Tin

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

RIKER

Of all the rooms in this godforsaken house, this is the only one Miranda left fully furnished. I haven’t stood inside these four walls since the day I came home from the hospital and realized this room would never be lived in by the baby we’d both spent the last seven months waiting for.

I remember sitting in that rocking chair in the corner. The same one we’d had in Harlow’s nursery and then again in Mason’s. I’d spent countless nights in that rocker, swaying back and forth when Harlow was teething. And then again with Mason when he refused to sleep in his crib for more than thirty minutes at a time.

I brought the rocking chair into this room right after I’d finished painting the walls. Teal. Miranda’s request. The rocker was the first piece of furniture in the room, and I placed it right beside the window, imagining the nights I would sit in it again, gazing out at the stars and giving the newest member of our family his or her first astronomy lessons.

The last night I sat in here, I spent all night staring out that window. Asking the stars. God. For some sort of an answer. Some reason I could comprehend. It never came. And I never stepped foot in this room again. Until today.

Quinn’s standing in the doorway, scared to come in. I know I’m putting a lot on her all at once. But we’re running out of time. The only way she’ll ever feel truly safe with me is if she knows all there is to know. Maybe then she’ll finally be able to trust me and let down her guard.

“You never talk about your kids,” she whispers .

“I don’t know how.” I’ve tried. Countless times. I hate not talking about them. Never saying their names. Never remembering the funny things they said or laughing about the crazy things they did. It’s like they never even existed. And maybe that should make it easier, but it doesn’t.

“Do you ever see them?” She takes a tentative step inside, like the floor might give out under her or the walls collapse. It’s not the room making her feel that way. It’s me. I don’t know how to stop it. These feelings have been buried since they first attempted to take me out. Forcing them down and locking them up was the only way I could even function. Unfortunately, now that they’re seeping through, escaping and overriding everything, I have no idea what I’m truly up against.

“I’m not allowed to see them.” I need to sit, but the only chair in the room is the rocker, and sitting in it might actually kill me right now. So I lean against the changing table. It’s better than nothing. “Harlow was about to turn four, and Mason was one when Miranda found out she was pregnant with baby number three. Timing couldn’t have been better, really. I needed something positive in my life. Something I could look forward to. And while other lives had come to an end, here was a brand-new one just beginning.”

She’s following my example and resting against the crib across the room. Judging from the way her knuckles are turning white, her grasp around the railing isn’t just to steady her. She’s holding on for dear life. So am I. I’m gambling. And I’m no gambler. But there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’ll either wind up with her—all of her—or...nothing.

“For a while, everything seemed to be looking up again. The pregnancy proved to be the perfect distraction from all the shit going wrong in my life. Then, when she was seven months along, we had a scare. Wound up in the hospital where we were told that Miranda was suffering from severe preeclampsia. When the doctor explained that we needed to consider the possibility of inducing labor, her first response was that she needed to inform the father of what was happening.” I take a long breath and exhale again. After years of blocking this moment from my mind, it’s hard to face again. “I was standing right beside her when she said it.”

QUINN

“It wasn’t your baby.” As soon as I say it, I want to slap myself. Like he really needed to hear the words out loud.

“Nope.” His sad eyes travel the walls of the small room. “Turns out neither was Mason. Or Harlow.”

This time I keep my mouth shut. But, mentally, I’m screaming. Furious at this Miranda person. This phantom wife who took the man that I...that...the man he was and took everything from him that mattered. She was the reason he ran off to the desert to die. It was her.

“Apparently, when Miranda and I first started seeing each other, she was also dating this guy, Colton. Then she found out she was pregnant and decided between the two of us, I was the more reliable income source since Colton was two years younger and still going to school. So she married me. And had Colton’s baby.”

I still can’t fully wrap my brain around all of this. It’s probably a good thing. “She knew the whole time?”

He nods. “Yep. And he was in on it too. The whole time.” He laughs. Probably because it hurts less that way. “See, he was going to pilot school. And lo and behold, she became a flight attendant. Maintaining their relationship became a piece of cake when he graduated, and they started working for the same airline. Meanwhile, I stayed home taking care of their kids. ”

“You never even suspected?” I’ve never been cheated on. Surprisingly. But I always wonder if cheaters are really good at hiding their secrets or if those being deceived have an instinct to look the other way. Sort of out of self-preservation.

“Not even once. I should have. Our marriage was far from perfect. If anything, it was practical. We got along well enough. Had sex just often enough for me to believe I conceived three children, and, other than that, we were getting what we needed elsewhere. Miranda with Colton...me with the kids.”

