Page 51 of Save You
Chapter 19
Xander
My heart feels like it’s literally caught in my throat when Beth’s family pulls up outside of the house. In fact, it feels like it’s swelling up and causing me to slowly lose my breath altogether. Casey has been trying to reassure me all morning, but, so far, it’s had zero effect. I’m still psyching myself up for Jen to march in and slap me around the face, probably with her father following closely behind with a pair of bolt cutters for my nuts. The same nuts that are currently attempting to climb back inside of my abdomen.
Being father of the year and all, I’ve decided to cling to Rosie, who is now sleeping and providing the perfect shield for me should things turn ugly. She’s literally the most beautiful thing on the planet, so if she can’t bring Beth’s parents down, nothing will. Every day that passes, I see more and more of Beth in her little face, which both thrills and kills me at the same time.
“She needs feeding,” I murmur to my sister as soon as Mom opens the front door to let them in. Casey audibly tuts at me, knowing full well it’s a pussy’s way out of facing them, but I’m taking it. After everything, I feel I owe it to myself to prolong the agony just that little bit longer before they go nuclear on me. Casey makes no other attempts to stop me when I begin to wander out the back. We both know it’s only a matter of minutes before I have to face the in-laws, so what’s five more?
As my little girl starts to stir, I begin singingRomeo and Julietagain, which instantly gets her arms flapping about with the cutest little gurgle I’ve ever heard. My family is straight-up fed-up with hearing me sing this song now, but if it works, I’m going with it. The girl clearly has a future in singing or being a sergeant major because when she wants you to know she’s pissed, she does not hold back. Besides, I’m kind of proud of her for liking something so old school, that, and the fact that it will forever be etched in my mind as the last song which Beth and I had listened to together.
“She has good taste,” a male voice says from behind me. I instinctively turn toward it, even if I am bricking it. As I take in Beth’s old man, I begin to feel emotional; the guy looks destroyed. His skin is literally grey, and his eyes dull enough to look like a drizzly day, the type that has you feeling sad and longing for summer to arrive. He never got the chance to see Beth after she forgave him over a quick phone call. He never got to hold her, to say he loved her to her face; he just lost her.
“May I?” he gestures to the tiny human in my arms, a girl with whom, he shares DNA.
“Sure,” I eventually reply, quickly moving over to him to make up for the time I just spent staring at him.
Malcolm leans in to look at Rosie more closely. She’s happily feeding on her bottle at an alarming rate, probably getting ready to puke it all up as soon as I move her afterward. The guy flat-out breaks. Tears stream silently down his face as he smiles at her, then places one of his large fingers inside of her tiny grip.
“She’s just like Beth was,” he laughs disbelievingly. “Hey, Rosie, it’s your grandad.”
She holds onto his much bigger finger, but is still concentrating on her food, which does nothing to help his crying. In fact, the longer she grips, the more he cries, until eventually, she finishes. I slowly move her up onto my shoulder so I can rub her back, forcing up the bubbles of air she must have ingested after gulping back the entire bottle in less than five minutes. I take a few moments to marvel over how quickly you get used to handling such a tiny person. When you first meet them, you can’t even comprehend how you are going to deal with changing them or doing anything but hold them like a grenade within your terrified hands. Yet here I am, swinging her over my shoulder while applying soft pats to her back.
A big belch and an uncomfortable silence later, I finally give into relinquishing her over to him, knowing he is desperate for a hold. For some reason, handing her over to Beth’s family has me on edge, terrified that they’re going to suggest they raise her. However, when I look at how taken aback he is over my offer to hold her, I begin to feel a little better. The man looks truly touched, and beyond humbled, to have the chance to cuddle his own grandchild. I even smile when I see him fighting back more tears as he brings her up over his shoulder and starts to sway with her across the kitchen.
“So, you like Dire Straits, huh?” he says to her in that silly voice us grown-ups reserve for babies and fluffy, cute animals. “That was your mummy’s favorite when she was little too.”
A traitorous tear escapes down my face when he mentions Beth, especially calling her ‘mummy’, a role that was so unfairly stolen from her. I cannot help but shut my eyes as I lean against the basin where I’m cleaning up bottles; I don’t want to lose it in front of him, or Rosalie. I have to keep strong, otherwise, I might not come back from where I will fall.
He begins to sing a different song, another by the same band, and I listen to Rosie gurgling at the sound of his voice humming close to her ear. I’m so caught up in the sound; I instantly jump when I feel a hand touching my shoulder.
“Xander?” a lost, whimper of a voice calls out to me. Beth’s mom, Jen, looks back at me with so much grief, it gives me permission to fall into her outstretched arms and let mine escape too. I shudder violently as we cry into each other’s embrace.
“I’m so damn sorry, Jen,” I whimper on top of her tiny frame.
“Shh,” she tries to soothe me, even though she’s crumbling just as much as I am. “It’s not your fault,” she whispers as she rubs my back, “it’s not your fault.”
By the time Rosie goes to bed, I actually miss her. Beth’s folks, including her brother, have monopolized most of her time this afternoon, and I’ve let them because it’s important to her. To be truthful, it’s also important to them, and it’s important to me too. After the way they arrived, with Mal’s gratefulness when I offered him Rosie to hold, as well as Jen’s open affection toward me, I’m no longer anxious about their intentions for my daughter. As such, I told them that I need for them to always be in her life, but that she’ll be staying here with me. Fresh tears were spilled, hugs exchanged, but the message was clear, and the decision of where Rosie should remain, was thankfully agreed.
They also told us that they would not be staying in the States. Beth’s mom explained that it’s too painful, and they also don’t want to run the risk of running into either Oliver or Carl Steele. Their priority is to keep Riley safe, something that as a new father, I can completely understand. I’m sad for Rosie’s sake but told them that they have my full support.
“We tried to find out where Oliver buried her, but got nothing but dead ends,” Mal explains sadly as we sit around on the living room sofas.
It’s late and I should be getting to bed because I know Rosalie will be waking up bang on five o’clock. However, I don’t have the strength to stop talking about Beth. When I listen to her parents telling us about everything they know, I eat it up. A little morsel to try and stay connected to the girl who I’ve lost forever.
“We want to keep trying though-”
“Er…if I may?” Uncle Stephen suddenly interrupts, speaking for the first time this evening. He seems to have purposefully kept his distance, as though he isn’t part of the family, even though he probably did the most to try and save us.
“What is it?” Beth’s mom seems to be instinctively worried about what he’s going to say, which more than shows by her pale complexion.
“The last time I tried to find out where he had buried her, I didn’t just meet a brick wall,” he sighs, “I met a bunch of threats and a brick wall full of guns and knives, all telling me to stay the hell out of it.”
“What threats?” I growl through clenched teeth, suddenly feeling angry over the fact that he’s been keeping things from me, things that concernmyfamily.
“I was warned that if I didn’t stop nosing around, they’d come after Rosie,” he replies ashamedly.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!” I leap up dramatically in outrage, no doubt fueled by grief and exhaustion. Mom practically lunges between us, trying to hold me back with a beseeching expression.