Page 18 of Beautiful Chaos
Weariness has my shoulders slumped as I leave the bedroom. I don’t come across Scarlett as I grab my shit from the small table by the door and leave the house. I slip my ring back on my finger as I walk to my SUV. I take the long way home, needing the extra time to myself to gather my courage to face Cat. No matter how much guilt I feel after my time with Scarlett, I always go back. Deep down, I know I always will.
Cat’s bright-red car is in the driveway when I pull up to the house forty minutes later. I take a moment to make sure my hair doesn’t look like I’ve just gone through a round of rough sex before I climb out and go inside. After disarming and resetting the alarm, I turn to face the rest of the house. It’s quiet and dark, which means Cat’s in her office or in our bedroom. I make my usual check of the downstairs windows, leaving Cat’s office for last. She’s not there, so I go up the stairs.
Typically, once I get home after visiting Scarlett, I head straight for the shower to wash away any evidence of our time together. Tonight is different. I need to see Cat. I have to make sure she’s okay. To see for myself that today, and what it represents, hasn’t taken her away from me more than it already has.
Our bedroom door is ajar and light from inside floods the hallway. However, it’s the door before it that captures my attention. It’s cracked open. It’s never open. Occasionally, I enter the room and the one across from it when I need a reminder of what we had and what we lost, but Cat never does. To her, neither of them exist.
As I approach the door, my gut drops to my toes. It’s silent as I push it the rest of the way open. Despite the darkness, it only takes me a second to recognize Cat’s shadowy form by the window. She’s turned away from me, so I can’t see her face to determine what’s running through her head.
My eyes are drawn to the single-sized canopy bed in the middle of the room. I don’t need light to know the comforter draped across it is a soft pink. There’s a nightstand beside the bed with several books stacked on top. At the end of the bed is a chest with a couple of decorative pillows placed on top. Against one wall is a vanity with a lighted mirror and chair. On the vanity is a pretty purple container holding some of Cat’s old make-up. Posters of boy bands hang on the walls, and there are other girly items throughout the room.
My throat convulses as I take in the space, and I swear the innocent scent of lavender still lingers in the air.
Silently, I walk across the room and stop behind Cat. She’s staring out the window, as still as a person can be while still breathing. I’m hesitant as I reach out and place a hand on her waist. She gives no indication that she feels my touch. I’m scared to move too fast or make too much noise, because I don’t know what state of mind she’s in.
Stepping closer, I lightly press my chest against her back. I look over her shoulder and see the stuffed alligator she’s holding in one hand and an old purple silk cloth in the other. This alligator means she was also in the other room. Both are clutched tightly to her chest.
“Cat,” I say her name softly, and it’s only then that I feel the slightest movement in her body. Her lungs deflate and refill with air, her shoulders moving slowly up and down.
I remain quiet after that, letting her take the lead on how this encounter will go. She’s silent for several long minutes. I keep my eyes on the side of her face, while she continues to stare out the window.
“Whose room is this?” she asks, filling the silence.
I wrap both arms around her waist, placing my hands on her lower stomach. “You know who it belongs to.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to say their names. It hurts too much to say them.”
I close my eyes, the pain in her voice tearing through my insides. Cat knows what happened the night our lives changed forever. She just doesn’t like to remember, so she forces it all back, including the memories of them before that night, into a secret compartment in her head. I can count on one hand the times she’s allowed herself to remember them over the last five years.
“Eliana,” I say hoarsely.
Her fingers tighten around the silk cloth in her hand. “And the other room?”
I force the next name out through a dry throat. “Ryder.”
Her breath catches as the name leaves my lips.
She brings the silk material to her nose and inhales deeply. “I remember when I gave her this.”
Her voice cracks, like she’s forcing the words out past the tears that are streaming down her cheeks. I want so badly to turn her around and take her into my arms. But it’s so rare for her to talk about the two children we lost. The only reason she’s doing so now is because today marks the anniversary of when we lost them.
“She was a year old. She always loved the feel of the silk nightshirts I wore.” Her fingers glide over the material as she talks. “I ended up cutting a square out of one of them and hemming it before I gave it to her to sleep with.” She looks down at the silk square, a tear falling and wetting the material. “She slept with it every night, up until….”
Her words trail off, but there’s no need to finish her sentence.
A soft sob leaves her lips and it nearly buckles my knees.
“Cat—”
“He was so fascinated with alligators,” she continues, holding the stuffed alligator up so we can both see it. “Gator was one of the first words he said. Mama and dada were his first.”
“Cat, please, baby—”
“I haven’t forgotten about them,” she says, interrupting me again. “It’s just too painful to remember.” She pulls the alligator and silk back to her chest and embraces them tightly. “I miss them so much, Hunter. So damn much. Sometimes I wish I could be where they are. It’s not fair for me to live while they don’t.”
Unable to listen to any more of her torturous words, I spin her around. Her cheeks glisten with her tears, and I know mine look the same.
Bending my knees, I put my face close to hers. Her hands and the items she’s holding are smashed between us. “You are exactly where you’re supposed to be, Caterina.”