The Complete If I Break Series

by Portia Moore

  I pick up my phone and dial Helen’s number. I get the same message saying she’s not available now and to try back later. I hang up in frustration.

  I don’t know anything about this town except our school played them in football once or twice. I don’t even know if Cal is here.

  My phone rings again. This time, it’s Angela.

  “Hi, Angie.” I sigh, watching a car speed by.

  “Actually, it’s Hillary. I borrowed her cell since you won’t answer for me,” she says.

  I roll my eyes, still livid about what happened earlier. “Well, I didn’t answer for a reason.”

  “Lauren, I said I’m sorry. I know I should have told you when I first found out, but I didn’t know how,” she blurts out quickly.

  “Well, you sure figured it out today,” I retort sharply.

  “You’re right. I was the biggest bitch in the world,” she says with a laugh. But it’s forced, and she stops with a sigh. “I just thought that you starting to see Steven would make things better for you. That you wouldn’t stay cooped up in the house with Caylen, and you would start being yourself again.”

  I admit I have directed my anger at her instead of myself for being so naïve and stupid. “I’m sorry that things haven’t been like they were between us. That Angela and I seem closer, but… it’s just that Angela saw me at one of the lowest times in my life. So I don’t feel so exposed when I talk to her because she’s seen me at my worst. I just… I don’t know when I’ll break down, you know? I constantly feel vulnerable, and I hate myself for feeling that way. I’m embarrassed about it.” I frown at myself. “I was mad at you today because you were telling me the truth. The same thing that little voice in my head keeps telling me, but I stopped listening to that voice the day I met Cal.”

  I let out a small laugh, wiping away the tears slipping from my eyes. I hear her laugh on the other end. It feels good to laugh with her.

  “Yep, that’s me! The big voice yelling at you that you can’t shut up.”

  “I need that voice sometimes,” I assure her.

  “Yeah, well, it works for me,” she says, giggling, then she clears her throat before speaking again. “I called my aunt, the one I was telling you about who lives in Madison. I was trying to get her to give me Gwen Scott’s address.” She pauses as if waiting for me to respond. When I don’t, she continues. “She badgered me about why I needed it, and we argued. But in the end, I just promised my cousin twenty-five bucks for it when I see her.”

  She laughs, but my playful mood is completely gone. The mention of the Scotts makes my heart pound.

  “Th-the woman who says she’s his mom?”

  “Yeah… I figured if you were going to start looking somewhere, what better place than his parents’ house? Or the people who say they’re his parents…”

  I rub my temples. This is all just so much.

  “Lauren, you aren’t driving, are you?” she asks suddenly. I guess she’s worried that I’ll run myself off the road.

  “No, I’m actually pulled over in front of the ’Welcome to Madison’ sign.”

  “Are you serious?” She giggles.

  “Yeah,” I admit, chuckling at myself. “I didn’t really know where to go, and knocking on everyone’s door sounded kind of dangerous after some thought.”

  “We shouldn’t have let you leave like that. But I don’t think you would have let us stop you.” She laughs, and I join in.

  “Probably not.”

  “Do you have a pen?”

  “Yeah…” I say, grabbing a pen out of my purse and a receipt from an earlier purchase.

  “1206 North Grenton Street,” she says, and I scribble it down quickly. I take a deep breath. “If you have any problems, call me, okay, L?”

  “I will.”

  “Do you want my aunt’s address?”

  “No. I’ll be okay,” I assure her, staring at the receipt with the address on it. My hands are shaking.

  “Do you think he’s going to be there?” she asks meekly.

  “Well, I’m about to find out.” I sigh.

  “Be careful, and call me as soon as you get there. Don’t do anything that will put you in jail.” She rambles on.

  “I won’t, Hil,” I say as she continues to talk. “I’m hanging up now. Just tell everyone I’m okay.”

