Untimely You (16 page)

She’s the other woman and I’m a fucking dick.

“Dad.”

I pinch the top of my nose and look up to see him holding two steaming cups of coffee in Styrofoam cups. “Yeah, Dame.”

“You’re different.”

I sit up and stretch, my eyes flicking over to Chrissy in the hospital bed. “How so?”

He hands me the coffee and I sip on it.

“Well, for one, she makes your eyes light up,” he says thoughtfully.

I frown and glance at my wife again before turning back to him. “I do love her and—”

“Not Mom. Neesy.”

My stomach flops at the mention of her name, and I grit my teeth. “That’s a problem, Damien. How are you not upset? After what you saw this morning…”

He shrugs and smiles. “You’re happier. Happier than I’ve ever seen you. You’ve suffered a long time, Dad.”

A thick ball of emotion forms in my throat, and I look down into my coffee. “I don’t deserve it. Your mother…it’s my fault.”

His hand finds my shoulder and he squeezes it. My eyes flit to his and I can’t help but remember how much Chrissy’s eyes used to dance with life just like our son’s do now.

“I know that’s Mom over there but the mom I remember as a child is gone. I mourned the loss of her a long time ago. The woman who taught me how to tie my shoes and used to put peanut butter on my apple slices after school each day died in that car crash.”

A tear rolls out and I shake my head. “Don’t say that, Damien.” Another tear.

He exhales a deep breath. “You were my mom and dad after that. I remember how before the accident, we didn’t see you as much, but after, you spent all of your nights and weekends taking care of me. It was you who started putting the peanut butter on my apple slices after school. It was you who taught me how to ride my bike. It was you who carried me to bed each night when I fell asleep in your arms.”

I cough in an attempt to stem the tears from coming out but they don’t stay in. In fact, they begin to stream down. “I’m s-sorry, Dame.”

He smiles. “Dad, that’s what I’m saying. There’s nothing to be sorry for. You were and are everything a parent should be to a kid. I love you and I want you to be happy again. If Neesy makes you happy, I want to give you my blessing.”

Neesy.

Neesy.

Neesy.

I clench my eyes shut and reflect back to this morning when she stole a quick kiss and left me alone with Damien. I didn’t want her to leave, but it somehow felt wrong having her there. She made up a silly excuse, but I know it was just her way of giving me space.

Don’t forget me.

Her whispered words clutch my heart. How could I ever forget her?

“I don’t deserve happiness. Dame, there’s more you should know.”

Twelve years’ worth of guilt comes crashing down around me and I feel as though my head might explode.

“Before the accident, son,” I say with a ragged sigh, “your mother had an advanced directive in place. She didn’t want to be kept on life support. But I did it. Do you understand me? I went against her wishes because I was a selfish fucking prick!”

Damien, his personality so much like Chrissy despite being a spitting image of me, smiles. Fucking smiles. How can he even look at me?

“She was the love of your life. I can understand how you would have held out hope for her. But there is no hope anymore, Dad. Let’s give Mom her wish and let her move on. Because once she does, so can you. And you deserve it. More than anyone, you deserve to be happy. If it weren’t for your love and guidance, I certainly wouldn’t be.”

Silent tears drip from my cheeks into my coffee.

The heavy burden of my decision has been weighing heavily on my shoulders for over a decade. And now that it’s being lifted, I am confused and disoriented. Where do I even begin to go from here—a world without Chrissy?

“Let’s get her home and spend one more Christmas with her, Dad. We can do this together.”

I glance up at my boy. My sweet son that had a hand in healing me over the years as well. A certain memory from the past stretches over me like a warm blanket.

“Daddy, wake up. I made you breakfast.”

I groan the moment I come to, and the painful reminder of the accident crashes into me with the force of a hurricane. I can’t breathe or speak. It’s been two months and it still feels like it all happened yesterday.

Cracking an eye open, I see Damien in his Spiderman pajamas sitting on his knees on the bed. He hands me a warm Pop Tart, and I frown. Since when did my first grader learn to use the toaster? Had this been something Chrissy had taught him before the accident?

“Thank you, buddy.”

I sit up and my head throbs. Last night, after he’d gone to bed, I drank a fifth of whiskey in an attempt to forget the situation. Now, I’m paying dearly for it as my head pounds.

He pushes my hair, which is long overdue for a cut out from my eyes with his small hand and my heart tightens. “Daddy, I love you. Please don’t leave me like Mommy did.”

