Chapter 23
I go to work. I take care of my patients. I laugh at their jokes. I come home, and I help Addie with her math homework, and I throw something together for dinner, and I sit on the couch while Ollie watches his show.
I stare at the wall, and I force myself to feel nothing because that’s better than the alternative.
But through it all, my phone keeps buzzing.
Will: Dude. Answer your phone.
It takes everything inside of me to ignore him as the texts keep coming.
Will: This is so fucked up.
Will: I can’t believe I ever let you talk me into this bullshit. I knew you were a lying asshole.
But after days of texts and calls, of Will accusing my feelings of being fake, I can’t take anymore.
Nolan: I’m not arguing with you over text, Will.
Will: Then answer your phone.
Will: Nolan.
Will: You seriously think I would do that to you?
Nolan: I didn’t until you did.
Will: You’re such a dick, you know that? A self-righteous, condescending DICK.
Will: Wonder what the rest of the town would think if they knew you let a thief like me fuck you
My stomach twists at the threat. I don’t know why he’s so angry, considering he’s the one who stole the pills and faked feelings for me to get to them. I have to believe our time together meant enough to him that he wouldn’t intentionally ruin my life over this.
Nolan: Do what you have to do, Will. Threatening me isn’t going to help you.
There are more texts, another phone call, and I can’t do this anymore. I click around until I find the button that says block, and I tap it before I change my mind.
He knew I would do this. It’s what he keeps saying.
Maybe he did. Maybe we were doomed from the start. Maybe there was never going to be a world where we trust each other, and I was looking for anything to latch onto. Or maybe he’s lying to me, and I was a fool for ever believing he cared about me.
Ollie’s already gone to bed, and Addie is upstairs in her room, the way she spends most of her days after her fight with Emmett. I’m all alone, sitting in the dark of the living room, and for one second, I let myself feel it.
I gave him all of me, and he took that and used it for anything he could, no matter how much of an empty shell it left me in the end. I can’t even cry. That would involve having anything left to give.
He took everything.
Addie comes downstairs at some point in her pajamas, her pink hair in messy braids. It seems like these days her face is set in a permanent frown, and I wish I knew how to help her.
Through everything that’s happened, I miss her smile.
“Dad,” she says, turning on the lamp beside the couch. “Why are you sitting in the dark? And why didn’t Uncle Will come for movie night? I tried to call him, but he didn’t answer.”
Probably too busy calling me over and over.
“He’s not going to be coming around anymore,” I say, staring down at my hands so I don’t have to see her reaction.
“What? Why not?” Her voice is tinted with an anxiety that reminds me of having to tell a ten year old Addie that her uncle wouldn’t be coming home. This man has been hurting my family for years. I don’t know why I ever thought it would be a good idea to date him.
But I’m not going to lie to her. She’s seventeen.
She deserves to know why she can’t see him anymore.
“There were some pills in the medicine cabinet,” I say, as gentle as I can, even though I know there’s no way to break this news to her lightly.
“From one of Mom’s old prescriptions. They’re missing.
I guess he hasn’t changed as much as we thought. ”
I rub my eyes that begin to burn, tears threatening to finally come after all this time, at the worst possible moment. When I’m supposed to be strong.
“Dad,” Addie says, sitting beside me.
“I know it’s hard to hear. I thought—” My voice cracks and I bury my face in my hands. “I thought things were different this time too.”
“Are you okay?” she asks, putting a hand on my back.
I turn toward her, and this isn’t the first time she’s had to ask me that in the last year, but this is the first time I can’t lie. “Not really, kiddo.”
She nods, leaning over to rest her head on my shoulder, and I think that’s it. Until she speaks up again. “Dad, I have to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“You’re going to hate me.”
I sit up, turning to look at her. Her face is paler than usual in the light from the lamp, her eyes full of tears, matching mine, and I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Addie, I could never hate you—”
“Just… hang on.” She stands up and goes upstairs, into her bedroom, and when she comes back down, she’s holding an orange pill bottle.
The orange pill bottle. The one I accused Will of—
“Why do you have those?” I ask, my eyes glued to the bottle that destroyed any chance of a relationship with the man I—
He didn’t even—
Addie had them.
She sits down beside me, staring at the wall, the same way I was minutes ago. “It’s been so hard,” she starts. “Mom doesn’t love us anymore. You’re always so busy, and I know we stress you out. Emmett hates me now and I just—”
Her voice gets quieter as she says the words that would shatter any parent’s heart. “I thought maybe. If I wasn’t here anymore, it might be better for everyone.”
