Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2) (34 page)

“What can I do, Owen? Please…” Olivia pleads in a whisper.

I meet her eyes and scoot my body across the massive bed to Olivia’s side. Laying my head in her lap, I envelope her legs with my arms. Olivia starts to lovingly stroke my hair and trails a hand up and down the length of my back.

“I’m here for you, Owen. I’m here,” she says reassuringly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

My typical reaction to these fucking nightmares is never good. I usually close her out and shut down completely. At times, I raise my voice at her, and afterward, I hate myself for reacting that way. Olivia deserves so much better than that. Especially at times like these, she’s the bright light I need in order to bring me back from the past. It all makes perfect sense to me now.

The conversation I had with my sister comes back to me. I just need to start talking, start letting all of this shit out. But not to anyone—only Olivia. I need her. And on this random Tuesday at two thirty a.m., I need her more than ever. I shiver on her lap as the adrenaline from the dream starts to leave my body.

“Just breathe, Owen. You just relived a traumatic event. Allow your mind to recover.” Olivia folds over my back and presses her cheek to my shoulder. It’s the most comfort I’ve felt in ages.

“I feel like a fucking pussy right now, but I just need you to hold me for a little bit,” I say with my cheek still resting on her thigh. I’m supposed to be the strong one for her, not the other way around. She’s pregnant with my child and
I’m
the one acting like a baby.

Olivia holds me tighter, shushing me. “I’m not going anywhere, baby. Let me be here for you. Let me in your head, Owen. Talk to me. Please,” she begs as if she can hear my inner struggle and the way this fucks with my head.

I sigh heavily, unsure of where to start.
Just start talking…
“It happened just about two years before I met you,” I begin. It’s easier to talk to her if I don’t have to see the look of disgust that is sure to be on her face. “Everyone keeps telling me it wasn’t my fault, but it was, Olivia. I fucked up. Those girls died because of me.”

Olivia stops rocking me, and I can feel her breath hitch by my unexpected confession. “Wha-what are you talking about, Owen?” Although I can hear the apprehension in her voice, she doesn’t push me away.

Just start talking…

I spend the next half hour talking—telling her about the fire that fateful night. I share how the mother left those precious girls alone and how I overlooked them hiding in the toy box. I describe in detail the image of those girls huddled together and how, sometimes in my nightmares, their dead eyes open and ask me simply, “Why?” I tell Olivia how I wrapped the littlest girl in my bunker jacket to protect her from the flames and how I performed CPR on her lifeless body until I was pulled away by EMTs at the scene. I reveal that, if I just would have done a more thorough search, those girls may have survived and that, because I was careless, those girls died.

“My actions, or lack thereof, killed them, Liv. They were depending on me to help them, and I failed those girls. They died alone and scared and it was my fault.”

After I spew out all the information, I sit up to lean against the headboard and, finally, look to Olivia. She quickly wipes tears away from her eyes and meets my gaze. Staying silent, she waits for me to continue.

“After the incident, I was ‘encouraged’ to see a therapist, whose professional opinion was for me to just ‘get over it.’ As if it were that simple,” I scoff. “I was required to see him three times, and after that last session, there was no way in hell I was going back.

“Over the last couple of years, I’ve put two and two together and realized that the nightmares are mostly triggered by stress. My mind…” my voice trails off. “I can’t shut my mind off sometimes, and although it allows my body to sleep, my head keeps going…keeps spinning…keeps bringing up the past again and again.”

I stop fiddling with the top sheet on the bed long enough to glance up at Olivia, who is hanging on every word. She takes hold of my hand and gently rubs her thumb across the top. It’s a reassuring gesture and one I unknowingly crave.

“They were really bad when we broke up—I already told you that. And I had a bad week just before you moved in.” Olivia’s face falls, and I instantly regret saying that last part. “But,” I say, trying to soften the blow, “I’m so, so glad you did move in. Honestly.”

Olivia nods her head and offers me a crooked smile.

“And now…” I sigh. “Now, with you being pregnant”—I softly lay my hand on her lower abdomen—“I guess I’m freaking out a bit more than I thought, and now
that
freaks me out because I’m also excited. Scared shitless, but excited and happy.”

Olivia places her hand on top of mine and smiles softly. Her eyes tell me that she believes the sincerity behind my words.

“I’m a mess, Olivia. These nightmares… They’re awful. I’m tired of them and frustrated by them and…I’m just tired of being tired.” I feel so defeated and so vulnerable, more naked and exposed in front of her than if I were actually in my birthday suit in front of my brothers at the firehouse.

“Owen, the tragedy surrounding the deaths of those two little girls is just that—a horrific tragedy. You did everything in your power to search for those girls, I know you did. You said the smoke in the building was thick and that you could hardly see the hand in front of your face. It makes sense that you didn’t see the toy box they were hiding in.”

“But I could—”

“Hush. Let me speak.” Her voice is stern and resolute. “You are human. You are fallible. You are also a protector, a provider, a man who was put on this Earth to care for people. I know this firsthand. So for you to take this as a personal failure is understandable. But you’re wrong, Owen. This accident, because that’s what it was—their mother never intended for her children to die that night—this accident would have happened whether you were the one searching for those girls that night or if it were Tanner, Saul, Matty or any number of the guys on your Rescue Company. You pulled the short stick that night and had to deal with the tragedy and its aftermath of heartbreak and loss.”

