Irreversible Damage (Irreparable) (21 page)

“But you’re still in love with Brady.”

We’ve been here before, Tug wanting more than I can ever give him. He’s hurt.

“I love you, too.” My lungs constrict as I hold off tears. I really do love them both, and probably always have. “It’s different, but I do.”

“I love you, too, sweet girl.”

He pulls me in for a hug. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze hard. I don’t want to let go. I’m afraid of how things will be if I do.

“I’ll take you any way I can get you, even if it’s only as my friend.”

I lean back and peer up at his sad face. “Promise me that won’t change. That we’ll always be friends.”

He smiles. “I promise.”

I return his smile and grab his hand to leave. “Good, because I’d rather streak naked through town than lose you.”

He laughs a genuine laugh. I feel better. We’re good.

Brady

I wake twitching, a sudden jolt bolting me upright. I’m covered in sweat. My head is pounding. I was dreaming. Tori was holding a blood-covered Mona in her arms, begging me to save her. I would do anything to save her. I would do anything to save our marriage. I’m too late. There is no marriage to save.

It’s been a grueling month without her. When I received the annulment papers, it nearly killed me. I shouldn’t have signed them. It was a mistake. I was angry and hurt.

My first instincts were to head into town and drink myself stupid before finding a woman to bury myself in. It’s what I’ve always done. Instead, I’ve thrown myself into my music to ease my pain.

 Between Andrew and the band, my days are packed full. I don’t have time to think about her. It’s the nights when I can’t escape her. Sometimes it feels like she’s still here. I can feel her next to me. I can hear her breathing. I can smell her sweet scent. But when I look over, she disappears.

I glance at the clock. It’s six. I’m surprised I slept so long. Lately, I seem to sleep in hour-long intervals. I’d better get up and see if Andrew’s awake. When I roll over, paper crinkles under my arm. I sit up, looking at a white envelope with my name on it.

The flap isn’t sealed. I’m filled with apprehension as I slide the letter out and unfold it. It’s thick.

Dear Brady,

I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You’re a good man. I feel terrible leaving, but I’m not ready for what you’re offering me. I can’t hack it. I want to be young and unattached. I always have. I can’t do that with Andrew.

I have some confessing to do. Starting with the night Andrew was conceived. We did use protection the first time. That’s right. It happened twice. After you passed out, I woke you up. You were out of it and I knew it was wrong, but I hoped I would get pregnant. My life was such a mess. You were heading to law school and from an affluent family. Plain and simple, I wanted to trap you. It almost worked. When I came to tell you I was pregnant, Sheila was home. I told her. She offered me a lot of money to disappear and never return. So I took it. I denied Andrew his father for what seemed like enough money to last a lifetime. It wasn’t. In three years, I’d spent every dime. Then I heard about Sheila killing herself, and I knew it was time for you to know your son, but not because I felt bad about what I did. No, it’s because I was broke. I learned what happened to you, and I thought if I showed up with Andrew, you would want to be with me, because you never knew either of your parents, and you wouldn’t want that for Andrew. I’m not in love with you, but I thought I wanted the financial stability for me and Andrew that you could provide. Now that you’ve offered it, I realize what I really want is to be free from motherhood. I’m too selfish to be a decent mother. I’m not a good person, Brady, but you are.

Andrew deserves you for a father.

He doesn’t deserve me for a mother.

So I’ve made a choice to leave and never look back. It’s the right thing to do. I love him enough to know that if I stick around, I will only screw him up, like my mother did to me. Attached to this letter you will find paperwork terminating my parental rights. I had them drawn up a while ago. All you have to do is sign them. He’s yours. He’s been through a lot, Brady. I’ve been a terrible mother. He’s slept in cars, been left home alone, and dropped off with whatever friend I could pawn him off on. It was wrong. I know that. I’m trying to do the right thing now.

I do love him, more than my own life, even. That’s why I have to do this. Take care of him and give him the family he should have.

You need to go to Minnesota, Brady. Don’t wait another minute to tell Tori how you feel about her, and don’t leave until she hears you.

