Brisé (19 page)

“God, Phoebe. The years away from you I was lost. Rambling with no sense of purpose. I pushed on and kept to the plan I had for us. I kept telling myself that the day you came back I would have everything in place. But you never came back. Each day my hope dwindled until there was none. So yes, I fucked her. That’s all it was because it’s all you left me capable of. I can’t fucking love anyone because you took it all. You sucked me dry, and I have nothing left to give.” He has so much to give. He has given so much and still doesn’t see himself like I do. He is my savior.

“The day you allowed them to take our child,” his sharp gasp of air draws my attention to his face, and I see him cringe with the pain my words create. “I don’t blame you anymore. I understand now, but that day was the worst day I’d faced in my life. I didn’t know how to deal with it. I was scared, had just lost both my parents, embarked on the most amazing journey with you, then was told I was pregnant and my cancer was back in the same sentence. I wanted that piece of us for you in case I didn’t make it. I needed to leave my mark on you because you were forever imprinted on me. I wanted the same for you.”

“I never allowed them to take our child, I allowed them to save your life. The woman I was hopelessly in love with and couldn’t live without. You were not just a mark on me; you were my fucking heart, Phoebe. You made it soar and fill with love, then you took it all away. I know nothing will ever replace what we lost, but I loved you so fucking much, and I knew you would survive and if not, I was dying with you. I knew as long as you were breathing then I could. I knew our baby being taken from you was hard; I lived it too but was never allowed to grieve because I was too busy fighting for you not to destroy us. I made the decision to keep you, not our child, because I knew I would spend the rest of my life loving you, making it up to you, and filling our house with children. We couldn’t keep that one, but I would’ve given you so many more. I would’ve been by your side if you’d let me.”

“Luke,” I sob out. “You are talking in past tense, like none of this can be reality. Do we really not have a chance?”

He breaks eye contact for a moment before looking back in my eyes, “It’s past tense because that’s what you made us. I offered you my past, present, and future and you didn’t want them. I don’t know what we are anymore, I just know we aren’t what I envisioned.” I let him walk out the door. I had no more fight, no more hope left in me. My actions were callous and cruel that day, and in two hearts broke that had deserved to be one.

The next few days were a blur. I was fine medically; the swelling had subsided during my first night before I woke up. Emotionally, however, I was a basket case, which led to me calling Brett.

“Hey, Buttercup.”

“Ca-can yo-you come here anytime soon?” As soon as his voice came over the phone a dam broke inside me, and I was hysterical. During the past years, I cried, even sobbed, but this felt worse than anything else. Facing my past and the mistakes I’ve made is much different than rehashing them in my mind.

“Phoebe, what’s wrong?”

“Everything,” I wail like a five-year old.

“I’ll be there. I promise.” Just knowing he’s coming is enough to calm me down. True to his word, he and James arrive that evening, and are a tad mad that I wasn’t up front with them about everything that had happened.

“I’m being released tomorrow. I’m fine.” I try to reassure them.

“What did you get yourself mixed up with?” I explain all the sordid details to them, and their reactions range from shock, fear, and disappointment to anger.

“You could have been killed. Damn it, Phoebe you had options. When are you going to learn you aren’t alone in this world?” James who’s usually so meek, surprises me with his outburst.

“I know I’m not alone. I just didn’t want to involve anyone in the mess I was caught up in.”

“Now you’re splitting hairs because that excuse is the same as saying you are alone. And what the hell were you thinking getting involved with him?” Brett is always the one to call me on my bullshit.

“At first, I felt lonely. Then came the ‘oh fuck’ thoughts because I was caught up in some serious shit that was way over my head. Next, came the wanting to run scenario, and finally I wanted to fight. I wanted to fight for every time I hadn’t in my life.”

“And what did the lawyer and Lucas have to say?”

“Myra and Luke, well I am not a fan favorite of those two at the moment. Myra went on a tirade about keeping me under lock and key, and Luke and I . . . we had a discussion, a coming-to-Jesus meeting I guess you could say. It wasn’t pretty, Brett. The veracity of what I caused has finally sunk in.” He gives me his ‘no shit’ look mixed with an ‘I told you so,’ but thankfully, doesn’t voice it.

“What do you want? Don’t think about it, don’t try to pretty up your answers, just straight from the gut, what is your biggest desire in this life?”

“Luke,” hands down it had always been and always will be.

“Well, Buttercup, we have some groveling and hard work ahead of us.”

“How long are you here?”

“We’re finished for the season touring, so until I make definite plans, I’m here as long as you need me. James, well, he’s now self-employed, so you get two for the price of one.”

