If I Break THE COMPLETE SERIES Bundle (45 page)

“In general?”

“Caylen isn’t strange,” I tell him sharply.

“No, I didn’t mean that, I just wanted to make sure she was okay,” he says, trying to clean up his words.

I stand up. “She’s been okay an entire year of her life without you making sure she was okay. I’ve made sure she’s okay!” I say more bitter than I intend but I’ve raised her alone since birth, and he thinks that I wouldn’t know if my daughter was okay.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I-I don’t know what I meant,” he says, seemingly genuine. He offers the picture to me. I feel guilty for some reason, and it dawns on me he’s referring to his mental condition, even though it may be over-reaching. I guess that’s something I’ll need to worry about sooner or later if this is hereditary, but that’ll have to go to the back of my queue of things to go crazy over.

“I’m sorry. I overreacted,” I say apologetically, “I’m-I’m just not used to this, all of this…it’s all—” I say unable to excuse my erratic behavior.

“No, it was my fault; I was out of line. I shouldn’t have asked such a stupid question,” he cuts me off.

Silence fills the air again, and we both sigh.

“She’s fine, she a perfectly normal healthy one year old.” He turns his attention back to the picture with a slight smile at first, then it spreads widely; it’s almost as if half the worry from his expression is gone. It’s the first time he’s smiled since…well in a long time. Actually, it’s the first one I’ve seen from him…from Chris, but it’s still one that I’ve missed. He sits down on the sofa again, and I cautiously sit beside him, looking at Caylen’s picture in his hand.

“She has your eyes, they turn like yours do,” I say cautiously, almost as if the comment is too personal to be allowed. He looks uncomfortable.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I knew I shouldn’t have…

“I-I mean I…” I stumble further, embarrassing us both until he looks up from the picture and smiles at me.

Butterflies start to go crazy in my stomach. I start to silently pray that my cheeks aren’t as red as I think they are. He turns his attention away from me, pretending not to notice, then his smile disappears into an almost worried stare.

“How are we supposed to deal with this?” he asks quietly, like he is uncertain of what more to say. “I-I don’t know how to deal with this…” he says, wringing his hands as he lets out a sigh of frustration before standing again.

“You don’t know anything about me. I don’t know anything about you. And this Cal guy…” he covers his face exasperatedly. “I mean…I have a daughter I don’t even remember…” he drifts off laughing angrily.

“Years of 
my
 life,” he continues. “All of these things happened, and I don’t remember any of it. No one bothered to tell me. What am I supposed to do with this?” He anxiously begins pacing the room. “I’m trying. I really am. I thought if I could make the first step in talking to you that I could do it but…”

I can see the confusion in his face, the worry, the uncertainty. He’s just as lost as I am, maybe even more. I don’t know what to say to change that, or if I 
can
 say anything to change it. I’m not used to seeing him so frantic and on edge. This isn’t the ‘
him’
 I’m used to at all.

“I know this is hard for you. I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through right now,” I say honestly, trying to comfort him in some form.

“I don’t know 
anything
 about you,” his tone is apologetic, but his eyes and expression are compassionate. 
Still
 his words hurt; they feel like a knife penetrating my heart. That familiar face is looking back at me, but his eyes show no sign of recognition, nor do his words. “But when you look at me, it’s like you know everything about me,” he says. His eyes are on me, staring into mine as if he’s trying to see inside me, as though if he stared hard enough, he’d have the answers to all his questions.

“I have enough trouble with one life,” he says with a sardonic laugh. “How am I’m supposed to deal with one I don’t know anything about? One that…that isn’t really mine?” he says to himself.

I open my mouth to respond to him and then realize that he thinks this is easier for me. He doesn’t realize what I’ve been through…what I’m going through. I pause, trying to carefully choose my words so as not to agitate or overwhelm him.

“When your parents told me about you,” I begin warily. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced; the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to listen to. I was hurt and confused; I didn’t even believe them…I didn’t want to believe them,” I say, clenching my wrist as I continue. “I’m 
still
 hurt. I am 
still
 confused. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say to…to 
you
,” I hear my voice crack and he turns around to face me.

“I can’t compromise with someone I don’t know either.” I take a few breaths to try and steady my heartbeat, but it’s futile as my pulse continues to race. I can feel his eyes on me and I continue to stare at the floor.

“When you look at me…it’s as if I’m a burden…a problem, and you have no idea how much that hurts,” I swallow the lump in my throat, hot tears in my eyes as I finally look up at him. He looks as if he’s going to say something, then doesn’t. His eyes take my place and become glued to the floor.

“I don’t blame you for it,” I quickly add. “I can’t... but you have to understand that you have Cal’s…” I laugh as the tears are unavoidable, but I try and maintain a steady voice as I continue.

“You…you have his smile, his voice, his eyes…” I feel myself smile through my tears when I think back to when Cal would smile at me, without being condescending, manipulative or arrogant—those rare moments when he’d truly smile.

“When I look at you…I can’t help but see him. And it hurts knowing that you weren’t the one who stole my heart when you first smiled at me, who took me bungee jumping on our first date, that you weren’t the one who told me I’m the only woman you have ever loved. But you’re…you’re not him, and you’re in love with someone else,” I feel embarrassed as the tears stream down my cheeks, but he needs to see them, to know that I’m a person.

“So, I’m sort of having a hard time with this,” I chuckle, finally wiping away some of the fallen tears. “Even knowing all of it, I don’t how I’m supposed to get past it,” I explain.

