Chapter 10 Fourteen Weeks
Fourteen Weeks
Ethan
Ican’t stop my hands from shaking as I queue up a Christmas movie on my phone for Axel while I try to process what Cassidy just told me.
I was pregnant with our child.
The words keep hitting me in waves, each one stealing more air from my lungs. I set a plate of decorated cookies beside him on the couch, making sure he’s comfortable with pillows and blankets, but my movements feel disconnected.
“This okay, buddy?” I ask.
Axel nods eagerly, already transfixed by the opening scene of the movie. “Thanks, Mr. Ethan. Are you going to watch with me?”
“In a bit.” I ruffle his hair. “I need to talk to Ms. Cassidy about something first.”
He doesn’t look away from the screen, already lost in the story of a boy who stopped believing in magic. The similarity isn’t lost on me.
I head for the stairs, my legs feeling like lead. Each step up feels monumental.
I was going to tell you about it on Christmas morning.
Christ, Cassidy must have had it all planned out.
I think about the ring I bought eight years ago, the one hanging on the chain around my neck. I carefully remove it, staring at the diamond that once represented our future, and slip the whole thing into my pocket.
I was going to propose on that Christmas morning. Instead, Cassidy walked into that bedroom and found her world shattered into pieces. And I never knew that when she lost me, she lost our baby too.
The rage is suffocating. Britney didn’t just destroy my relationship with Cassidy. She killed our child. The stress of finding us together, the emotional trauma, of course Cassidy miscarried. How could she not?
If Britney weren’t already dead, I think I might kill her myself. She destroyed us so completely, and for what? Because she was jealous? Because she couldn’t stand to see her sister happy?
I reach the top of the stairs just as Cassidy emerges from Britney’s bedroom with something clutched in her hand. We collide in the narrow doorway, and I automatically reach out to steady her.
“Ethan, I—” She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes, her face streaked with tears. “I found something.”
She holds out a small leather journal, its pages yellowed and worn. “Read it.”
The journal is filled with years of resentment, page after page describing how Cassidy got the love, the attention, and the perfect boyfriend. Everything Britney believed she deserved.
The words swim before my eyes as I take in the words. Plans to drug me. Plans to break us up. Plans to steal Cassidy’s life because she couldn’t stand to see her sister winning at life.
“Jesus Christ. She actually wrote it down.”
“Ethan, I’m so sorry.” Cassidy’s voice breaks. “I should have listened to you. I should have trusted you. I chose fear over love, and I—”
“Stop.” I reach for her hands, surprised by how cold they are. “Just stop.”
We stand there in the cramped hallway, both of us crying now, the weight of eight years pressing down on us.
“Tell me what happened that night,” she says quietly. “All of it. I should have let you explain eight years ago.”
I lean against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “Britney asked for a ride back to your stepmother’s house after the Christmas party. Said she was too drunk to drive. I didn’t think anything of it. She was eighteen and your little sister.”
Cassidy nods, waiting.
“She offered me a glass of eggnog. Said it was a thank you for the ride. I remember drinking it, remember feeling dizzy. The next thing I knew, you were hitting me and screaming, and she was naked next to me.” My voice cracks.
“I tried to tell you I didn’t remember anything, that something was wrong, but you wouldn’t listen. ”
“I was so hurt,” she whispers. “So angry. And jealous. Everyone else always chose her… I thought you did too. I’m so sorry, Ethan. We’ve lost so many years.”
“And our child,” I say bitterly. “She had it all planned out, right down to making sure you’d find us.”
“I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.”
“No.” I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. “None of this was your fault. Britney did this to us. She planned it, executed it, and then spent years traumatizing an innocent child.”
“I was so scared,” she admits. “Of forgiving you, of getting hurt again. So I ran. I’ve been running for eight years.”
“Tell me about our baby,” I say quietly. “How far along were you?”
