Chapter 29 Sloane
Sloane
Now
For most of my life, I didn’t know what it was to truly grieve someone, to mourn the life you had together and the future you envisioned with them.
Up until a few years ago, I was one of those lucky people who had never been touched by catastrophic loss.
My parents were healthy, only children of wealthy couples who passed away before I was born, so I was unfamiliar with the way grief worked.
The ebb and flow of waves crashing into you on the days your brain associates with that person.
The sting of tears at the back of your eyeballs that force their way out regardless of where you are and what you’re doing.
The way those tears taste exactly the same every time they fall.
Like heartbreak, devastation, and open wounds that will never heal.
That’s the only thing I taste today.
The unique flavor of grief sticking to the roof of my mouth and making it impossible for me to speak even as Dom walks into the living room, eyes filled with fear and the truest, deepest concern for me, and kneels in front of the couch.
His brow is furrowed as I look right through him, unable to focus on the handsome curve of his lips or any of the other million things I’ve come to love about his face.
His face. The face I’ve fallen asleep to every night for over a month.
The face I gazed up at when I was on my knees for him just a few hours ago.
The face I was thinking about when I looked at my calendar this morning and got the niggling feeling I was forgetting something.
And not just a small something. Something huge. Something important.
Something pre-Dom Sloane would have never forgotten.
“Angel,” Dom breathes again, putting his hands on my shoulders and sitting me up so he can take a seat beside me. I barely breathe as he hauls me and my blanket cocoon into his lap. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head. “What’s the matter? Tell me how I can fix it.”
His voice is so tender, his words soothing to match the circles he’s rubbing on my back, and I want to lean into his touch, to take the comfort he’s so readily offering me, but I don’t deserve it.
I don’t deserve any of it.
The happiness I’ve gotten from being with him for the last few weeks.
The joy I’ve found in being cared for and desired.
The reprieve he’s given me from the demons lurking in the shadows of my mind, reminding me that I’m the cause of all the pain our loved ones have experienced in the wake of Eric’s death.
Because I’m the one that sent him to it.
A sob breaks free from my chest, ripping through me with enough force to make me crumple in Dom’s arms. He wraps them tighter around me like he can hold me together with the sheer force of his will, and I let myself take comfort in the feeling, because it might be the last time I get to have it.
That might sound a little melodramatic, but I know Dom isn’t going to let this go.
He’s going to keep pushing and asking until I tell him what’s wrong.
And once I do, he’s going to hate me. For real this time.
“I’m here, Sloane. I’m right here with you, just tell me what you need.”
A time machine, I think silently. Except I’m not even sure I want that, because going back in time to fix my mistake would mean I don’t get to be here with you.
Instead of answering, I just cry harder.
Endless sobs racking my body repeatedly until even Dom’s large frame is shaking with the force of them.
And through it all, he never lets me go.
Never once complains about the tears falling from my face and gliding down his neck, seeping into his shirt and soaking his skin.
He just rubs my back and rocks me like a parent would rock a fussy baby until I finally quiet down. When my sobs dissolve into softer, less gross sniffles, I wipe my nose and take a deep breath, preparing to tell him a truth I’ve never shared with anyone about the day we lost Eric.
“I was pregnant.” I feel his entire body stiffen underneath me and know immediately that this is news to him.
Honestly, it kind of surprises me, given how close he and Eric were.
“This was the year before Eric died. We found out in July, and we were waiting until we got out of the first trimester to tell anyone. You know…in case anything happened.”
A broken piece of a smile crosses my lips as I think about how happy we were in those few blissful weeks. Ecstatic about the life growing in my belly. Our baby. A secret that was just for us.
“Then one night in September, I woke up in the most excruciating pain and bleeding like crazy. Eric rushed me to the hospital, but I knew.” My voice cracks, and Dom’s hold gets impossibly tighter. “I knew I was losing the baby, and the doctors confirmed it.”
I barely remember the trip to the hospital, but I do remember the doctor telling us we were lucky we waited to tell our family and friends, because having to notify people about the loss could be just as traumatizing as experiencing it.
