Holly Madison (Sins of the Father, 2) (16 page)

He’d been back two weeks from rehab and Holly still wouldn’t take his calls.  He wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to him again.  He deserved that too, but he needed to see her.  He needed to make sure that she was okay.  That his baby was okay. 

As soon as he’d returned from Charlotte, he had gone to Target and one of those baby superstore places and damn near bought up the entire baby section.  He had put the entire nursery together in one weekend.  He had big plans for those two.  Once Tristan had decided that he was going to get Holly and his unborn child back, he’d set the plan in motion.  He’d wanted to get the nursery together first so that she knew he was serious about this.  He only hoped that she would see his efforts and eventually take him back. 

He had unrealistically blamed her for what her father had done to him and his mother.  He needed to apologize for how he had treated her.  All she’d wanted to do was love him and help him, yet he had been too busy wallowing in self-pity to give a shit. 

Total sack of shit.

He’d called and texted.  The flowers he’d had sent to her home had been returned and the countless others that had been sent to the office had more than likely ended up in the garbage.  Last week, he’d tried going to her apartment only to be turned away by Emma.  She’d told him to back off for a while.  Those women were inseparable.  Even with as pissed off at Em that he had been at the time, he was grateful that Holly had such a strong network of friends, which also included his annoying little sister Olivia. 

Desperate times called for desperate measures.  He decided it was time to pay her a visit at her office.  He made a promise to himself not to humiliate Holly or himself by making a scene.  If she turned him away, he would go quietly, but he had to see her. 

“Hey, Curtis,” he said, greeting the receptionist, trying not to look or sound like the pathetic sack he had become since this whole shitstorm had unraveled. 

Tristan guessed that Curtis could be seen as good-looking with dark hair that was shaved close and always being dressed to the nines, especially for a receptionist.  He prided himself on his looks and wore the flashiest jewelry he had ever seen on a man.  He also had eyes for Tristan over Holly being that he was gay.

“Hi, Tristan.” 

He could tell by Curtis’s face that he knew what had happened between the two of them.  Of course he did.  He was close friends with Holly.

“Is Holly in her office?”  He could see the flash of pity in Curtis’s eyes.  Fuck that.  He didn’t want his pity.  He wanted his girl.

“She’s in a meeting.”

“Curtis, man.  I need to see her.  If she told you to keep me away, I’m going to need you to go in there and tell her I have to see her.”

He watched as the man behind the desk squirmed in his seat.  Shit.  He was really going to turn him away. 

“Look, bro.  I know that you care for her, but I care about her and our baby too.  I need to see her.  I have to apologize.” He needed to fix this so that he could show his girl exactly how much he did care about them.  He just had to get to her first.

Curtis looked into his eyes, trying to gauge his sincerity.  Then he smiled and shook his head.  “Okay, she’s not in a meeting.  Go on back, but if she asks, you threatened to manhandle me with your big, strong hands.  No.”  He shakes his head again.  “She won’t believe that.  She knows how much I want you manhandling me.  Just tell her that you forced your way through.  She’s more likely to believe that.”

Tristan let out a low laugh, tipped his chin, and made his way back to Holly’s office.  He knocked and his heart fluttered when he heard the sweetest voice he had ever had the pleasure of hearing greet him from the other side. 

“Curtis, why the hell are you knocking?  Come in.”

He opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him.  He watched her as she continued typing on her laptop, never once glancing over at him. 

“You never knock.  What’s up, buttercup?”  She finally lifted her eyes and the clicking of her keyboard immediately ceased when she saw him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to see you.”

“Why?”

Hesitantly, he took a step toward her.  She didn’t move.  She just sat there as still as a statue.  He stopped when he reached her desk.  She had a deer-caught-in-headlights look with a side of anxiety and pain.  He had done that to her.  He was the cause of all of it.

“I wanted to come and tell you that I’m an asshole.  I also wanted to let you know how sorry I am for that.”

Holly didn’t say a word.  She sat there looking back at him skeptically, waiting for him to continue. 

“I treated you terribly.  I still can’t believe that I did those things to you.  All you wanted to do was love me, and I was so wrapped up in my own selfish pity party that I didn’t think rationally.  I was a horrible fucker, and for that, I am so very sorry.” 

She visibly swallowed and nodded her head.  “I thought about you every day that you were gone.  I’m happy to see that you got the help you needed to see through your problems, Tristan.  I truly am.”

He should have been happy to hear that she still cared about him.  Instead, he had a hollow feeling in the depths of his stomach.  Tristan rounded her desk, crouched down next to her chair, and stared up at her.

“Will you please forgive me?  Let me make it up to you?” 

She looked down at him with sorrow in her eyes, and Tristan felt the knot in his gut tighten.  “I haven’t slept well in over a month.  I think about what transpired between us every second of every day that I have time to go over it in my head.  I keep myself busy so that I can find a moment’s peace.  If not, my mind betrays me.  Takes me right back to you.”