She closes her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Fourteen weeks. I was two weeks away from finding out if we were having a boy or a girl.” Her voice breaks. “I was so excited, Ethan. I loved our baby so much already.”
The pain in her voice destroys me. Fourteen weeks. She’d been carrying our child for three and a half months, loving a baby I never knew existed.
“That was my first child,” I whisper, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. “Our baby was my first child, not...” I can’t finish the sentence.
“I know,” she breathes. “I know.”
“I’m so sorry, Cass. I should have fought harder. Should have made you listen, should have—”
“No,” she interrupts, placing her fingers against my lips. “We were both hurting. Both scared. And young.”
Pulling her against my chest, I hold her as tightly as I can. She fits against me just as I remember. I bury my face in her hair, inhaling the scent of roses.
“Sometimes I dream about our baby,” she admits against my shoulder. “Wonder what they would have looked like, what kind of person they would have been.”
“I wish I could have been there for you. For both of you.”
I think about all the years we lost, all the conversations we never had, all the ways we could have healed each other instead of nursing our wounds alone.
“Never stopped loving you,” I whisper. “Not for one single day.”
“I love you too,” she breathes. “For years I’ve tried so hard not to, but it’s impossible. Seeing you with Axel, watching you be the man I always knew you were—”
My lips find hers before she can finish, kissing her like I should have eight years ago, like I should have fought to do every day since. When she responds with equal desperation, everything finally clicks into place—we’re home.
I press her back against the wall, and she whimpers into the kiss. Her nails dig into my shoulders, and I swallow the sounds like they’re the only thing keeping me alive.
“Ethan—”
Her voice is raw, broken, but I don’t let her finish. I can’t. Not when her thighs part enough for me to step between them and her hips roll against mine.
“Axel—” she gasps, but her hands are already sliding under my shirt, her palms hot against my skin.
“Distracted with a movie.” My voice is rough, my lips trailing down her throat. “I need you. Just like this. Just for a minute.”
She shudders when I bite the skin below her ear. “A minute isn’t enough.”
It’s not. It’ll never be.
I drop to my knees in front of her, gripping her thighs as I press my face against the softness of her stomach. The place where our baby grew. The place I should have been kissing every damn day.
“Ethan—” Her fingers tangle in my hair.
I look up at her, my hands sliding up to her waist. “Let me love you. Let me show you how sorry I am.”
Cassidy doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she pulls me up, her mouth crashing into mine again as she walks us backward into Britney’s old bedroom. The door clicks shut behind us, and I turn the lock before we’re falling onto the bed.
I peel off her sweater, kissing every inch of skin I uncover. The dip of her collarbone. The swell of her breasts.
“Please,” she begs, her fingers fumbling with my belt.
I take my time. I need to.
Every button undone is a year we lost. Every kiss is an apology. Every touch is a promise.
“Make me forget the pain,” she whispers, her voice breaking.
I capture her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand while I lean down to kiss her neck. “We’re not forgetting,” I murmur against her skin. “We’re remembering. Every second we lost, we’re taking back.”
When I finally slide inside her wet pussy, it’s with a slow thrust, and we both shudder at the feeling of being whole again.
Her legs wrap around me, pulling me deeper, her nails scoring down my back. “I love you too. And I’m never letting you go again.”
The bed creaks beneath us as I deep stroke her pussy and she holds on to me like I’m the only thing keeping her from drowning. And maybe I am. Maybe we both are.
Years of grief, of longing, of missing is all here, in the way her body clings to mine, in the way her tears mix with mine as we finally, finally find our way back to each other.
And when she comes, it’s with my name on her lips, her body trembling around mine, her fingers gripping me like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
I follow her into oblivion, burying my face in her neck as I spill inside her, hoping another baby takes root.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, the back of her head on my chest, one hand cupping her sex and the other her breast.
“Ethan... I’ve missed you so much.”