Those last four words stay with me. Repeating themselves over and over until they’re ringing loudly in the back of my mind, drowning out every other thought. Only I can’t let him know. Not now. He can’t see that the revelation of his past has just wiped out any chance of us ever having a future. Hope. That small, yet mighty, word. It’s gone now.

“What did you do after you found out?” I’m forcing the words to come out. Making myself go through the motions so he can too. If nothing else, I’ll see this through with him. I’ll be there for every step as he faces the grief he so clearly still carries. Maybe then...maybe after me, he’ll find someone who can make him happy again.

“I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know what to do.” He pushes off from the changing table and walks over to the window. “In the end, I didn’t need to. Colton was making good money by then, so there really wasn’t any reason for Miranda to stick around here. She filed for divorce. Tried to have the prenup my dad insisted she sign to protect the family business thrown out, but couldn’t because the judge wasn’t an idiot. When everything was said and done, she got nothing. And she got everything. My name was taken from the birth certificates. Their names were changed to Colton’s. The five years I spent as a father were completely erased. And so was I.”

“I’m...so sorry.” I stumble over the words as I walk across the room to meet him.

He turns toward me. “Don’t be.” He takes both my hands and kisses them softly. “No matter what happens between us. Don’t ever be sorry, Quinn. These last few months with you have changed my life. Made the difference between existing and living. You did that for me. And that’s not something I ever want you to forget.” It’s as if he knows.

“You don’t know how much I wish I was someone else. Someone better. Someone who actually deserved to hear all the amazing words you say to me.” Tears are rolling down my cheeks, but I don’t stop them. I don’t want Riker to let go of my hands. Not yet.

“If you were anyone else, I wouldn’t be standing here right now, Quinn. I wouldn’t be ready to let go of a past I thought I’d never be able to face again, let alone part with.”

I start to tell him he’s crazy for thinking that, but he stops me by devouring my mouth with his, drinking me in and draining me of every thought and emotion other than how completely consumed I am by him.

“Riker.” I breathe his name against the softness of his skin because it’s all I can say. All I can think.

“Stop. You’re thinking too much. It’s done. You. Me. Us. It’s done,” he whispers back. “So just let me hold you. Please.”

And I do. I slide into his embrace, pressing myself to him as tightly as I can, until my racing heart meets his and finally slows itself to join the calming rhythm coming from his chest.

We stand there together. Both silently letting the tears fall. Both knowing this moment will change us. And neither of us is ready for it.

When we finally leave behind the wrecked remains of what was once a happy home, we’re both quiet, hardly speaking to each other. Breakfast has fallen by the wayside. Neither of us is thinking about food anymore .

“I could call Sid. Tell her I’m not coming in today. We could just...be. Lie in bed. Go for a walk. Whatever you want.”

He sits on his mattress, already dressed and ready to go. He needs to show up to feed Nox this morning, just like he always does. He knows that. I know that. He’s just scared to leave me. And that’s something we both know as well.

“Sid needs you. Nox needs you.”

He gets up and crosses the small room in two steps to get to where I’m leaning against the wall. He kisses me. “But I need you.”

And I need him. God, I need him.

“Then stay.” The words trickle out of my mouth before I can do anything about it. I have no business asking him to do something I can’t do in return. I can’t stay. I want to. More than ever before. But I can’t. Not anymore. Not now that I know.

The day passes in a blur, both of us too wrapped up in the aftermath of our own emotions to verbalize anything that isn’t completely necessary. By the time night falls, we’re still not saying much, and even when we make love, the usual screams of ecstasy are replaced by hushed whispers and quiet moans filled with the intensity of our feelings and the ache of knowing it’s really just a long, passionate kiss goodbye.

It takes forever before Riker finally falls asleep, and it’s close to five in the morning when I’m tiptoeing out of his apartment with a small bag and Harley at my side. The door clicks shut behind me, and I’m walking out on him. Doing exactly what I always knew I was capable of. And I don’t feel a single solitary thing outside of the cold hatred that fills me up entirely, nearly suffocating me as I begin the shameful trip back to Kirsten’s. Of all the despicable things I’ve done in my life, this one will top the list as long as I live.

Since Kirsten isn’t exactly expecting me back, the bed in the downstairs room is completely stripped. Not wanting to wake anyone at this unfortunate hour, I curl up in one of the recliners in front of the movie screen, and Harley does the same. I swear, even he’s disappointed in me. He just keeps staring at me, and his disapproval rips at my conscience, which is already in shreds without his help.