Tristan’s heart pounded in his chest.  What had he done to this beautiful woman?  “Cupcake—“

Holly’s hand rose, palm out in between them. “Don’t, Tristan.  I’m not your cupcake.”

Damn.  That cut him straight to the bone.  Those words she had just uttered caused him more pain than he had ever experienced in his life.  No kidding.  He couldn’t breathe.  He needed to leave for now, give her some space so that he could come up with another game plan.  At least she had let him say what he’d needed to say to her for so long. 

He tore his gaze from her and nodded.  “Okay.”  He stood, leaned over, and gripped the back of her head, bringing her closer before placing a tender kiss to the top of her hair.  Then Tristan turned and made his way to the door.  He grabbed the knob, looked over his shoulder, and stated, “You haven’t seen the last of me, cupcake.”

Before she could respond, he was through the door and had closed it behind him.

I hadn’t seen Tristan in six long weeks since he went off to Charlotte, where he entered a rehabilitation facility.  I’ve woken up in the middle of every night with the sweats after the nightmare.  It’s the same one every damn night.  I almost hate to go to sleep because I know that, once I do, it won’t be long before I get a visit from Tristan and the woman he was with when I walked into his bedroom.

The texts and messages have been relentless.  Each one with the same message.   All of them apologies.  All of them pleas to see him, talk to him.  He’s changed.  He wants to be a father and the man I deserve.  I’m just so damn tired.

That doesn’t include the flowers that have shown up at my office daily.  Every last bouquet met its fate at the bottom of the wastebasket.  Then there was the visit to my office.  I had known it would happen eventually.  I just wasn’t prepared for it to be so soon.

After I walk in the door, I toss my purse on the couch and flop down beside it.  This pregnancy is wiping me out.  I lift my legs and rest my feet on the table.  Doing that one simple movement almost takes everything out of me.  My eyelids feel like they are eighty pounds apiece and I quickly lose my battle to keep them open.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I got home, the sun was still up.  Now my apartment is dark.  The only light shines in from the streetlamps in the parking lot outside.  I bring my hand to my slight baby bump and give it a good rub before removing my feet from the table and rising from the couch.

The room tilts, and before I can steady myself, I am on the floor.  As soon as I sit up, nausea takes its hold, and I crawl to the bathroom.  I make it just in time to throw up into the toilet. 

Ugh.  I feel like shit. 

There is a warmth trickling down my legs. 

Oh God!
  Mortified that I passed out, peed myself, and barely made it to the bathroom to throw up, I lift myself onto the toilet, shimmying my underwear down my legs from under my skirt.

My head is pounding in my ears and my mouth instantly fills with saliva all while flashing spots fill my vision.  I shift my gaze to the floor by my feet, where there is a dark-red puddle. 
Whoa!  That is a lot of blood.

A sharp pain courses through my torso and down to my thighs. 
Oh no.  No, no, no, no, no!  This isn’t happening. 

“My baby,” I gasp.  I slowly rise from the seat when I gush of heat floods down my legs.  “NO!” I scream.  I can’t lose my baby too.

I lean against the wall and push myself down the hallway to the living room.  After stumbling to the couch to retrieve my purse, I riffle through it in search of my cell.  I slide my thumb across the face and dial 911. 

That is the last thing I remember.

I blink away the darkness only to be assaulted by the blinding light of the room.  My eyes snap shut.  I try more slowly this time, peeling them open and squinting around the room.  It’s a very white room and sterile-looking space.  My gaze shifts to the left, where I see a window with hideous drapes—the kind you would see in a cheap hotel room.  Dark blue with huge shapes of flowers in all different colors.  Mostly yellow and orange.

I peer down by my feet, realizing that I’m covered in a white sheet.  Off to the right, I notice
a number of machines, a tray holding a pitcher of water, and a plastic cup.  I try to sit up when an immediate pang of emptiness engulfs me.  I feel my eyes bug out and vision go blurry from the water pooling inside of them. 

“My baby,” I whisper.  The tears flow over and slide down my cheek at an alarming speed. 

The door to my room slowly pushes open and Tristan’s big, strong form fills the frame.  His face is twisted in a mix of pain, sorrow… Maybe regret?  My eyes shut, but before I can stifle the sob, it escapes my lips.  I close my eyes tighter in an unsuccessful attempt to disappear and let my head fall to the side.  I don’t have the energy or the fight to hide my emotions from him right now.  I have lost everything. 

Once I found out I was pregnant, nothing else mattered.  If Tristan didn’t want me, I knew I would live with it, no matter how devastating, because I had my little angel.  The one who took over every beat of my heart.  I can feel the emptiness in the pit of my stomach.  I know my baby is gone.  There is nothing left.  I don’t know how I will go on from here.

“Holly,” Tristan speaks softly as he runs his fingers through my hair. 

This only causes me to go into a fit of hysterics.  He climbs into the bed beside me, wrapping his arms around me, and mine instinctually grab on tight.  He is offering to be my anchor right now and I am accepting that gesture.