She’s hurting, but she loves you.

The last of my confession concerns her and why she filed for the annulment. I heard her on the phone before she left, leaving a voicemail for her mom. She was going to stay. She wanted to work things out. It was the night I came to you in the studio. I knew she’d see us. I’ll never forgive myself for trying to come between the two of you. I know how much you love her.

She’s a good person.

She’ll be a wonderful mother to Andrew.

I’m sorry.

Annabelle

The letter drops to the bed. I can barely breathe. For a while, I just stare at the wall in front of me. I’m struggling to understand how Annabelle can be so self-involved and so immature, yet write something so completely from the heart. Because she’s devious. Everything is a manipulation. She’s whoever she needs to be to get what she wants.

I try to call Annabelle, but the number is already disconnected.

My pulse hammers away in my ears the more I think about it. I’m not sure who I’m more pissed at, Annabelle or Sheila. I can’t believe Sheila not only kept me from my real father but kept my child from me. Of course I can believe it. She was a sick, sadistic bitch.

The first thing I do is find Liv to ask if she can watch Andrew for a couple of days. Next, I make a long overdue phone call.

Chapter 22

Tori

It’s been a week, and I haven’t heard from Tug. I sent him a couple of texts, but he never replied. I was foolish to think we were good. He wants more than friendship. He wants my heart. It’s the one thing I can’t give him.

I can never erase the line we crossed. I’m not prepared to love him like he should be loved. He deserves complete devotion. I can’t offer him that when I’m still hopelessly in love with his brother.

I’ve lost them both.

Thankfully, I started school, and between that and work, I’m not left with much time to ponder how much Tug must hate me or what Brady is up to. I enjoy all my classes, except calculus. It’s the second time I’ve taken it, and it’s still impossibly difficult. Work is fun and easy so far. I like all of my co-workers. While I will always have a void in my heart, it’s not as large. Having my own life, my own identity, has helped me to heal. It’s taken a while, but I finally feel settled.

When my last class is out, I drive to my doctor’s office. I have an appointment with Dr. Engfelt for a therapy session. Her office is too white. It feels like I’m locked in a cloud. It should be inviting and comforting, but it’s not. It’s cold and sterile. I can never quite relax. After Dr. Engfelt and I talk, she tells me she thinks I’m making significant progress with my postpartum. I feel it. The burdens that were weighing me down are lighter. I no longer cry myself to sleep. She wants me to continue the medication for at least another month. I agree because I don’t ever want to feel that lost again. I spill my guts about what happened with Tug. Although her disapproval is evident on her face, she explains how someone battling PPD typically engages in self-sabotaging behavior.  I listen intently as she talks about how I should be careful. Using Tug to punish myself could be detrimental to our friendship. Where was this advice before I jumped in with both feet? Is that what I was doing? It didn’t seem that way at the time. I’m not sure if she’s right, but I nod politely until she’s finished.

I shoot through the front door after my appointment in a rush. The mountain of homework I have will definitely take longer than the two hours before I need to be at work.

“A package came for you. I put it on your bed,” Mom shouts from the kitchen.

“Thanks, Mom.” My sneakers pound into each stair on the way up to my room. I throw my backpack to the floor, plop down on my bed, and stare at the package next to me. It’s from Brady. I pick it up. It’s light as a feather. I give it a shake. Nothing. I stand and set it on my desk.

I can’t open it.

I grab my pack and sit down on my bed to start my homework. My gaze continually lands on the small box mocking me from across the room. Concentrating on schoolwork is futile. That damn box! I give up and head to the shower. I have work in an hour.

Once I’m at work, I’m able to forget about the box. It’s only Jolene and me working. She’s petite, smaller than me, even. I’m guessing she’s under five feet tall. What she lacks in height she makes up for with her mouth. She talks incessantly.  She’s eighteen and in her first year of college. She has a boyfriend named Brad, but she’s not sure he’s the one. Her favorite color is purple. She didn’t have to provide that tidbit, though. The purple stripe in her hair and matching Chucks gave her away. She has a pet guinea pig, but she really wants a dog. She still lives at home, which is why she doesn’t have a dog. Her endless chatter usually drives me batty, but tonight I welcome the distraction from the tiny box on my desk.

