Johnnie
NOW
I’m crying in the shower, with no intention of leaving this water until it runs cold.
The mention of my pregnancy did something to me, and it’s not good.
The whiplash of emotions lately is nauseating, a pendulum constantly swinging between the highest highs and lowest lows.
I sit down in the bottom of the tub, bringing my knees to my chest and resting my head there.
Tears mingle with the spray of the shower head and wash down the drain while I continue to fall apart.
Just as I comb my fingers through my hair, removing drenched strands that cling to my temples and cheeks, I hear the bathroom door creak open.
Footsteps, then curtain hooks sliding along the metal rod, followed by warmth at my back.
Collins.
He sits behind me, fully clothed, boots still on his feet. Arms wrap around me and lips press to the top of my head.
It certainly doesn’t take the hurt away, but my god does this man smooth out every single jagged edge of pain I house within me. He always has.
I’m not sure how long we remain this way, but the water starts to cool and my tears are attempting to dry up when I feel Collins reach up and grab the towel from where it hangs above us.
He holds it out of the water while leaning around me to turn the handle, shutting off the water.
He wraps me in the towel and rubs his hands up and down my arms. Neither one of us has uttered a word, and yet so much has been said.
Collins packs a bag for me while I pull on clean clothes and stand in the bathroom blow-drying my hair, the warm rush of air doing little to quiet the turbulence coursing through me. He tells me we’re going to his house, and I don’t argue. The truth is, there’s nowhere else I would rather be.
In the truck, I roll the window down just enough for the crisp fall air to slip inside. It brushes across my cheeks and tangles through the loose strands of my hair, a cool reminder that I’m still here, still breathing.
I close my eyes for a moment, letting the air fill my lungs.
How is it possible to feel so many things at once?
On one hand, I’ve never been happier than I am sitting beside the man I love, feeling the quiet certainty of him.
On the other, grief presses against my ribs—layer upon layer of it—along with secrets, exhaustion, and the aching weight of everything I’ve been carrying alone.
The low, familiar voice of Dierks Bentley drifts through the speakers, filling the cab with words that never fail to sooth my soul.
Collins reaches over and rests his hand on my knee.
It’s a small gesture, one he’s done so many times before, but right now it steadies me in a way nothing else can.
His thumb moves in slow circles against my leg, absentminded and comforting.
He’s always been this way with me—patient, gentle, steady.
And that’s exactly why the truth feels so heavy.
Because he deserves honesty, and I’m terrified of what it might cost me.
I tell myself I’ll start with the easier part, an explanation for what he saw five years ago. Easier is a relative word, though. It might not wound him the way the rest of my story could, but that doesn’t make it simple. Nothing about the past decade of my life has been simple.
The drive to his house doesn’t take long in a town this small.
If you could draw a straight line across the lake from Nan’s house to where we’re turning now, down his long gravel driveway, you’d be there in minutes.
But the road winds around the water’s edge, hugging the shoreline, stretching the trip closer to twenty minutes.
Cattails sway along the sapphire surface of the lake, their feathery tops brushing against the wind.
Tall grass bends and the smell of fallen leaves drifts through the open window, earthy and fresh.
I focus on everything I can see, everything I can smell, grounding myself in the moment so the panic doesn’t set in.
Because that’s what this feels like. Panic waiting just beneath my skin, ready to claw its way out from under the crushing weight of everything I’ve kept buried for so long.
Tonight, I have to tell him the truth. And when I walk out of this house later, I know I won’t be the same person who walked in.
All I can do is hope I won’t be walking out alone.
Trees line both sides of the long driveway, their branches arching overhead, welcoming us as we make our way toward the house.
At the end sits a place that steals my breath.
It’s modern in the clean lines and massive windows that reflect fading light, but there’s something about it that feels softer than that word allows.
Warm. Inviting. Almost like a cottage tucked into the trees.