  I’m pretty sure she’s still talking as I hang up and stare at the address on the paper. I pick up my map and see that the directions Hillary gave me are right on. I set the map and address on the passenger seat and rest my head on the steering wheel for a few moments to think.

  Cal never told me anything about his parents. All I know is that he was adopted when he was young, and they were estranged.

  Nothing is making sense.

  He wouldn’t leave me to go back home. This can’t be his home. He told me he grew up in Chicago. I never even thought about him having close family. He never mentioned anything about them.

  At our wedding, the only people who came that were close to him were Dexter and Helen and quite a few of their business associates. This all has to be a lie. There has to be some explanation for this. I can’t even imagine what he’s going to say when he sees me… if he’s even at this address. What will this woman say to me when I show up asking about her son? Is this even his mother? All of these questions run through my mind.

  I sit up and take a few deep breaths, trying to clear my head, wanting to get away from my jumbled thoughts. Well, there’s only one way to find out. I turn the key and start the car.

  Chapter 15

  March 8th, 2011

  “How do you know he’s okay, Dexter? Why is he not answering my calls? I’m about to call the fucking cops!” I say frantically into the phone while pacing the floor. The tone of his voice is pissing me off. He’s calm and amused, seemingly unfazed, while I’m losing my mind.

  I haven’t seen or heard from Cal in four days. No response to my texts or voice mails. I tried to play it cool at first. I didn’t want to seem like the bored, crazy wife. Especially since this is just his second trip away since we’ve been married.

  Day One: I don’t call him the entire day—well, not for a long time, anyway. Eventually I do want to make sure he made it to where he was going. I send him a text, only to get no response. So I call that night. No answer. I call again and the phone goes straight to voice mail.

  Day Two: I call again, like any rational person would, but the phone is off and the call goes straight to voice mail.

  Day Three: I’m still going straight to voice mail, and I’m just supposed to be fine with this? I don’t know where he is or if he’s okay. Should I just let it slide? He’s not in the fucking army. I’m sure wherever he is there is an outlet for a charger if his phone died.

  Day Four: I’m yelling at Dexter. I know it’s not his fault, but since he’s not taking this seriously at all, he gets to get yelled at before Cal. According to Dexter, all of this is fucking normal. Nothing to worry about! Well, if nothing is wrong, Cal’s definitely going to have something to worry about once he gets home.

  “Lauren, I can assure you Cal’s fine. This is what he does,” Dexter says. “He won’t be able to answer your every call. If something was wrong, I’d know, then you’d be the first to know.”

  Actually, if he knew first, that would make me the second person to know, but I’m not going to argue that point right now. “I don’t expect him to answer every call, but I do expect to hear from him at least once after four days. Why is it that you can reach him and I can’t? I do—”

  I’m cut off as the downstairs door opens and Cal walks in.

  “Never mind,” I say and abruptly hang up. Dexter isn’t the person who deserves my interrogation or possible anger, depending on the explanation his best friend gives, but I don’t care right now.

  Cal strolls in, dropping his bag from his shoulder to the floor. When he sees me, a wide grin appears on his face. He must not be reading my expression correctly at all, which is somewhere betw
een worried and super pissed.

  “Hey, gorgeous!” he says, pulling me toward him.

  I allow him to briefly kiss my lips, but I pull away shortly after. He seems taken aback by my reaction. Oh, is he about to understand.

  I pat his chest and touch his face, looking at it from all sides. “Open your mouth.” I prop my hands on my hips.

  He sticks his tongue out and, a second later, grabs me and licks my cheek. I push him away, demanding myself not to laugh. I’m still mad, and his little antics aren’t going to work today.

  “If you want to play doctor, you just have to say it,” he says, squeezing my butt.

  I slap his hand away. “No. I’m trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with you. It has to be something, since I haven’t talked to you in four days.” My arms are folded across my chest.

  He looks at the ceiling as if he’s bored with my speech.

  “Hello!” I say, irritated by his nonchalant demeanor.