When my shift is finally over, Jolene asks if I’d like to go out with her and one of her girlfriends. They’re going dancing at a new club in Minneapolis. I decline, though the thought of continuing to avoid the box on my desk is tempting.

As I drive home, I decide I’m being completely ridiculous about the box. It isn’t like whatever’s in it is going to jump out and bite me.

It’s a little after ten when I get home. My parents have already retired for the night, so I head up to my room.

My eyes land on the box the second I turn on the light. I find a pair of scissors in the drawer of my desk. My hand shakes as I slice the tape. After a deep breath, I lift the flaps. I can’t help the smile that sweeps over my face or the small sob stuck in my throat and choking me.

It’s a tissue.

With trembling fingers, I pull the tissue from the box and unfold it. It’s been cut into the shape of a heart.

I want my heart back. B.

I clutch the tissue close to my chest, lean back against the wall, and slide down, resting my forearms on my knees. When I finally manage to lift my head, it hits the wall behind me. I want to go back to him. The problem is, I want to go back too far. Back to when my little girl had a heartbeat.

That can’t happen.

Mona is dead.

He has Andrew and Annabelle.

He doesn’t want me.

I shred the tissue into thousands of tiny pieces until it turns to dust in my hands. I stand and drop what remains of Brady’s plea in the trash. He has his music, Annabelle, and Andrew, and I have a life here. That’s the reality of our situation. I have to accept it.

I think back to a time when Brady told me he was
toxic
, remembering how all I wanted to do was take his pain away. I tried so hard. I can’t stand not being with him, but being with him after everything that’s happened is impossible. I love him. I always will.

He’s my everything.

If he never slept with Annabelle, I might be willing to try. Despite what Tug says, I know what I saw the night I left. I know what I heard. I will never forget it. The memory is permanently etched into my brain.  Brady took Annabelle to bed before I’d even left the house. It’s unforgivable. I can’t give him back his heart — it’s broken beyond repair.

Guilt nudges me. I slept with Tug. Is it so different? It is, damn it! For one thing, Brady and I were no longer husband and wife when I slept with Tug. I didn’t cheat on Brady. He didn’t watch it happen. It
is
different, damn it!

My guilt leaves, and rage quickly replaces it. This must be that angry stage of grief. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’m suddenly ripping my room apart. I empty the dresser of clothing, throwing shirts and pants around the room. I swipe an arm over my desk, throwing its contents to the floor. I hate him for sleeping with Annabelle. I hate her for showing up with Andrew before Brady and I could lick our wounds and grieve our loss. She ruined everything. I scream until my throat constricts. The veins in my neck feel like they’re going to burst.

My mother tears through the door. Her face scans the room before she envelops me in her arms. I thrash against her, screaming.

“Stop it!”

I freeze when I hear the fear in her voice. I deflate into her. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

She pulls me to the bed. Her arms fold around me, cradling me to her chest. We sit without a single word spoken for several minutes. When my breathing regulates, I look up at her and repeat my apology.

A small closed-lip smile touches her mouth. The worry creases around her eyes stay in place as she strokes my arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I sit up next to her. “He wants me back.”

“I see.” She sighs heavily. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, shaking my head.

“You know, Victoria” —I turn my head toward her firm tone— “Brady lost her, too.”

My gaze falls to the floor as regret stirs in my belly. “I know he did.”

“On top of it…” She grabs my face and turns my head so I have to look at her. “He lost you.”

Her hand falls to her lap. The disapproving look on her face stabs me through the heart. “Are you saying I should take him back?”

She smiles. “You’re far too old for me to tell you what to do. I’m just giving you something else to consider.”

“In other words, I’ve been selfish.” She didn’t have to say it. I haven’t considered his feelings once since we lost Mona, as if I was the only one suffering.