That is, if cottages came with sparkling glass walls and the kind of space that stretches wide instead of cozy and small.
Collins reaches up and presses the button clipped onto the visor. The garage door slowly rises as the truck rolls forward. We pull into a wide, spotless garage, and the space feels like a collection of the man I’ve spent the last ten years hoping the world has been kind to.
Fishing poles lean neatly against the far wall, in a way that tells me they’re used often, not just for show. A large riding mower sits parked beside them. Work boots and running shoes are lined up in careful rows along the concrete. Then my eyes land on something else quite shocking.
A massive black truck sits parked in the next bay, its paint gleaming under the garage lights. It looks brand new, sleek, and spotless. The complete opposite of the old white truck we’re currently sitting in.
“I didn’t know you had another truck,” I say, glancing over at him. “It’s really nice. Do you drive it often?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he shifts the truck into park and climbs out, the door shutting with a solid thud before he walks around to my side.
When he opens my door, the cool night air rushes in again.
He reaches into the backseat for my bag as I step down onto the concrete.
His hand settles at the small of my back, guiding me toward a door that leads into the house.
We step into a laundry room just off the garage, and the first thing that hits me is the smell. Everything smells crisp. Clean. New. But woven through it is something deeper—tobacco and vetiver, warm and comforting. Familiar. Collins.
The scent wraps around me like an aromatic hug, intimate in a way that surprises me. It doesn’t feel strange being here. Even though I’ve never stepped foot in this house before, something about it settles over me like a memory I didn’t know I had.
He leads me through the laundry room and into the kitchen, and I can’t help the way my eyes widen, taking it all in.
The ceiling stretches high above us, vaulted beams drawing the space upward in a way that makes the whole room feel open and airy.
The kitchen itself looks like it belongs in a magazine.
Sleek countertops, brand new industrial-style appliances, everything polished and intentional, the man has impeccable taste.
Such a stark contrast to our old surroundings.
My heart swells with pride. He did this. He really did well for himself. Every detail feels thoughtful, from the warm wood accents to the soft lighting. And then I see the view.
Beyond the wide sliding glass doors, the lake spreads out in the fading evening light, the water reflecting streaks of pink and gold from the sunset.
“It’s gorgeous,” I breathe.
He smiles at my compliment, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s something heavy sitting behind it—something weighed down by everything I haven’t said yet. By me. The realization hits like a bruise to my heart. I’ve hurt him. I’ve been hurting him for years without even being here.
The thought alone brings tears to my eyes.
“Johnnie, what’s wrong?” he asks softly.
“I’m so sorry you’re sad because of me.”
His brow furrows, like the words physically pain him.
“Right now,” he says carefully. “I’m just sorry that bringing up the past upset you so much.
I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He exhales slowly, dragging a hand across the back of his neck.
“I just…want you to trust me with your truth. All of it. Everything you haven’t said yet.
” His voice tightens. “I’m trying to be patient, but it’s hard. ”
My vision blurs.
“John,” he continues, as he leans against the counter, arms crossed at his chest, voice rougher now.
“I’d be lying if I said you didn’t absolutely break my fucking heart when you left.
That’s putting it mildly.” He lets out a humorless breath.
“Yeah…a part of me is bitter. I won’t pretend it isn’t. ”
My chest aches so badly it feels like breathing might split me open.
“I just don’t understand what went wrong,” he says quietly. “I loved you so much. I thought you loved me too.” His jaw tightens. “And then you just…disappeared. Gone.”
I can’t even see him anymore through the sheen of tears filling my eyes.
For a long moment neither of us speak.
“How about I open a bottle of wine,” he says finally, his voice gentler now, like he’s grasping for something—anything—to ease the tension thickening between us. “We can sit on the patio and watch the sun go down.”
“That sounds great,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
He walks over to a sleek wine refrigerator tucked into the cabinetry and pulls out a bottle of red. A wine refrigerator. Collins has a wine refrigerator. Ten years ago, he was drinking cheap beer on the tailgate of his truck.
