Igniting the Wild Sparks (72 page)

“
No. That doesn’t sound like him. That boy had it bad for you.”

I dejectedly frown. “Not in a good way, I guess.”

“Why don’t you go see him when you feel better?”

I immediately shake my head. “No. I don’t want to see him after all he accused me of
doing. He was cheating on me for a long time. After he turned down my proposal, I caught him with another woman and then he skipped town. He even denied the baby was his. That’s all I keep thinking about. They’re like a movie running through my mind nonstop.”

Uncertain, she says, “There’s something missing. Something’s not right.”

“I caught him cheating on me, Val. How is
that
right?”

She sighs. “I don’t know, babe. That’s one thing I can’t fathom. He truly loved you.”

I pick my sandwich back up, but then put it back down, not hungry anymore. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore. He’s gone. He chose to leave.” He chose to start a new life, but how do
I
do that?

I try to sleep, but I can’t. It’s especially hard trying to sleep in the bed
we made love in so many times. I can even smell him on the pillows. I changed the sheets, but he’s still here.

The dreams… The dreams won’t let up, nightmares or otherwise. They’re always about
him. The sweet dreams are actually the hardest because that’s how I remember him. He was so loving. So charming. So cocky. So sexy. So playful. So wild.

What’s more,
the actual memories are squeezing what’s left of the life out of me.

On his couch as I straddled him while his fingers were inside me, he said over my lips,
“Becks, I can’t wait anymore. I need you.”

Impulsively, I said,
“I need you more. Make love to me, Finn.”

He gently pushed on my legs and I stood up. As I fixed my jeans, he swept me into his arms, and before I could squeal, his lips were on mine. When he stole his lips from mine to take me into his bedroom, I kissed his neck, sucking along the way. I wanted the world to see Finn Wilder was taken. He was mine.

Setting me down, we kissed as we hurriedly undressed each other, my hands were shaking I wanted him so much. I think his were, too. Before taking his jeans off, he reached into his pocket for his wallet, pulling out a condom. Naked and feeling so self-conscious, I laid down on his bed, more nervous than even my first time having sex. I was anxious about him seeing me completely naked. I had never been in love like I was with him. Unequivocally, this was the man I wanted to marry, so it was going to mean so much more.

With his shirt off,
I watched as he pulled down his underwear. I hadn’t seen him totally naked before, either. I was in awe. I don’t know how I waited months to make love to him. Although his body is a beautiful work of art, his soul is what sparked my love for him.

When he was ready, he got on the bed
, covering my body with his, and kissed me, not holding back anymore. I loved it. With a hand and a knee, he pushed my legs apart. My heart was beating brutally inside my chest.

“I can’t wait anymore, Finn,” I breathlessly said, robbing what he had said to me, but
still intending every word.

He whispered, “Make love to me, Becks.”
Nodding, I gripped onto his arms and he firmly drove into me, flipping my world upside down. We both loudly gasped and groaned as we reveled in the first-time feel of each other.

Finn
said, “Next to falling in love with you, that was the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life. I love you, baby.” That was the first time he called me that, too. It warmed me. It made me feel treasured.

My fingers went into his hair as I stared into his chocolate brown eyes.
“It was for me, too. I’ll forever love you, Finnigan.”

His breathing stuttered and he said, “Fuck. Call me that again.”

“Finnigan.” He growled and kissed me as we vigorously moved in an urgent rhythm, not able to slow down as we clung to each other.

Feverishly sliding in and out of me, he gasped,
“Becks! Oh, fuck! I can’t… I’m sorry,” he grunted, but he was sending me to my own end.

“Finn!” I grabbed onto his magical brown hair as we
loudly moaned and passionately came together in one of the most powerful moments of my life.

And I still can’t escape it.

My moods are erratic and I’m not even pregnant…anymore. One minute I hate him for everything he did to me, but then the next, I miss him and think of everything we had together. Those times are unbearable. Those are the times I can’t get out of bed, eat, take a shower, or care if the building explodes.

Rod tries to help me, but I don’t want help. I want my life back. I want answers, but I’m not going to get them. I want to go to Baltimore and wait in the parking lot for him, but facing him after his comments about me getting pregnant by someone else, tears through me. I never would’ve done that to him, unlike how it was so easy for him to find someone else
to ease his pain.

The following Saturday when Rod is at a game, I take a drive. I can’t go near the softball field yet
, so I drive to another place that I never thought I’d want to be, either. I’m not even sure how I ended up here, but I am.

I get out of my car and walk up to the cinnamon brown building with the gorgeous stained-glass windows. As soon as I step into the main room, the memories flood me. I stand frozen,
unsure if I should flee or take a seat.

Gulping, I slide into the very last pew and pull the padded knee bench down. I clasp my hands and lean my forehead down onto them.

