A chilling sensation creeps up my spine at the loss of his touch. The bed shifts, and I dare to look over. His back is to me. Head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He’s so silent I can’t stand it. I need him to say something. Anything.
“James.” I crawl toward him and go to wrap my arms around his shoulders, craving his touch.
He flings me back so quickly I nearly go sailing off the other side of the bed. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he growls.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
I hug my knees to my chest and watch him get dressed. “I know you’re angry.”
“Angry?” he snaps and glares at me with such malice my heart stops beating. The hate shining back at me breaks me into a million tiny pieces. “I could kill you. Snap your neck like a fucking twig, but that’d be too easy. Want you to suffer with the knowledge of what you did. Of what you took away from me. You stupid girl.”
“I know it’s my fault. If I could take it all back I would. I begged God. I promised I’d give you up. That I’d give anything to bring her back. I prayed for him to take me instead. I love you. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you.”
“Hurt me? You’ve fucking carved out my heart. Stay the fuck away from me. Don’t come to the clubhouse. I don’t want to hear your voice or see your face. You’re dead to me.”
I rush to him. “I love you. You said you loved me. We’re having a baby, James. You can’t just shut me out.”
“Only reason you’re still breathing is because Rochelle loved you. Maybe your father had it right when he said you destroy everything you touch.”
At his words I fall to my knees. He could have said anything to me, and I could’ve taken it but not that. I’ve lost him just as I knew I would but the pain. Nothing could have prepared me for what I’m feeling tonight watching him walk away without so much as a glance back.
Dear God, if you’re listening hear me now. Take me. Kill me because I can’t be in a world where he doesn’t want me. Where he doesn’t love me. I can’t do this without him.
Chapter Twenty-three
Months later
I pop the tab on another beer and chug. I glance up when I see Ruthie standing in the way of the Tv. “The fuck do you want?”
“Heard from one of the other cheer moms that Alexa is in labor.”
“And?”
“I thought I’d go check on her. Victoria is such a cold woman. Alexa must need someone there for support.”
“You aren’t to go near there. Stay away from her. You hear me. You go to that hospital and I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
“Jesus. You’re a nasty drunk. It’s not her fault, James. Rochelle loved her like a sister and what my father did to her...I.”
I sling my can at the wall and Ruthie flinches. “Fuck that bastard. I hope he’s rotting in hell. You’re not Alexa’s mother. If it weren’t for her our daughter would still be here.”
“You can’t know that. You gotta stop this obsession with Rochelle’s death. I know you blame yourself and punishing Alexa is easier, but it won’t bring our daughter back. I miss her too. I lost her too and so did Alexa. You act like you’re the only person allowed to grieve for her, but you’re not alone. Stop pushing everyone away. We all lost her.”
“Fuck you, cunt.”
“Wow. Okay. Fine. You don’t want me to go, I won’t, but you need to stop this. You have a club to run. People depend on you. I depend on you. I need you to act like a man. Sober up and take a damn shower. You stink.” She picks the beer can up and slings it back at me. “I love you, but you’re a real miserable bastard. I don’t know why I keep trying to save this marriage. You’re determined to be wretched and alone. If you aren’t careful, you’ll get your wish. I’m dropping this gift basket off at Alexa’s apartment. I hope when I get back that you’ve got off your ass.”
“You’re not doing a fucking thing for Alexa.” I stumble toward the garage.
“What are you doing?” Ruthie huffs behind me as I glance around for something to put a stop to this bullshit.
Bingo. I grab a sledgehammer and start fucking slinging. Beating the fuck out of Ruthie’s Corvette.
“James! What the serious fucking fuck are you doing?” She screeches behind me, but I block her out.
Filled with rage, images of Rochelle and Alexa dance before my eyes. The windshield cracks splintering into a web pattern like the fragments of what’s left of my heart.
Losing control, I slip off the deep end consumed by violence and regret. I exert all my energy as Ruthie watches from afar unable to stop me.
Visions of Alexa cloud my thoughts. Her gorgeous green eyes. The way she looks at me as though I’m her damn hero. How sweet she tastes. Heaven being inside her and hell living without the temptation of her.
“James. Stop this. Stop it right now,” Ruthie continues to yell.
Bitch is right about one thing. Rochelle is gone and nothing will ever bring her back. I drop to my knees surrounded by the wreckage I’ve created. A wife I hate. Another child coming into this fucked up world. I should be there. No matter how bad shit is between Alexa