I press a kiss to her temple. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“There’s something powerful about this,” she whispers, turning to face me. “Finding each other again in her house, after everything she did to tear us apart.”
The way she’s wiggling her body makes it hard to think straight. I want to kiss her again, want to fuck her until—
“Mr. Ethan?” Axel’s voice drifts up from the other side of the door. “The movie finished. Can we build that snowman now? You promised!”
“We should get dressed,” she says. “He’s been waiting, and we did promise.”
“Just a minute, buddy!” I call back, then lower my voice. “But Cass? We’re not running anymore. Either of us.”
“No more running,” she agrees, smoothing her hair.
We scramble to get our clothes back on, me pulling on my pants while she searches for her discarded sweater.
“My hair’s a mess,” she whispers, attempting to smooth it with her fingers.
“Beautiful,” I whisper back, stealing one more kiss.
I open the door to find Axel waiting patiently in the hallway. “Ready for that snowman?”
“Yes!” He jumps up eagerly. “Can we make him really tall? Like taller than me?”
As he bounces with excitement, I notice Britney’s journal still lying on the floor where I dropped it earlier. I quickly scoop it up, tucking it into the back pocket of my jeans.
We’ll need to decide what to do with it later. Maybe burn it once we’ve processed everything it contains, or keep it to explain to Axel my absence from his early years.
“We can try,” Cassidy responds to Axel.
The snowman we built reaches nearly seven feet tall, with Axel directing our efforts from atop my shoulders. We use coal from the fireplace bin for buttons, a carrot from the refrigerator for the nose, and my scarf for its neck.
When Axel’s small hands get too cold, Cassidy warms them between her own, and I catch her heat-filled gaze.
Later, while Axel searches for the perfect sticks for arms, I pull Cassidy against me. The cold air has made her full lips more tempting, her breath curling between us in delicate white plumes.
Our lips meet in an unhurried kiss. Her mouth is soft and yielding, parting under mine as I angle my head to deepen it.
Time stretches, the chill of the air forgotten in the heat building between us. Cassidy’s hands slide up my chest as she kisses me back. Every brush of our lips, every shared breath, feels like a reclamation.
She sighs into my mouth, and I respond by slowing even further, drawing out the kiss until it’s almost torturous in its intensity. Our bodies sway, and the snow crunches under our boots.
“We’re really doing this,” I whisper against her lips, and she nods, seeming too overcome to speak.
Axel’s distant laughter breaks the spell, pulling us apart. He’s found his sticks, waving them triumphantly as he runs back toward us.
By the time we tromp back inside, cheeks flushed and fingers numb, the afternoon has melted into evening. I help Axel out of his snow-soaked clothes while Cassidy starts on supper.
After supper, cookies and hot chocolate, Cassidy settles on the sofa and grabs her tablet from the coffee table.
“Would you like me to read something?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I respond.
“I was speaking to my nephew,” she rolls her eyes. “Do you want me to read you a story, Axel?”
He nods shyly. “Mama never read to me.”
“What about ‘The Night Before Christmas’? It’s Christmas Eve, after all.”
“I don’t know that one,” Axel admits.
Cassidy gasps in mock horror. “Every child needs to hear ‘The Night Before Christmas’ on Christmas Eve! It’s practically a law.”
Axel hesitates, then climbs up beside her on the sofa. I sit on Axel’s other side, my arm stretching along the back of the couch behind both of them.
“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,” she begins, using her best story-time voice, “Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse...”
As she reads, Axel gradually relaxes against her, his eyes growing heavy. By the time she finishes, his head is resting on her shoulder, and my hand has found her side.
“Thank you,” I mouth silently over Axel’s head.
“For what?”
“For giving us another chance. For tomorrow,” I whisper, nodding toward Axel, “for Christmas morning.”
She smiles, her eyes glistening. “We have so much to figure out.”
My free hand drifts to my pocket. Perhaps this Christmas morning, eight years later, will finally be the right time.