I know what I’m supposed to do in this situation. But all of my training goes out the window when my daughter, the light of my otherwise bleak life, is sitting there telling me she intends to end her life.
“Have you taken any of these?” I ask, my voice the only steady thing about me.
“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I was thinking about it. I didn’t think you would notice them missing and—”
“Addie.” I take the bottle from her hands, and she lets me without a fight. “Are you telling me you want to hurt yourself?”
She lifts her shoulder, a shrug to an answer that should be a no.
Addie has always been pure sunshine. I always knew, no matter what, that I must have done something right because she was so happy.
She’s been great through everything. Checking on Ollie and me, helping around the house, distracting us—
I thought she was handling everything well.
But I wasn’t paying attention. I was seeing what I wanted to see.
“Please don’t be mad at Uncle Will,” she says, like that matters at all right now. “He loves us so much, Dad. And he’s lonely. And you guys were finally—” Her voice wavers. “He’s trying so hard to be better, and I can’t ruin his second chance.”
“I’m not thinking about Will right now, Addie. Look at me.” I wait until she looks up. “We need to get you some help.”
She shakes her head, staring back down, picking at her chipped pink nail polish that’s usually perfect. “I’m not going to do anything. I gave you the pills.”
“And I’m grateful for that, but we’re still going to get you some help. You need someone to help you through these feelings before they get any worse. I’m so sorry I didn’t see that you were struggling, I should have—”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is,” I say, and we both know that’s the truth. “I should have been here for you after Mom left, and I wasn’t.” She leans into me, and I wrap my arm around her, pulling her closer.
“I love you,” I say with a kiss to the top of her head. “The world doesn’t work without you in it, kiddo. Not for me, and not for a hell of a lot of other people. You have no idea how loved you are.”
She makes a broken sound against me, and I turn and hug her fully, letting her cry into my shoulder while I try to hold it together for her sake.
I sit with her for a long time after she stops crying, only occasional sniffles, holding her the way I used to when she was a child.
“Okay,” I say, pulling back to look at her face as she wipes the remaining tears with her sleeve. “Here’s what’s going to happen. First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going to make some calls, and we’re going to find someone who can help you.”
She nods, but the look on her face says she’s hesitant.
“And you’re going to go. Not because I’m making you, but because you deserve to live, Addie. A long, happy life.”
“Do you understand?” I ask when she doesn’t respond, looking down at her hands.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice so soft I almost can’t hear the words. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
“There’s no reason to be sorry. If you’re feeling bad, you have to tell me so I can help you feel better.” I squeeze her knee. “But that’s tomorrow. Tonight, go wake up your brother.”
She blinks. “But it’s nine-thirty.”
“I know.”
“We have school tomorrow. You have to work.”
“We’re taking the day off.”
Her face shifts when I say that, some of the weight lifting momentarily. “…what are we doing?”
“Family movie night. The three of us. Hurry and wake him up, and I’ll get the snacks.” I gesture toward the stairs, and she stands up, confusion on her face, but she goes, and that’s the best I can do until we can get real help. Try to take her mind off of everything.
And get rid of these pills.
I listen for the sound of her opening Ollie’s bedroom door, and then I pull out my phone.
I’ve called this number so many times in the last year and gotten nothing.
A ring, a decline, a voicemail. I’ve never left one because usually I was calling for myself.
If I didn’t know what to do and needed my wife for guidance.
This time, when it goes to voicemail, I do have something to say.
“Jess. It’s me. I know you don’t want to hear from me, and I’m not calling about us. I’m not asking you to talk to me or to give me another chance.” I take a deep breath. “None of that matters right now, because Addie needs you.”
The kids are talking upstairs, moving over my head, meaning I have another minute to say what I want to say.
“She’s been struggling, and I didn’t notice, and… she had your pills, Jess. She was thinking about hurting herself. Said she thought it would be easier for everyone if she wasn’t here.”
Ollie’s little feet are stomping down the stairs, with Addie behind him.
“I know I was a terrible husband,” I continue, keeping my voice low. “And I know you had reasons for leaving. But I’m asking, begging you to come back. For her. Please. I’m trying to be what she needs, but I’m not you. She needs her mom.”
Ollie bursts into the living room in his dinosaur pajamas, his hair sticking up from sleep, but his eyes bright. “Daddy!” He shouts. “Addie said we’re watching movies!”
“We are,” I say, clearing my throat, wiping a stray tear from my eye. “Why don’t you two go pick something and I’ll be in there in a minute.”
With the kids settled on the couch, I turn away, long enough to say my final plea.
“Please, Jess. If any part of you still cares about this family. Come home.”