Pouring two glasses, he walks to the large sliding doors and opens one for me.
“After you.”
Cool evening air hits my skin as I step outside. The patio stretches wide across the back of the house, beautiful stone beneath my feet and the lake opening out beyond us.
I settle into one of the black Adirondack chairs facing the water while Collins moves around behind me, busying himself with quiet tasks.
Heat lamps click on with a soft hum. Then he kneels beside a stone fireplace in the center of the patio and starts a fire, the flames catching slowly before rising into warm, flickering light.
The sun hangs low over the water, its golden glow kissing the horizon. The surface of the water is so still tonight it almost looks unreal, the reflection of the sky perfectly mirrored.
It’s peaceful. More peaceful than anything I deserve. Uneasiness coils tighter in my stomach as Collins finally lowers himself into the chair beside me, resting one ankle over his knee and fire dancing across his face.
I take a slow sip of wine and clear my throat.
It’s now or never.
“You’re right,” I say quietly. “I was pregnant.”
The words fall sharply into the space between us.
“When I met Greg, like I told you before…I was really trying. Trying to move on with my life. Trying to forget you.” My fingers tighten around the stem of the glass.
“Trying to convince myself you were better off without me. Tired of working odd jobs for little pay, I finally got up the nerve to try my hand at my dream job. I wanted to work with the animals at the aquarium. San Antonio has a well-known aquatic park with dolphins, orcas, all the animals that made my heart happy, and I was so close to them, it just made sense to try getting my foot in the door.”
“You and your dolphins, this isn’t surprising,” he says with a genuine smile.
“So, I walked in there and basically told them I was willing to fill any position they had available. If I could go to work and see those precious creatures every day, it wouldn’t matter what I was doing.
Greg ended up being the manager in the department I got hired in at.
He was working there while finishing up nursing school. ”
I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye, so I tell my story to the sky. “I told you he was a good man. And he was—he is.” I swallow. “We hadn’t been dating very long when I started feeling nauseous all the time. I finally decided to take a test.”
I can still see it.
“That little stick sitting on the bathroom counter felt like it took hours.” My voice shakes. “I was so nervous waiting for it to say pregnant or not pregnant.”
My throat tightens.
“When it finally showed positive…every single thought I should’ve been having just…wasn’t there.”
I pause, forcing air into my lungs.
“All I could think about was you. About how this was supposed to be us. Our life.” My eyes burn.
“But it wasn’t.”
Guilt twists through my chest.
“I let myself be happy about the baby. And I was happy. Truly. It was…incredible to think I had created another life. Maybe God didn’t hate me after all.”
My voice cracks.
“Eventually, Greg asked me to marry him. And I said yes. It felt like the right thing to do. Or at least…I convinced myself it was.”
The fire pops softly beside us.
“Our second ultrasound appointment…he took off work to come with me.” My fingers tremble slightly around the glass. “I was so excited. The first ultrasound was nothing resembling a baby, so I was anxious to see the changes.”
I close my eyes briefly.
“But it didn’t go the way we imagined.”
The memory crashes over me all over again.
“When I was lying on the table and the doctor rolled the wand over me…” I swallow hard. “I knew immediately something was wrong, the second she looked at the screen.” My voice grows quieter.
“Greg must’ve known, too. Because he squeezed my hand right before the doctor said it.”
The words echo, even now. “‘I’m so sorry…but there’s no heartbeat.’”
The lake blurs as tears spill down my cheeks again.
“Every ounce of excitement I had…it just vanished. The love I had for the baby felt displaced, no longer belonging anywhere.” My chest caves inward.
“I was empty.” The words barely escape my lips.
“I became a shell of a person at that moment.” My voice trembles. “And deep down, I think I knew it was my punishment.”
Collins looks at me with confusion-laced eyes. “Punishment for what?”