Page 46 of Finding Fate
“Gab.” I blink. “Gabby.” A hand waves in front of my face. “Gabby.” Why does he keep calling my name? “Gabrielle,” he barks, his tone harder, as he places his hands on my face and starts wiping at something wet. What is that? “You’re freaking me the fuck out, baby. What’s wrong?”
“Huh?” I look into his glossy eyes like he’s seconds from crying. “What are you talking about?”
“You just zoned out on me and then suddenly started crying. You called out my name and started mumbling shit about keeping secrets. What secrets? You’re freaking me the hell out.”
“I was daydreaming of the day I went into labor. I wanted to call you so bad, but I was scared if I pushed my dad, he’d really do it. I didn’t want you to go to jail. I’d been laboring in the bathtub for three solid hours when my dad came home and saw my face blood red and soaking wet from how much pain I was in. He was mad at me for not calling him. I could tell it was hurting him to see me like that, but I just wanted a little bit longer with our son. I screamed and begged to just let me deliver him. I promised I’d take care of him like I was asking for a pet. He carried me to the car with a towel wrapped around me. I was five centimeters by the time I got to the hospital. Do you know how it feels for the best and worst day of your life to be on the same day? Everything about it was a nightmare from beginning to end . . . except when he was born. I heard him cry. I watched him breathe, knowing he came out of me. I saw firsthand the miracle of life. We created a beautiful person together. I loved him unconditionally within milliseconds. Then, as quickly as he came into the world, he was gone like he never existed. The reminders were left behind though. The stitches, the bleeding, the pain in my vagina once the medicine wore off. The milk coming out of my breasts. The one person that could have helped was you, and I wasn’t allowed to speak to you.”
“Gab,” he says, his voice raw, still holding my face. “I’m trying to be strong for you, but you’re making it really damn hard. I have a top out too.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know I did things out loud. I’m always alone on his birthday.”
He pulls me against his body and wraps his arms around me. “You wouldn’t have been alone had I known.”
I hug him tight. “I know. I miss him,” I finally admit. I never get to say it out loud. It feels good to get it out.
“Me too, and I haven’t had to deal with it as long as you.”
I breathe out against his stern chest. “I suppose we should light the candle.”
He lets me go. I turn toward the kitchen island, my eyes instantly setting on the cake I ordered at the bakery. I always order it instead of just picking out what they have made. Even though I have no idea what he’s into, it makes me feel like I’m putting thought into it. I take in the sheet cake made of an outdoor scene with different colored airbrush and icing, filled with roads and streams and little pieces of plastic equipment sitting about like dump trunks and back hoes and track hoes. There is even black crumbly stuff—probably crushed Oreos—that look like mounds of dirt.
Maddox comes closer, his front against my back, and places his palms down on the stone counter. “I like the cake.”
I grab the corner and pop the clear plastic lid out of the track to remove it from the bottom, and then set it to the side. “I wish I knew if he did. It’s always a shot in the dark, but I at least try.”
“You would have been a good mother,” he says, making my lips tremble and my vision blur as I pick up the candle and open the cardboard box it’s in, because I know Maddox isn’t the type of guy to say things he doesn’t mean. He doesn’t hand out compliments like candy, and that’s the mother of all compliments considering everything.
“Where should I put the candle?” I ask, ignoring his comment, because my heart will always be broken that we didn’t get to try. A chance is all I wanted. I hold it over multiple places in the air, testing it out visually before breaking through the surface of the perfect cake.
He wraps his hand around mine, stopping me. “Gab, stop trying to look like we have it all together. In the long run it’s not healthy. Neither of us would have given up that baby. We may not have had a lot for a while, but we would have raised him on love and hard work. It’s okay to not be okay.”
I draw my arm back so I don’t drop it on the cake, and I give up, sobs tearing through my throat one after the other, the waterfall of tears along with it. His arms come around me from behind, locking me against his body. “The damage was done the day you found out you were pregnant. You were robbed of your teenage years either way, but you would have been a good mother, despite your age, and you’re going to believe it just like you believe I’d be a good father. No one is going to be the mother of my kids but you. We’ve never stopped loving each other. I don’t regret making a baby with you. I swear to God, though, if I had it to do over again, the only thing I’d change was me leaving. I would have turned around and picked your ass up, we would have crossed many state lines, and we would have gotten you emancipated minor status. We’d be long married by now, probably have an army running around because I can’t stay out of you, and we’d be celebrating another year olderwithour firstborn.”
“My heart—” I cry. “Feels like it has holes.” I fight for air. “You fixed one. I need you. I hate pretending. It’s exhausting. I can’t help that I love you. I knew the second I saw you that I did. I’ve been freefalling ever since.”
He spins me around and lifts me onto the bar, his face matching mine even though he hasn’t made a sound. “Nothing will ever top the way you make me feel. I’m done wasting time. We have one life. We’re going to make it count. We’re going to prove to the world we’re going to make it. And the ones that try to stop us—we’re gonna roll right through them. Fuck ‘em all, baby. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. At the end of this we’re gonna be at the top, still loving each other. My heart and yours—perfect complements. It’s time to accept we’re just one of the lucky ones—found it fast and made it forever.”
I lean in, our mouths centimeters apart. “Then let’s tear off the rearview mirror and run.” I kiss him, because that’s what you do when you love someone—you never get enough.
Twenty-Eight
Landon
“Oh, come on! Asshole,” I shout at the television from the couch, PlayStation remote in my hand with the urge to sling it at the screen from my loss. Instead of picking my dead ass up and playing another round, I fall back against the back of the couch, bored as hell. Constantly surrounded by people and the one time I get a house alone—something I’m used to—I’m losing my mind. I’m confined to a rig around guys twenty-four-seven at work for two weeks at a time. I usually prefer to be alone for the most part when I’m off, at least during the day. Normally, I’d be in a tree stand hunting at least once a day during November.
I don’t know what the hell they’re doing to me. Or why I continue to agree to come here where everyone is coupled up and going at it all the time instead of going home where I want to be. It’s a mystery to me. I like having my own space, no itinerary or coordinating plans with roommates, and sitting on my back porch at night with drinking buddies while we talk shit well into the night.
Maybe you come because you’re only twenty-four and act like you’re sixty at home . . .
My phone vibrates on the glass coffee table in front of me, lit up with a text notification on the screen. I toss the controller aside and pick it up.
Trinity:Are you back in from work? Was going to see if you wanted to come over tonight . . .
I laugh out as I reply. Once a whore always a whore.
Me:No can do, slut. Not in Mississippi at the moment. You’ll have to find someone else to service you while your husband is off making you money.
The text typing bubbles start up immediately.