I shake my head. I want to believe her—I do—but I have years of guilt that do not allow her words to seep through the Kevlar vest that has been firmly strapped to my chest since that night. Perhaps with time and Olivia’s help, I can start to loosen the vest’s straps and begin to forgive myself. What I do know is that, after sharing this most intimate part of myself with Liv, I feel like we’ve reached another level in our relationship, and it’s peaceful. If I wasn’t sure of it before, I’m convinced of it now—Olivia Burke will be mine forever and always.

MY RIGHT ARM DRAPES across my eyes, blocking the sun, which is low in the sky. Sitting out on my rooftop deck, peacefully surrounded by high flowerbeds bursting with colorful flowers Olivia has planted, I nurse a longneck bottle of ice-cold beer and settle into my lounge chair. After an intense day at the firehouse, a quiet house is just what I need. Olivia isn’t home, so I luxuriate in a pair of nylon basketball shorts and a bare chest as I begin to relax under the warmth of the sun.

I’m able to drown out the sounds of the horns from the street below and focus on the soft breeze blowing in my face and the few birds singing nearby. With a contented sigh, I take a pull of my beer and place it on the side table before closing my eyes. After what seems like only moments later, I feel a finger slowly trail down my arm and a voice hum appreciatively.
Olivia’s home.
I loll my head to the side, and when I open my eyes, I’m greeted with the sweetest little face I’ve ever seen.

“Hi, Daddy. Where have you been?” The small child pouts with a look of pure sadness and disappointment. “I was waiting for you, but you never came. Why didn’t you come find me, Daddy? Why did you leave me?”

Shocked and confused, I scramble to a seated position, my legs and arms flailing. I plant my feet on the deck’s surface and turn in the lounge chair to face the innocent intruder. I lean forward to stare into the child’s face and see Olivia’s piercing, blue eyes and my mouth, its full lips reflected back at me. My eyes narrow in utter disbelief, and as I start to form words, the child takes a step toward me. I jerk back in surprise and fall back…back…back.

I jolt myself awake and sit upright in bed. My eyes slowly adjust to the early morning light as I look to see Olivia sleeping peacefully on her back next to me.
Thank God I didn’t wake her.
I rub the heel of my hands in my eyes.
It was a dream…just a dream.

Olivia and I have been dealing with my slowly increasing nightmares. Now that she knows all about them, she is able to help me, which has been, well...helpful. In the last week, the nightmares have been less violent, less focused on the girls in the fire, and more focused on parenting fears. Olivia says that this means I’m making progress, that the real cause of my anxiety is showing itself and pushing the PTSD to the side. I really hope she’s right, but this dream makes me think she might be onto something.

As my heart rate begins to return to normal, I gently get up from the bed so as not to disturb Olivia, and make my way to the bathroom.
What the hell kind of dream was that?
I ask myself, looking into the mirror. I’ll go for a run. That’ll clear my head.

I brush my teeth, wash my face, apply deodorant, and step out into the bedroom to put on my running gear. Olivia’s still frame lying in our bed stops me in my tracks. The top sheet drapes across her body, modestly covering her full breasts. Her right arm is lifted up by her head, and the tips of her fingers barely graze her forehead. She’s beautiful. If I had my phone on me, I’d be snapping photos to immortalize her exquisite face. I stand and watch her sleep, admiring her.

Olivia is pregnant. She is carrying my child. Mine. We did this. Together.

I walk over to Olivia’s side of the bed and kneel by her side. Looking up at her soundly sleeping face, I push back the sheet covering her stomach. Her skin is tan from the sun and soft to the touch as I gently lay my hand on her tummy. There’s no bump; her stomach is as flat as it’s always been, but there’s a baby in there. Our baby. It overwhelms me.

I’m not fully over the feeling of betrayal that still lingers when I think of the fact that she didn’t tell me she was pregnant. I understand
the reasons why, but the fact remains that she didn’t say something right away. Worse yet, she didn’t
feel
like she
coul
d tell me. It’s painful for me to think that, after all this time, she would ever feel afraid to tell me something, particularly something this monumental.

I have days, lots of them, actually, where I worry I’m going to snap and blow up at her. Days when we disagree about something and my mind goes there. I’ve been trying hard to manage my feelings and keep them in check, keep this from becoming something that pulls us apart. Not to say I could or would want to be without her in any way, but an argument of that magnitude could certainly throw a significant wrench into our relationship. But, to my credit, there are also days when I feel so curious about this little life that the hurt goes away and it’s replaced by awe and overwhelming feelings of love toward this woman and my child.

“Hello in there,” I whisper. “It’s me...your daddy.” I make small circles on Olivia’s tummy, and I feel her stir awake, but she doesn’t move. She lets me have my moment. “I just wanted to say hi and welcome you to our family. Wow…” I mutter, stilling my hand and exhale in a puff of air, dumbfounded at the statement. “A family… We’re a
family
. Who would have thought I would be saying that?” My fingers continue to trace around her stomach and belly button. “I don’t care if you’re a boy or a girl, but just promise me one thing, okay? Promise me that you’ll get involved in a sport or activity that would put me in close proximity to other hot moms, okay?”

Olivia slaps me on the back of the head. “Hey!”

“I knew that was coming.” I chuckle. “I’m kidding, of course. To be honest, I’m in love with the most beautiful woman ever...your mommy. Next to you, I’m the luckiest person alive.”