I have no expectation of sleep. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. Well, that’s crazy. Of course I’ll sleep again. But sleep would be a kindness right now. And I don’t deserve any. There shouldn’t be any relief for me. Not even the temporary kind.

So I sit here and force my eyes to focus on the clock, watching the minutes pass me by one at time. No TV, no music, and definitely no sleep. Just my own thoughts to occupy me. Many of them I’ve had before. They recycle well. Especially now. Because if I hadn’t done the things I did back then, I wouldn’t have had to do what I did tonight. It’s all connected. One massive chain reaction.

For a while, I allowed myself to believe that the past was really that—the past. Gone. Closed. Removed from my present. Uninvited to my future. I was wrong, but I’m used to that. I’m wrong a lot.

By seven fifty I hear people moving around upstairs. Part of me is desperate to be found. The other is hoping against all hope that no one will come down those stairs until after I’ve left for California.

Hope keeps me going until ten. Then the door opens and Kirsten’s heels come clicking down the steps.

“Holy shit!” Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. “You scared me! What the hell are you doing here?” She’s already pissed, and she hasn’t even heard the story. Wasn’t that long ago she would have assumed Riker was to blame. Then he landed in her good graces and she came to realize I was the solid fuck-up she could continue to count on.

“I’m moving back.” I don’t actually believe that she’ll accept such a simple answer, but I try never to overshoot my offers. I’d rather she reject it and I counter, and we continue the negotiations until she has enough of what she needs and I have some of my privacy left too .

“No, you’re not.” She marches straight for me. “Get your ass up out of that chair and go back. Right now.”

“You don’t understand, Kirsten. I can’t be with him. And staying...even the next two weeks...I can’t do it.” I stand up, but only because I feel like it will help me make a stronger argument.

“Why not? Why can’t you do it? Because he makes you too happy? Makes you feel too loved? Too safe? Too cared for? What is it? Tell me!” She’s gesturing at me furiously, and twice she makes a fist I think she might wish she could swing at me.

“Because I feel nothing! That’s why. He feels everything, and I feel nothing !” I shout. “I slid out of his arms and crept out of his home in the middle of the night while he was sound asleep, and I felt nothing . I was completely numb. Who does that, Kirsten? What kind of monster does the things I’m capable of?”

I want her to keep being angry at me. I want her to keep yelling. But her furious demeanor slips away leaving behind a mixture of pity and heartache.

“You’re so stupid,” she whispers. She shakes her head, but her hands hang listless at her side. “You don’t go numb from feeling nothing. You go numb from feeling too much.”

I press my lips together, as if that will somehow keep everything sealed inside me. “No. You’re wrong.”

“No, I’m not.” She takes a step closer. “You love him, Quinn. And what you’re feeling right now isn’t nothing. It’s heartbreak.”

“I can’t love him.” I hiss out the words, trying with all my might to keep the tears from falling.

She tilts her head and looks at me with a sad curiosity shining in her glossy eyes. “Why not? ”

“Because. If I love him...and he loves me...it will make it that much more unbearable when we can’t be together.” I’ve lost. My own body has defeated me and now threatens to destroy what’s left with the ache of a thousand heaving sobs desperate to burst from my chest.

“But why can’t you be together? Did he say something? Did you tell him about Jackson? What happened?” Her arms wrap around me, cradling me like I’m a baby.

“It’s not about my past this time. It’s . . . about . . . his,” I blubber through my tears.

“What are you talking about?” She almost sounds scared. I guess I would be, too, considering some of the conversations she’s had to have with me.

“His marriage. His...kids.” I lift out of her embrace to look at her. “They didn’t get taken from him because he lost it. He lost it because they were taken.”

The corners of Kirsten’s mouth curve tenderly in a sad state of understanding. “Oh.”

“I saw pictures,” I whisper, slowly gaining control of myself again. “Pictures of him with his kids. He was happy. Really happy.” I turn away because I can’t face her or anyone else anymore. “How can I stay with him, even two more weeks, when I know I can never make him that happy again?”

Kirsten combs the hair away from my cheek and kisses it. “How can you leave him, even for a day, when leaving means sparing him from learning he can’t have something he never asked for, and denying him the one thing he has? You.”

Then she walks away, her heels click-clacking with every step. It’s not until the door closes and I know she’s gone that I collapse on the floor.