“How I’m supposed to deal with this…if I even can, but I’m willing to try because of that little girl in that picture. I’d do anything for her, including giving up the only person I’ve ever been in love with…”

He looks at me, dumbfounded. I feel myself starting to break down and I take a deep breath, wiping away all of my tears once more, commanding my eyes to stop it. I walk over to him forcing myself to see someone new, to not see Cal, but to see…Chris.

“I-I’m sorry. Please don’t cry,” his voice is shaky, his expression is one I’ve never seen before. I see him looking around nervously, his hands search his pocket and he pulls out a napkin, the rough kind that usually comes from a fast food restaurant. I take it and wipe my eyes.

“I know you didn’t ask for this,” I say.

“I know that this isn’t your fault. And I know that you want to believe none of this is your problem, but it is, and it’s mine too…but it’s not Caylen’s.”

“I’m willing to accept that you’re not Cal, that you aren’t my husband; I can learn to do that. But I can’t relieve you of being Caylen’s father. You’re part of her,” I say, sternly enough to get the point across, yet tender enough as to not frighten him, “and that’s all I’m really sure about. That’s all that I can think of to say to you.”

The silence returns.

I walk over to the sofa and sit down, resting my head in my hands. A few minutes later I feel him sit beside me. I look over at him; he’s in deep thought with his hands clasped together. I’ve never seen him…Cal…like this before. Cal never let me know when anything was wrong except that one occasion; when he was upset about anything, he always tried to hide it. He was very good at doing that.

“My parents say that he’s…they describe him like…” he trails off as if he’s trying to find the right words, afraid of offending me.

“Oh I know,” I answer.

“Your father didn’t hesitate to tell me what he thought of Cal,” I say with a sigh.

“Is he—was he…?”

“The person your parents describe isn’t who Cal was to me,” I tell him, although busy looking at my hands.

“Don’t get me wrong, he could be arrogant, mean, and snide…a lot,” I say honestly. “But that isn’t all there was to him,” I add in defense. “He’s so much more than that. He could be kind…caring…protective.” I smile as I reminisce back on the earlier part of our relationship, how infatuated I was with him, like I was in high school with a crush on a teacher. He had me wrapped around his finger, for God’s sake. I laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

“He’s extremely intelligent, confident, and persuasive; he could talk anyone into doing what he wanted. He was handsome, incredibly sexy…” I say with a laugh before I realize what I just said…oh God I did not just say that out loud!

I glance over and see that his cheeks are bright red. He’s blushing! I realize that in my entire life I’ve never seen him blush. I’m staring; staring isn’t good, not good at all…say something!

Thankfully his phone rings and breaks this embarrassing silence. He takes it out and looks at it.

“Excuse me,” he says. I nod, and he walks a few feet away and answers it. “Hello? Yeah, I know, something came up,” I can tell by his tone of voice it’s 
her
. “I’m on my way right now…I’ll see you then…I love you too.”

I can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy…well…more than a twinge, a lot more, more like someone just kicked me in the stomach and is standing on my chest. The man I love, well, this man who resembles the man I love, in the exact same voice is professing his love to another woman. Knowing that it’s her he holds in his arms, her lips he kisses…oh, God I have to stop thinking like this.

“About the other day…I-I’m not usually like that,” I rub the back of my neck.

“No, it’s forgotten,” he says sincerely.

“Does she know about all of this?” I ask as he hangs up, but my focus is on the ceiling fan.

“About some things,” he says letting out a deep sigh. I nod. I don’t know what kind of answer that is, but I decide not to push any further.

“I-I have to—” he begins to explain. I smile weakly, letting him know it isn’t needed.

I walk with him to the door.

“My mom says you’re from Chicago. How long are you going to stay here?” he asks hesitantly.

“Well. I’m from Saginaw, but I live in Chicago,” I correct him as we walk the small distance to the door. I scratch my head and I realize that I only have enough money with me to pay for another day at the Inn and I left my credit cards.

“I have to get back to Caylen, most likely tomorrow morning,” I say when we reach the door.

“Oh,” he frowns slightly, as if he thought I would be staying longer.

“I have some things to take care of back home. It’ll take me a couple of days, but I can come back, and…let you see her. We can start to work something out,” I say almost incoherently due this unwonted situation we are in.

“That would be good. I’d like that since we have a lot to work out,” he says. I’m not sure if he’s joking or not.

“Um, let me give you my cell phone number,” he says.

I turn to get my phone and hand it to him; after a few seconds he puts it in. He hands me his, and I do the same.

“You have my home number too,” he says after I’m done, and we exchange phones awkwardly, almost as if we’re trying to avoid touching one another.

He opens the door and steps outside. It’s an awkward moment, and we both laugh at our obvious discomfort.

“I just realized that we never got a chance to really…uh…” I look at him confused as he extends his hand.

“I’m Chris,” he says with a soft smile. I let out a small laugh, realizing we never really did get a chance to properly introduce ourselves.

“I’m Lauren,” I say, taking his hand.

I
t’s funny how one day can change the whole course of your life. Not even a day really—just a few seconds. The moment you find out you’re having a child or the day you receive a bad medical report. Those life-altering moments when you know your life will never again be how it was before those few seconds happened.

I’ve walked through the door to the penthouse over a thousand times, each time secretly hoping he’d be there, sitting on the couch, his eyes giving away so much and so little. And then time would freeze, and in that moment, it wouldn’t matter where he’d been, or who he’d been with—just that he was home and that he loved me and couldn’t stay away. I hoped, of course, that there would be a reasonable explanation, circumstances beyond his control that kept him from me, from us, our family.

Each scenario I imagined played out differently and vaguely. Deep down, I never cared what the explanation was, just that he was home and that my family would be complete again. That longing feeling of missing him so much that I felt a part of me was missing, gone. That part of me would be returned in pieces, but not quite broken.