  “I’m listening,” he says, walking away from me.

  I follow him. “Do you know how worried I was about you?” I try to allow my sincerity to seep through.

  I trail him into the kitchen. He heads directly to the fridge, his attention seemingly more on what he’s about to eat than on listening to me, and I feel my anger rising.

  “I told you not to worry when I left,” he says, riffling through the fridge. “I’m so fucking hungry.” He shuts it, seemingly unsatisfied with the contents.

  “Where were you?” I ask pointedly.

  “I told you. In Colorado, working.” He stuffs a bagel into his mouth before he hops up onto the island.

  “Working. Really?” I ask somewhat sarcastically.

  “What else would I be doing?” he states slowly, as if I can’t comprehend him.

  “Don’t patronize me, Cal. This really isn’t the time to do it.” My patience is wearing thinner as this conversation goes on.

  “You’re patronizing me. This is my third time telling you where I was. I don’t know how else you want to hear it,” he says sarcastically, getting off the island and going back into the fridge for a soda.

  “Why didn’t you answer your phone?” I ask.

  “I just didn’t get around to it,” he says impatiently with a shrug. A shrug!

  I bite my lip. “That’s it? You just didn’t get around to it?”

  “Yeah,” he states simply, his voice just as sharp as mine.

  I can’t believe he seems irritated with my questions. It’s almost as if he doesn’t understand why I’m asking them. I shake my head in disbelief and walk away from him, swallowing the urge to lash out at him with a verbal assault.

  “What’s with the third degree on this? This has never been a problem before. Why now?” he asks, following me.

  I stop in my tracks and turn around to face him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t recall you ever leaving for four days straight and not answering your phone or calling me back.”

  “I’ve been gone before, and you didn’t freak out the way you are now.”

  I fold my arms. “This is different.”

  “Why?” he counters.

  “Because this isn’t normal! I don’t have a problem with you being gone for work, but you don’t get to leave and not have any contact with me. I was so worried about you. I didn’t know if you were okay, or if you even made your flight. How do you not understand how I feel right now? It was four days of utter worry, frustration, and anxiety. Do you think this is how I want to feel whenever you go to work?” I say, trying to take the anger out of my voice. I only want him to hear my concern, but I may not be doing a great job at it since I am furious right now.

  He looks away from me briefly, staring at his feet. “Babe, this going to happen sometimes. I thought you got that, that you were okay with it,” he says, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

  I don’t know where he got the idea that I’d ever be okay with him not communicating with me at all on these “trips.” The first trip he took since we’ve been married was a week. He called me when he touched down and every night while he was there. He sent me texts saying how much he missed me. Before we were married, he called me and kept in contact with me. Now he acts as if no communication is as normal as walking across the street.

  “I don’t know what gave you the impression that I’d be okay with this,” I say in disbelief.

  He sighs and holds the back of his head. “I’m going to lie down. I’ve had a long flight. I missed you. I thought you missed me. But I’m not doing this,” he says dryly, walking away from me.

  “You missed me?” I ask sarcastically, following him. “Oh, that’s nice. I couldn’t tell since I didn’t hear from you. Not even once.”

  I follow him up the stairs. He’s quiet as a mouse, not responding to me at all, kind of like when he was gone. Once we reach our room, he sighs as if he’s exasperated. He’s exasperated?

  “Hello!” I say, waiting for some type of response, but he still doesn’t reply.

  He lifts his shirt over his head and removes it, then he undoes his pants and takes them off. A second later, he’s lying across the bed. “I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, but I’m tired and I’m going to sleep.” He glances at me before closing his eyes.

  “Seriously, Cal?” I say angrily.

  He doesn’t respond and grabs a pillow, settling it under his head.

  “What the hell were you doing for three, four days that you couldn’t answer your phone or call me? How the hell do you think I’m supposed to react to this!” I say frantically.