Lucky.
There was nothing lucky about being one of the only two people in the world grieving the life we created.
There was nothing lucky about being so devastated, so broken, I could barely get out of bed.
Eric tried to be there for me, but I pushed him away.
Choosing to lean into the guilt and despair that said my doubts, my fears about being the kind of mother I had, were the reason my baby was gone.
None of it made any sense, but it wasn’t long before the thoughts swallowed me whole, carrying me so far into the pit of despair I’d do anything to claw my way back out.
“Eric never told me.”
I swipe angrily at the fresh tears slipping down my cheeks.
“I don’t think either of us talked about it with anyone.
For a while, we didn’t even talk about it with each other.
Then in January, Eric said he wanted to try again.
You know how he got around the New Year, feeling all hopeful about life. ”
“Yeah.” Dom laughs softly. “He was always the first one to make his resolutions.”
“Exactly. He was sure we could try again and everything would be fine, but I—” I lay my head on Dom’s shoulder and look at my hands, watching my fingers twirl my wedding band around.
“I was scared. For months, I put him off with excuses about how busy work was for both of us and how hard it would be to have a baby while we were renovating the house. Just all kinds of stupid shit to not have to tell him I was terrified of getting pregnant again.”
“Sloane, you—”
I shake my head to stop him from finishing his sentence, from trying to comfort me before he knows the worst part of all of this.
The culmination of the tragic last months I spent with my husband.
The moment Eric realized how far I’d sunk, how determined I was to suffer, to sit in my grief instead of leaning on the partner who loved me and would have gladly carried me out of it if I’d just let him.
“The day Eric died, we got into an argument. We were eating breakfast, and he mentioned that Mama was starting to ask him about grandbabies. Then he launched into this adorable speech about how badly he wanted to have a family with me, and I just lost it.” My lips are trembling, and everything in me is screaming for me to stop, but now that I’ve started, I can’t.
“Before I knew it, I was screaming at him about not being over the miscarriage, and then I said babies were off the table for at least another couple years because I got an IUD.”
Truthfully, I could have gotten the implant taken out whenever I wanted, but I didn’t want him to know that. I just wanted to put an end to the conversation, to stop feeling like I was being stabbed in a wound that hadn’t healed.
I close my eyes and let those last moments with Eric wash over me. “He was so mad he couldn’t speak. I don’t even know how long we sat there staring at each other before he grabbed his stuff and headed for the door.”
Dom pulls in a sharp breath, and his fingers dig into my skin. I wonder if he’s picturing it too. His best friend’s last moments on earth, how hurt and angry he must have felt in the minutes before a drunk driver T-boned him on a road he wasn’t supposed to be on in the first place.
“Angel, you don’t have to say anymore.”
I laugh, and it’s a twisted, bitter sound that makes him flinch. I wish I didn’t have to say anymore. I wish I didn’t have to let him know how completely fucked up I am, how unworthy I am of the comfort I’m drawing from his body at this exact moment.
“He said he never thought I could be so selfish, and if I felt like I couldn’t talk to him about things like this, then maybe we didn’t have any business being married.
Then he slammed the door and left. And I remember being happy he was gone, relieved I didn’t have to keep seeing the hurt in his eyes.
But I had no idea, Dom. I had no idea that would be the last time I’d see him. ”
With the last of my confession out in the open, I brace myself for the inevitable moment when Dom stands up, dumps me unceremoniously onto the floor, and walks out of my life.
But seconds pass and then minutes, and he doesn’t do any of that.
Instead, he turns the tiny circles he’s been making to sweeping passes that go from my lower back to my nape and back again.
Confused, I extract my face from his neck and look at him. I need to hear his voice, even if it’s so he can tell me how much he hates me. “Say something, please.”
“Today is the day you lost your baby.”
He drags his gaze to mine, and the storm of emotions I see there destroys me.
He blinks, and a single tear skates down his cheek.
I’ve never seen him cry before, not even at Eric’s funeral, so seeing him shed real tears for me, for Eric, for our baby—it makes my heart twist uncomfortably in my chest.