass. Close your eyes and listen to the TV.
I have no idea how much time goes by before the feeling passes, and I realize I can move again. Relief makes me sag against the bed.
The first time I had that happen, I went to a doctor. I thought I was going crazy or had some horrible disease.
Sleep paralysis. Two words that don’t sound nearly as horrific as it feels. The doctor explained that it’s harmless. It happens from becoming aware before you transition out of a REM sleep cycle. During the REM cycle, your brain paralyzes your muscles, so you don’t act out your dreams. But if you wake suddenly, it can take a few minutes for your brain to realize it and allow your muscles to work again.
It doesn’t help that it usually happens when a nightmare wakes me. It hasn’t happened in almost a year, but I only have to look down at the woman who somehow ended up in my arms as we slept to know the reason it occurred.
I’m slipping up.
My logical brain is trying to pull me back into line, remind me that this is not possible for me anymore. Because Dad was wrong.
Two is enough.
* * *
A few days after I crept out of Naomi’s bed before daylight, I get a call from Milo that there’s been another letter addressed to Naomi.
“There’s no doubt it’s from the same person as last time,” he tells me. “It’s the same kind of shit in the letter. ‘He loves me. He belongs with me. He’s not yours.’ They also included pictures of you, her, and Caden at the zoo, printed from the SLY tabloid site. There’s still no specific threat against her but we’ve sent it to the investigator.”
Fuck. Maybe it is just some fan, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be dangerous. It’s not enough that I have security with them at all times anymore. I need to make it clear that Naomi is not a threat to this psycho.
“I have the interview with the Hangtime Show tomorrow after we perform for their audience.”
“Yes, they’ve been given the instructions to avoid personal questions.”
