Chapter 7

Liam

I look at the time on the dashboard like my life depends on it. Every minute gone by is another minute lost. Why isn’t she picking up her fucking phone? Obviously it still works; she just texted me last week. I try calling again (for the hundredth time in the last four hours) but it’s the same as every time before — straight to voicemail. Her sweet-sounding voice on her inbox plays back to me, making the pressure in my chest tighter, almost unbearable.

This has been the longest four hours of my entire life. The worst part is, I don’t even know where I’m really going. I’m assuming if Silas is her new OB, she’s somewhere semi-local to Spearhead or town, and if there’s anyone that’ll know where she is, it’s Sandy. “She’s good, better off without you,” replays in my mind. Please don’t be too late. Please, please.

I debated going to the house first, but there’s no way she’d be there. That’d be too easy, a fucking dream, honestly. But I do need to know if she read the letter. I have to assume no, since she doesn’t know why I left. I explained it all in the letter. And if she didn’t get it, is it just sitting on our bed unread? Our bed. My bed. God, I’ve fucking ruined everything.

All I wanted to do was make things right, take myself out of the equation for them. But the plan didn’t work, and now I’ve missed out on months with Britain and my child because I had to be some kind of martyr. My child. I can’t believe I’m going to be a dad, and Britain’s going to be their mom. FUCK, she’s my everything.

In the back of my mind I’m already thinking: What happens if I can’t make this right? What if I am too late and she’s moved on? Maybe her and Matt are happy, and she really is better off without me. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. Or maybe I’ll just drown instead. I don’t fucking know, but I’ve gotta get there first, and the first step is to find Sandy.

The steep driveway to their house winds around to the front in a circle. Without wasting a moment, I throw the truck in park right by the front door and practically run into the house, shouting before I can even make it inside.

“Sandy!” I call out through the main level, but nothing echoes me back. So I continue on, walking deeper into the house to the kitchen.

“Hi.” Who is this?

“Uh, hello…” I respond, pausing to get my bearings. There’s something familiar about the teenager standing in Sandy’s kitchen. I don’t have time to pull the thread, though.

“Is Sandy here?” I ask a bit too brusquely.

“Yeah, she’s in the back. May I ask who is asking?” The teen questions me, mirroring my less-than-polite tone.

“I’m her son, Liam.”

The teen scoffs at me, and if looks could kill, I’d be dead on arrival. “So you’re the man who doesn’t know how to use a phone? Or a condom?” The fuck?

“Elodie!” A second teen comes out from the pantry holding chocolate bars. “You can’t say stuff like that.” The minute I see her, realization hits me. It’s like looking at the Britain I met 17 years ago, except this version is a little bit taller and a bit more tan. Holy shit, I might cry. Partly from relief that Britain might be here, but also because it feels like getting punched in the gut meeting them like this.

“Why? It’s true.” The spunky teen with reddish hair just shrugs her shoulders and glares at me, maliciously.

Caroline turns her attention to me. “What are you doing here?” The not-so-warm welcome is almost too much, but I guess I get it.

“Where’s your mom? I need to talk to her.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Elodie asks me in what I’m starting to believe is her only tone, moody and accusatory.

“Yes, I do. I’ve tried calling, but she’s not picking up. I need to see her as soon as possible. Please.” They both look at each other in a knowing way, having some sort of sibling conversation telepathically. “Is she here?” My heart starts racing. I just need to see her and explain, and tell her about the letter.

“She’s not here.” Caroline finally answers me. I run my fingers through my hair, pulling on the ends, trying not to break down in front of the girls.

“Can you tell me where to find her then?” The siblings communicate telepathically again, looking at each other before answering me.

They both reply in unison, “No.” They don’t even give me a second look, instead going back to their task at hand, which is apparently making a tray for s’mores from the looks of it. It’s taking everything in me not to walk over and throw their tray off the counter and yell at them.

“Girls, I don’t think you understand. There’s been a miscommunication. I have to explain to your mom what happened.” I start pacing, the anxiety eating away at me. Caroline keeps ignoring me, but Elodie responds.

“Uh huh, suuurrre. A mis-comm-uni-cation, huh? Alright, I’ll tell you where she is.” Thank fuck.

“God, thank you, Elodie–” She cuts me off before I can say anything else.

“When hell freezes over.” Caroline shoots her a scolding look, but doesn’t reprimand her this time. Instead, we all turn as the door to the back deck opens, and I see my mom at the same time she notices me. We make eye contact before she looks at the girls, then back at me.

“William, what are you doing here?” Her tone is unpleasant, not the warm one I’m used to.

“I need to find her and talk to her, but I can’t get a hold of her.” Sandy sort of chuckles before smiling. It’s not a happy smile.

“Oh, you? You’re having trouble getting a hold of her?” Her brow arches. She’s pissed. “Girls, why don’t y'all head out to the deck and make sure Gramps has all the wood he needs and I’ll deal with taking out the trash, kay?” She gives them a wink before guiding them out the back door.