“You can stay here tonight. The couch seems comfortable. Tomorrow, we move into my house and take control of the life I need to live.” Making the decision to truly move on, right my wrongs, and declare what I want is petrifying. It’s also the only way I can show Luke what I want, what he really means to me, and even if I have lost him, he needs to know just how worthy and loveable he is. It’s time I give him back the gift he gave to me so many years ago . . . unconditional love.

Chapter 23

Luke

I should have never allowed those wounds to be opened. I can’t believe I lashed out at her while she was battered and pouring out the truth to me. The only truth she has spoken in over four years. I knew she would be fine physically, I had checked and double-checked with the doctors. I don’t know why she thinks she needed to leave her mark on me, and our child would have been the only way to do that. She is forever wound into my soul. How did she ever think I would be able to purge myself of her? I didn’t need a baby, or empty promises, I just needed her. She let me believe year after year that I was what broke her, that I destroyed us, when all along it was her. Her damn naïveté and the fact that she always worried that she loved me more.

I loved her before I knew what love meant. Sure, you say it to your parents from the time you’re able to repeat the words they say to you; but to truly experience the word love. I never did until I loved Phoebe. Even that word seems inadequate, but there’s no stronger emotion. Love is supposed to be the end all be all word to describe how you feel, and in truth those four letters don’t even scratch the surface of how I felt about her. How I feel about her, because no matter what, she will never be a past tense of my life, even if I need to put her there to move on. I’m grateful that my parents came back last night and I can leave soon. I need to get away from her, and knowing she is here, not a ghost of memory, is enough to drive me insane. To be present in my life but unavailable, and this time it’s all because I won’t let her be. I can’t and won’t go through that again.

She had such little faith in my love for her, in her love for me that she chose to walk away. She chose to end us, and that ended me. Instead of staying and getting through everything together. I feel like I failed her if she couldn’t believe that I loved her that much. I watch a car pull up in the driveway next door, and two males and Phoebe emerge from it. What the hell? She turns and looks at me on the porch, strumming my guitar, refusing to drop my gaze. I do the thing she was so good at, I turn away. I eventually hear the door shut and begin playing ‘Amnesia’ by 5 Seconds to Summer, silently pleading that I could forget every minute of the last four years. I crave the peace, the mind numbing feeling to come over me, but no matter how much I search for it, it never reaches me.

“Lucas,” my mom joins me on the porch. “Was that Phoebe?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Who was with her?”

“More admirers, I guess.” I have no idea who the fuck they were, and it’s burning me up inside. There was once a time when she didn’t say hello to anyone I didn’t know.

“You can fix that. Go over and check on her.”

“I am tired of always trying to fix things with her, Mom. Some things are just better left unresolved.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore. Everything I thought was true, turned out to be a lie. Her words, her leaving, her ending us, I don’t know what part is truth and what part isn’t.”

“You are so full of shit, Lucas. You can’t fake a love like y’all
have
.”

“Had,” I correct her.

“And now who’s lying to everyone around them. Forgiveness is a beautiful thing, Son. It isn’t easily obtainable but can be your absolution. Try it.”

I ignore her. I want to forgive her. I crave it. I just can’t do it. I can’t trust her again, and without trust you can’t have faith. Without faith, you have nothing, which is exactly what I have. She was my end game. And I was just a game to her. A stepping stone, a bridge to get to the other side. I don’t actually believe the shit I spew in my mind, but one day I’m hoping I will because then maybe the vice grip on my heart will be released.

I hear footsteps and my mom greeting whoever is interrupting my pity party. “Hey. Momma Nichols,” that fucking voice infiltrates my senses.

“Oh, baby, your face.” My mom wasn’t really prepped for the beating she took. I look over at her, and I am not prepared for what I see. The fading bruises are a greenish-blue color, giving her skin a gray tone, I feel sick looking at her; they cover her entire face. Not that she isn’t beautiful; it is just that I’m sick I didn’t protect her, that she wasn’t with me at the time that asshole did this. It all comes down to the day she walked out. She left me defenseless to protect her, and that has totally fucked with my psyche.

During her relentless chemo treatments I know she went through, she was alone. I was supposed to be there to hold her hand, comfort her, and give her my strength when she had none. The day she got the news she was in the clear . . . again, I was supposed to be there to celebrate with her, make love to her, and make our future dreams come true. Love and hate is such a fine line. I’m teetering on the edge.

“It’s not that bad,” I hear her tell my mom. Always trying to downplay what’s going on. “This is my best friend, Brett, and his boyfriend, James.”
Fuck
, does she want me to just give her a knife to finish me off.
Best friend
. That was my title, and I see she has given that away, too. I stand up and head towards the door, I think my quota of pain inflicted by Phoebe has been met. Tomorrow I will give her a map with the places she hasn’t killed off and let her get it all over with, today . . . I’m done.