Track 16 Keep Your Head to the Sky #3
“The proof that you exist here.” He pulled a disc out from the rack and walked it over to me. His voice was low and steady, and it scared me how calm he sounded compared to minutes earlier on the phone.
“I wasn’t sure when I didn’t see fluffy couch pillows or frilly curtains. And there are no blankets on the couch.” He pointed to the living room and then to me. “You like blankets.”
“Do I?” I let out a light laugh, trying to read his tone.
He nodded with a slight grin. “Mmm-Hmm. You like them when you read.” My smile fell, and my heart picked up speed.
“I thought maybe I was wrong for a second. But this,” he tapped the edge of the CD in his hand.
“This I’d know anywhere.” It was the Allman Brothers’ Brothers and Sisters album I’d purchased six years before. With him.
My heart pounded in my chest, and my throat went dry as he crossed the room to stand before me. He looked me dead in the eye, his mouth a straight line.
“Do you live here, Sydney?”
It was just a question, but my throat tightened, and my chest quaked.
I tried to swallow, but it wouldn’t go down.
The look of certainty in his eyes and the flat tone of his voice told me he already knew the answer, but I still couldn’t say it.
I still couldn’t admit I called another place home without him.
So, I deflected. I redirected the conversation back to what mattered.
“Why are you here, E?”
He took a step back, and his lips pulled in, his expression painted with disappointment. I suddenly felt uneasy and wondered which part he was disappointed about: that I lived here with Jake or that I wouldn’t admit I did. He placed the CD down on the island and stared at it.
“I needed to see you.”
“Why?”
He was quiet for a long moment. So long, I began to wonder if he’d heard me or if he’d answer at all. His throat dipped with a hard swallow, and I knew he was searching for the words.
“She’s not mine, Syd.” He closed his eyes. Hard and pained.
“She’s not mine…” he repeated, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, holding in the tears that begged to escape.
I moved to him quickly, holding him by the elbows. “Of course she is, E. She’s your wife.” My eyes darted to the black band on his finger.
“No,” he sobbed. “Not Emma.”
I waited for him to release the breath he’d been holding, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was holding it in with all the pain of his tortured soul.
“The baby’s not mine.” He fell to his knees. And he wept.
I fell with him. Watching him. Staring at him in disbelief. Trying to comprehend so many things—trying to think of what I could do and coming up painfully empty-handed.
“How?”
He sniffed as he wiped his nose and cleared his throat with a grunt. He sat back from his knees and blinked his eyes to clear his vision, but they wouldn’t meet mine.
“Emma hooked up with some guy before me.” He toyed with his wedding band, spinning it in absentminded circles.
“The timeline didn’t add up, but she kept telling me the baby was just bigger than expected.
I don’t know shit about this, so I just…
believed her. People started backing her up, saying it happened all the time, so why would I question it, you know? ”
He wiped his eyes with tight fingers, scraping his hand down his face afterward. “I went to every appointment. I read all the books! I fucking married her, Syd! And she was lying the whole time…”
My mouth hung open, and my body chilled as I followed his words.
“All because she didn’t want her baby’s father to be some drunken one-night stand from Brunswick Pub.”
He wiped his nose with his thumb and cleared his throat once more. His arms hung loosely over his knees, and his head hung between them. He looked up at me, and the regret in his eyes was painful just to see.
“I gave up everything, Syd.” My heart broke right there in front of him, but for once, it wasn’t because of him; it was for him.
“I gave up you.”
I slammed my eyes closed as the weight of those four words fell on me like rain. I pulled my lips in and held my breath as I willed it all away. All the pain, all the hurt, all the could-have-beens—I forced them back into the deep, dark pit where I’d buried them not long ago.
My eyes shot open at his gentle tug on my hand, pulling me toward him. And I followed. I sat up on my knees and crawled between his legs. I wrapped my arms around him and cradled his head, holding him close to my heart, which would always ache for him.
I held him there for a long time, his arms wrapped around me. I let him cry like he had let me so many times before. I stroked his wet hair with my fingers and memorized his desperate hands on my back, clinging to me as if I had the answers to the universe.
When he finally relaxed, he looked up at me with sad, puppy-dog eyes, and I took his face in my hands.
A million words paraded through my head, but I didn’t say any of them as my eyes danced between his.