The girls give me the side eye as they leave, but they don’t say anything more.

“So am I the trash then?” I ask Sandy once she’s back in the kitchen.

“If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck…you know how it goes, baby.” I forget how vicious Sandy can be. The southerner in her comes out, and she’s likely to tell me to bless my heart any minute.

“I can explain everything, but I have to find Britain. She deserves to hear it first.”

“So you think you can just explain this to her and everything’ll be right as rain?” She laughs at me, ironically. “William, I’ve never been more disappointed in you in your entire life. Britain deserved better. She deserves better. So do my grandbabies, and honestly, at this point, they’re probably better off without you mucking everything up. Again.”

“Ouch.”

“Somebody’s got to be the one to tell ya. Might as well be me.”

“You weren’t lying when you said you’d disown me, were you?” It’s my turn to laugh ironically now.

“Sure wasn’t, sugar. I love you, William, but I didn’t raise you to be a trash human being. If this is how you want to act and treat people, l’ll say goodbye right now. Now, unless you have something else to talk about, I’ll see you to the door.” Sandy moves to usher me out of the kitchen and towards the entryway.

“You don’t understand. I did this because Britain is still in love with Matt. I was giving them their chance. I was giving her a choice. Don’t you see that?! I didn’t tell Matt about Britain being here because I was scared she’d go back to him the second he came around. And then I overheard Britain telling her ex that she’d never gotten over him, and…and I just knew I had to do this for her. And for Matt. And if I didn’t, I’d just be this placeholder until she left me for him someday.” Sandy gives me a sympathetic smile.

“Then you’re stupider than I thought, son. Britain is madly in love with you. Well, she was…” She was?

“Was? Past tense?” My stomach sinks, and my heart stops beating.

“Some hurts are so bad they can’t be undone, baby.” She pats me on the back and keeps pushing me towards the door. I dig in, still unsure whether she’s here or not. I look around for any sign that she might be, but I come up empty.

“Is she here? Please, just tell me that.”

“She isn’t. You need to go, William. I want to soak up my time with the girls.”

“Right…” I can’t think, but I can feel. And I feel like if I walk out that door, I’m giving up my chance. I don’t know if or when I’ll get to see her or talk to her again. “I can’t go, Mom. If she’s coming to pick up the girls, I can’t leave.”

“But you can’t stay here, bud.”

“Fine, but I’m not giving up. I only did this so she had a chance to be happy, even if it meant I was living in hell.”

“You think she wasn’t already happy? The Britain I saw in your living room, wearing her engagement ring, is the happiest I’ve ever seen her. And the Britain I saw at the hospital, alone, waiting for you to walk through that door, thinking you didn’t want her, is the saddest. So tell me again why you think you needed to do all this for her to be happy?”

“She was waiting for me at the hospital?” I hardly even recognize my own voice. It’s brittle and slight.

“She said she texted and called you to tell you she was pregnant and you just ignored her. You humiliated her, hurt her, and then abandoned both of them.” Both. Fuck me. I push my hands through my hair, gripping the sides of my head tight, painfully. I close my eyes to try and keep the tears from falling, but it’s not possible. What the fuck have I done?

“I’ll leave, but I’m not going anywhere.” Never again.

Ten minutes later, walking up to my own house, I feel like death warmed over. The only thing propelling me forward at this point is the need to find that letter. I flip on the lights in the mudroom and my breathing halts. Britain’s tote is sitting on the bench and her sweater is hung up on one of the hooks.

“Britain!” I yell out, but silence is the only return. I walk briskly through the house, flipping on lights as I go.

“Britain?” Her sandals are on the floor by the sliding doors to the deck, but the lights are all off outside and the door is locked. I take the stairs two at a time to our bedroom. The door is shut, but as I go to open it, I say a silent prayer that she's in there.

“Britain?” I say it more quietly this time when it becomes apparent she’s not here. The bed is perfectly made. Not a thing out of place. Nothing’s been touched since the last time the cleaning crew was here.

Making my way over to her side of the bed, I see it. Folded neatly and sitting on top of her pillow. She’s not here, but this stupid letter is. FUCK! I want to fucking scream and the overwhelming urge to destroy something pulses through me. I need a bottle of bourbon and a fucking baseball bat.

One problem: The only person at fault here is me. Am I really going to beat the shit out of myself? Mentally, yes. With a baseball bat, no.

I walk over to her closet and turn on the light. It’s still mostly full of dresses on hangers I never even got a chance to see her wear. Fucking hell. I turn off the light and close the door, heading straight to the bathroom. The need to punish myself is strong, so I turn on the shower as hot as it’ll go and start unbuttoning my shirt.

I’m stopped midway by all the shiny glass bottles and cream-colored pots and jars still sitting on top of her counter, neat and organized, fucking taunting me. Everything looks like it did, perfect, her life woven into mine. Except it’s just an illusion. She’s gone. Because of me, she’s gone, and might never be mine again.