I don’t even know where to start with God.
Why?
That’s my big question. Just…why? Why did he not want me as his wife or mother of his children the time we were together? Why did he cheat on me? Why did I have to walk in on them? Why did I get pregnant when we weren’t trying to? Why did I lose our baby? Why did he leave? Why did he accuse
me
of cheating? Why wasn’t I enough for him? Why didn’t he love me like I loved him?
Why?

Am I being punished for having sex outside of marriage and conceiving a child
, or for not being baptized? I have no idea. I’m so lost. I wish I had answers to all my questions.

Sniffing over
my folded hands, I realize I’m crying as I question God. I instinctively search for my key to hold, but it’s not there anymore, causing more tears to freely flow. People start to trickle in, but I don’t even care who sees me crying.

Sitting back onto the bench, I
peer around to see if people are laughing at me. Strange enough, no one is. And even stranger  yet, it doesn’t matter what people think of me. For some reason, it just doesn’t anymore.

The sunlight
etches the glass into colors floating over the walls and floor, somewhat lifting my lifeless spirit momentarily. I’m not going to be doing cartwheels anytime soon, but it’s enough that I’m not openly weeping still.

I sit through Mass with tears in my eyes. It’s odd because as hard as it is being here, it’s also comforting. The
man I was in love with sat on these benches, praying. He prayed with me once here. For what? Was I in any of his prayers? At least, a mention every now and then?

Shaking hands with those around me, I try to smile, but I must look rather lame doing so. These people probably shook hands with my ex at times.
My ex
. That’s still difficult to swallow.

People sing around me, but I’m unable to
joyfully warble. I can only wish I could. Even if were able to carry a tune, my heart refuses to burst forth with song. It has a tough enough time beating after being devastated beyond repair.

That evening after the game, Rod sits next to me on my bed. In a fetal position, my back is to him as I stare at the wall. Mass was exhausting, with the constant questioning of God and
the dodging of nonstop memories.

We lounge in silence for some time before he says, “You can talk to me, Hadley.”

I mumble into my pillow, “I don’t want to.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“You don’t have to be anymore. You can go home. I’ll be fine.” I say unconvincingly.
Fine…

Leaning closer to me, h
e squeezes my shoulder. “Okay, but you need to talk. Shit, I’d scream if I were you. You can’t hold it all inside. It’ll drive you insane. You’ll become one of those women who wear socks with their flip-flops, mow their grass wearing an umbrella hat, sit at McDonald’s to people watch, sign documents with crayon, dress their hamster in a tuxedo, give surgical masks out for Halloween, consider Pluto a dwarf planet, and who cuss out
American Idol
judges and/or sleeping children.”

I grouse, “What the fuck?”

I feel the bed dip as he sits back. “All fact.”

“It must’ve sucked to grow up with psychologists for parents.”

“Am I anywhere near the vicinity of normal? I’m serious now. Let it out.”

I quietly sigh. I just want to be alone. “I don’t know how I feel. I hate that I feel anything at all. I want to be numbed. It hurts all over.
My stomach hurts and my bones ache. It even hurts to put my hair into a ponytail.” I softly gasp and whisper, “I don’t know how to live without him.”

“I know, but he’s a dickhead. Get mad! Yell about him! Tell me how much he pissed you off! Bitch about how he fucked you over! He broke your heart, but don’t let him break your spirit
!”

Feeling ignited, I
steadily push myself up, and turning to him, I seethe, “My spirit? He took my spirit with him. It’s not even here to break!” I kneel up and he nods to encourage me. “He took so much from me! He broke my trust! He gave up on our love without a fucking fight! He said he’d never let me go! He’s a damn liar!”

Rod goads, “He did, didn’t he?”

“Yes! We created a baby, but he didn’t care! He didn’t even care that I was having surgery in the hospital to
remove
our baby!”

He sits straighter.
“What a fucking bastard!” he shouts with a less-than-subtle grin.

“I want to strangle him! I want to destroy his car! I want to set his fucking bridge on fire! I want to shave his head!”

“His head?” Rod laughs in disbelief.

I keep spewing, “I want to force him to change that damn tattoo, scrubbing my name from his chest! I want to saw his snowboard in half! I want to push his dirt bike down a hill! I want to tear up every fucking autographed picture he has!” My hands go to my head as I pant in anger. “I want to… I want to…”

“Knee him in the cheating balls and punch him in his conceited mouth!”

I point at him and shout, “Yes! Been there! Done that!”

The pictures on my nightstand catch my eye and I reach over to pick up the one of me riding him piggyback at the park. “Why did you fuck her? I loved you!” I whine at the picture, but then rashly snarl, “Now, I hate you. I want you to hurt, but it wouldn’t come close to how you ransacked me.” I twist, which pulls my tightened, healing skin, as I hurdle the picture across the room, smashing it against the wall with a loud crash of metal and glass. That felt good.