His hands gently trailed my back, and the moment his eyes fell to my lips, I couldn’t stop it—my lips came down onto his.
I kissed him with passion and regret, pain and remorse.
And he kissed me back. It was longing and torment, love and grief mangled and knotted, and the ache of it all felt like coming alive.
Our tongues met with a fervent need, and we both moaned at the sweet relief of our bodies connecting.
His strong hands pulled me closer to him, and before I could think of another thought, I was reaching for the hem of his wet hoodie.
He lifted his arms, aiding me in removing his sweatshirt, and it fell to the floor beside us with a slap.
His arms wrapped around me again, and I sank into the heat of his hard chest. He rose to his knees and undid the buttons of my blouse, and my hands came back to him, tracing the ridges of each ab.
His lips trailed my neck as he squeezed my breast. I moaned in pleasure, pulling him closer. He dipped his head lower, his tongue trailing the edges of my lace bra. I wrapped my fingers into his hair, welcoming the wet warmth of his mouth before pulling him up to face me again.
His eyes were dark and burning, filled with hunger and desperation. A blaze of fire was set between us, and I wanted to be ruined by it. I wanted to burn until there was nothing of me left—only ash that would be blown away by the wind.
My eyes told him so, and he accepted the invitation without hesitation. Ready to unravel me the way my body begged him to.
And then—Jake’s voice came through the speaker of the answering machine I’d forgotten he had. We broke apart and stared into nothing as the sweetest man spoke the sweetest words…
“Hey, babe. Just wanted to let you know I’ll be back around noon tomorrow.
I tried your cell a bunch of times, but it keeps going to voicemail, so I figured I’d try you here.
I sent you a text too, but—really just wanted an excuse to use this thing.
” He chuckled. “Cool, right? It’s like we’re back in the nineties!
Anyway, it’s late, so you’re probably sleeping already.
I got back to the hotel a couple of hours ago, but we grabbed dinner and drinks, so…
hitting the hay now. I’ll talk to you in the morning, okay? Love you, beautiful.”
We were frozen in place, our hands still on each other. He let out a slow, wavering breath, and I realized I hadn’t breathed. I hadn’t even blinked.
“Syd—”
“No.” I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t want to see the sorrow in his eyes or feel the regret in mine.
“I’m sorry—” I put my hand over his mouth.
“Don’t. Say. Anything.”
He swallowed, but he did as I asked. I stood up, and he rose beside me.
I buttoned my shirt silently, overwhelmed by the shock of the last ten minutes.
I grabbed his hoodie off the ground, still sopping wet, and I rolled it into a ball.
He held out his hand to take it, and I looked at him, standing there.
Shirtless and chiseled, in Jake’s kitchen.
My eyes darted to his bare chest, down to the deep line of his stomach, and back up again, my heart still hammering in my chest. His jaw ticked when my eyes landed on his. “I’m going to get you something to wear.”
“It’s fine—” He reached for his hoodie, and I stepped back instinctively. I’ll never forget the pain in his eyes from my small move backward.
“It’s soaked. I’ll just… put it in the dryer.”
He retracted his hand, tension pulling at the corner of his jaw. “Okay.”
I threw E’s hoodie into the dryer and grabbed a white T-shirt of Jake’s for him to wear in the meantime. I took three deep, controlled breaths, trying hard to ignore the way my skin was still prickling with want, and my gut was swirling with guilt.
When I reentered the kitchen, I placed the shirt on the counter next to him and started to walk away. He took the shirt in one hand and, with the other, he grabbed my wrist and swung me around, forcing my eyes to his. My somewhat calmed heart was back to operating at NASCAR speed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice firm and heavy, his eyes full of aching sincerity. An anxiety-ridden shame bubbled in my belly.
I swallowed, not wanting to admit it, but knowing it couldn’t be denied. I shook my head. “It’s my fault. I kissed you…”
He stared at me for a moment, his gaze so strong I could hear my lungs in my ears. “It’s no one’s fault.” He let me go as he shrugged into Jake’s shirt, and I instantly felt the relief of tension. “It just… happened.”
We fell silent, and I held one elbow with my opposite hand as I stared down at my feet, cautious. Confused. Ashamed.
He looked around aimlessly, running one hand through his hair. “How long until my hoodie’s dry?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. An hour, maybe?”
He looked around again before he clapped his hands together. “Wanna watch Chappelle’s Show reruns?”