Fury like I’ve never felt before comes over me as I slam my fist through the mirror above her sink, shattering it instantly. I swipe all the shit on the counter against the wall with a loud roar as the bottles crack on impact, staining the paint while the smell of Britain’s perfume begins to permeate the entire space. Great, just fucking great. I’m such an idiot. I’ll never be able to get the smell out. I’ll have to move into a different fucking bedroom now that this one will smell like her for the rest of eternity.

I stumble to the ground, my body trembling with unspent rage as I try to regain my breath. Eventually the adrenaline starts to wear off, and I look down at my hand bleeding all over the bathroom floor. Hell. I rip off the rest of my clothes and say screw it. I’ll deal with all this shit once I’ve scalded and scolded myself in the shower.

“You look like shit, man.” I open the door to nothing less than a verbal assault. Spectacular.

“Thanks, Niko. Good to see you, too,” I deadpan as Niko walks into my house like he owns the fucking joint, followed shortly after by Silas carrying a duffle. “Good to see you, too, Silas.” He looks up at me and just nods before bringing his gaze down to my hand that I haphazardly wrapped with a hand towel. Looks like I’m getting the full welcome wagon tonight.

I shut the door behind them and head for the kitchen where Niko’s already pouring himself a glass of bourbon from the bottle I just set out, and Silas has the duffle open on the eat-in table, pulling out supplies.

Niko just stares at me before saying in between sips, “It’s been awhile, man.”

“Yeah, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen you. But you know, it’s funny, when I talked to you last week, you never mentioned that Britain was pregnant.” He chokes on his sip of bourbon. Once he recovers, he just shrugs. He just fucking shrugs. I have to work to try and push the rage back down.

“You didn’t ask, and it wasn’t my news to share.” I nod my head up and down, not trusting myself to say anything back, then look over to Silas.

“HIPPA,” is his only response to my query. “I need you to take a seat and let’s get that towel removed.” I wordlessly do as I’m told. As pissed as I am, Niko and Silas are doing me a solid by coming here to stitch me up.

“So, you had an accident?” Silas takes the seat beside me, unwrapping my mangled fist. I hiss as the towel gets ripped away from the gaping cuts.

“Yeah, my fist fell into a puddle of broken glass.”

“Uh huh. Does this have to do with the fact that you just found out Britain is pregnant?” Silas keeps working on my hand while he talks, never making eye contact.

“No.” Except now, he looks up at me.

“No?”

“I mean, yeah, I just found out she’s pregnant. But this,” I motion with my left hand to my right, “is because I fucked everything up and I’m just pissed at myself for not being here for her. I couldn’t be happier to hear that she’s pregnant.” I hang my head, embarrassed. It’s the truth, though. Having a family with Britain was all I’d ever wanted, and I ruined it.

“So, she didn’t tell you then?” Silas nonchalantly keeps pulling the thread on this.

“No, she did. I just didn’t…it’s a long story, but she told me when she knew. I just didn’t get the news until this morning. She did the right thing. It was just…me. It’s all on me.”

“Fucking Tori, man.” Niko finally pipes up.

“Yep, Tori was the one who told me.” As fucking unbelievable as this is going to sound, I’m grateful for Tori for once. Without her, I still wouldn’t know. I’d be sitting in my sad apartment in Sonoma, miserable. Now I can just be miserable here.

“I need to talk to Britain, but she won’t answer my calls. You guys helped her move, though, right?”

Silas doesn’t even look up when he says, “HIPPA,” and Niko doesn’t immediately respond.

“And what’s your fucking excuse, Niko?”

He runs his hand down his face in exasperation before answering me. “Cause Matt’s my brother! I don’t know, man. I wanted to tell you, but he asked me not to.” What?

“Wait, he asked you not to tell me about the pregnancy? Or where she moved to?” I legitimately might need the baseball bat now.

Niko just drops his head and shakes it, “Both.” I clench my left fist so hard, I might bust a vein.

“We’re talking about my child, man. My kid.” I’m seething. I could fucking kill Matt.

“Just remember, you won’t be able to see said kid if you’re in prison,” Silas says, reading my mind. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the rage rolling through me. I’ll deal with Matt later.

“How is she doing?” I pose the question to both of them.

Niko responds first, “She’s good.” For a second, I swear it looks like Silas flinched. He stays silent, though.

“Silas?”

It’s a moment before he responds, “HIPPA.”

“I’m not asking for health information, I’m asking you how is she doing as a person? Come on, please. Is she happy?” I don’t know what I hope the answer is. If she’s happy, I’ll want to die, but if she’s not…I’ll still probably want to die.

“Yes.” “No.” They both answer at the same time. Niko looks at Silas, but Silas remains looking at my hand.

“What-what’s going on, Silas?” I ask, legitimately scared of his answer.

“I don’t know, man.”

“You won’t or can’t tell me?”

“Can’t.”

I just nod in response. God, I hope nothing is wrong with her. Or the baby. I also selfishly hope this means she hasn’t moved on yet. I hope.

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