  This is a fucking joke. It has to be. Still, he doesn’t respond and turns his head away from me. I grab a stray pillow beside him and hit him with it as hard as I can. He barely flinches but grabs it and covers his head with it.

  “You… you know. You’re being a real asshole right now. Worse,” I say before my voice completely breaks.

  I grab my throw blanket off the bed and quickly leave the room before tears escape my eyes. After I make it downstairs, I turn on the television and settle onto the couch, curling up in my blanket. I wonder why on the first night the love of my life is home, we’re sleeping in separate rooms. If someone had told me this would happen four days ago, I would have laughed in their face.

  A loud thud accompanied by a “fuck” awakens me.

  The lights are all off, but the moonlight through the window allows me to see that Cal has tripped over the bag he left downstairs. I’d laugh if I weren’t so tired.

  I settle my head back onto my pillow and close my eyes. I hear his footsteps coming near me, and my comfortable position is disturbed as couch cushions are removed from behind me. They’re soon replaced by Cal’s hard chest. He’s settling in behind me, one of his arms crosses over my stomach, and he pulls me toward him, nestling his head in my neck. A smile spreads across my face. I can’t help it.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers. He takes my hand, interlocks his fingers between mine, and kisses them.

  I squeeze his hand, but I don’t say anything.

  “I was ass earlier,” he says quietly in my ear before kissing me there, and I sigh.

  I’m still mad, but that doesn’t stop the throbbing he’s causing between my thighs. This sucks; my anger doesn’t stop me from wanting him. My sadness makes me want him even more.

  “A huge ass,” I relent with a slight laugh.

  I turn over on my back, and he leans over me. His lips kiss mine slowly, savoring each of them, and I kiss him back the same way. I cup his face, and he pulls me on top of him. I straddle him and lay my head on his chest. He strokes my back, and I feel him trace his signature on me. I can’t believe how much I missed that. He leans up, pulling my knees forward until our chests are touching, then reverses our positions so I’m now on my back.

  “I just didn’t want to argue,” he says, trailing off, trying to excuse himself from his earlier behavior.

  “I didn’t want to argue either.” I run my hands through his hair. I misse
d his kiss, his touch, his scent, everything about him.

  “I was going crazy without you,” he says, kissing my shoulder and making his way to my neck. “I missed you.” His mouth then nears my ear again. “I’m about to show you how much,” he adds before his lips trail down my stomach.

  I close my eyes and let him have me, my body already revealing how much it missed him. I know we probably should talk about how—or more importantly, why—our first fight occurred, but we don’t. At this moment, I just want peace. We both do, and we get lost in our first married make-up. Still, this only seems like temporary peacetime, our white flags not even raised, just peeking out from behind our bunkers. Deep down, I know this isn’t the end of this battle, and I’m content with that. What terrifies me is the little voice in my head saying this isn’t what happens at the end of a battle, but it could possibly be the beginning of a war.

  March 8th, 2013

  “I can do this,” I remind myself out loud as I stare at the house in front of me.

  I’ve managed to work up the nerve to get out of the car. Now if only I can manage to walk up to the front door.

  I’m standing here, my legs unable to move. I take in my surroundings. It’s a stark contrast to the city life I’ve become accustomed to. The house is beautiful, as if it’s right out of a Disney movie. The soft yellow paint and huge front porch remind me of Raven’s back in Saginaw, only a lot bigger. I notice the huge barn a few feet away from it; the acres surrounding it are strewn with gated off animals.

  I stuff my keys in the deep pocket of my jacket as I get closer to the door. I suddenly start to wonder what I’ll do if no one is home. I climb the few stairs of the porch and take a deep breath before I ring the bell. I step away from the door and peer through the window; the curtains are slightly open.

  From what I can see, the room is spotless with a fireplace in the center. The warm, honey-colored walls give it a welcoming feeling, and a tan sofa and chair surround a coffee table. I quickly remind myself that I’m peeping into someone’s home and move back toward the front of the door.