I refuse to let him see me cry so I take a quick bite of the Pop Tart in hopes of regaining my composure. After I swallow, I pin him with a somber stare. “Son, I will never leave you. Your mother hasn’t left you either. She’s in the other room.”

“That’s not Mommy. Mommy talks to me and laughs. Mommy puts Band-Aids on my knee if I fall and get boo-boos. Mommy reads me stories,” he says, the sadness in his voice nearly killing me. “But you do those things now, Daddy. You’re like Mommy and Daddy in one body.”

He wraps his tiny arm over my chest and hugs me. My free hand holds him to me. “When did you start growing up, buddy? Don’t grow up too fast. Your old man needs you.”

“I know,” he says in a matter of fact tone. “I’m going to feed you breakfast every day and tell you funny jokes so you aren’t sad.”

Tears well in my eyes but I don’t let them spill. “I think I’d like that, Dame.”

My memory fades and my chest aches.

“We can do this together. I’m going to take care of you, Dad.”

I nod and jerk him to me for a hug. “I’d like that, Dame.”

I
can’t believe this is happening.

I stare at my phone in disbelief.

New York.

It’s been almost a week since Chrissy was rushed to the hospital and we’d been caught by Damien. Through texts, I’ve learned that she’s back at the house, but that Adrian is taking the rest of the week off to spend Christmas with his son. His texts have been informative. I haven’t pushed him as far as our relationship goes. I have to take what I can get with him—even if it’s a tiny crumb.

My mind flits back to the conversation with Jenny Nord from Barnes & Noble. They want to meet with me, and she even laughed at my joke that they had to work with me since my company and hers shared the same last name. I’ve added three new names to represent at Noble House and one author in particular has piqued their interest. Since I’ve been home the past week, I’ve had plenty of time to market and advertise Noble House. My business cards came in and the emails are starting to pour in. There are so many authors willing and ready to work with my publishing house. I want to give them all a fair shot, so I’ve been attempting to spend time with each one and pour over their past publications, social media presence, and marketability.

I’ve spent each day with my phone glued to my ear as I connect with bookstores, blogs, magazines, and newspapers. It’s beginning to snowball, and I know as soon as the bank gives me that loan, I’ll be in business and can hire another employee to assist me.

So far, the three authors I’ve signed have agreed to the clause in the contract that states they won’t be guaranteed a place in bookstores, but as soon as that’s available, they’ll be the first chosen. Each is eager to work with me and is taking a chance on my company and me. My marketing and promotional ideas alone are what seems to be the deal sealer. I can’t wait to offer more to these highly creative individuals that deserve the success.

I’m searching flights to New York the week after Christmas when my phone pings.

Wacko: What are you doing tonight?

My heart flutters. I’ve wanted him to reach out to me but until now, he hasn’t seemed to want to see me. I know he’s been busy with getting Chrissy settled back at home, but it still hurt to wait without anything more than standard details about her progress.

Me: Was thinking about taking Eric up on his hot tub offer…

My joke is met with an immediate reply.

Wacko: Be here in twenty minutes or I’ll drag your sexy ass out of that hot tub and fuck you in front of him, so he knows you’re mine.

I burst into a fit of giggles. It’s good to know that teasing him about Eric will get a rise out of him.

Me: Well then. I guess I will decline his invitation.

Wacko: Damn straight. Now pack an overnight bag and get over here. I miss you, Crazy.

I’m already on my feet and packing my bag.

Me: You’re so romantic…

Wacko: I just know what I want.

“Damien, start getting the boxes out of the attic. Neesy and I will get the tree put up,” Adrian orders.

His son strides off to do as he was told and Adrian doesn’t waste any time backing me against the wall. I moan when his large hands grip my ass and haul me forward.

“God, you smell so fucking good,” he says with a growl before pressing wet kisses on my lips. “I’ve missed you so much.”

A shiver runs down my spine. “I missed you too.”

He pulls away and regards me. His features are marred with exhaustion and sadness. “Listen,” he says with a sigh and furrows his dark brows together in frustration. “I don’t know what I’m doing right now. So just…” He scrubs his face with his palms. “Just bear with me. I don’t necessarily know what to do or what’s even considered right in this situation. All I know is I want you here.”

Smiling, I pull some fuzz from the front of his sweater. “I want to be here too,” I assure him. “With all of you.”

He brushes a soft kiss on my lips. “Thank you for being…”

“Amazing? Wonderful? Hilarious? Cute? Clever?” I suggest with an arched brow.

His chest rumbles with a groan. “You. Thank you for being you.”

Over the next hour, the three of us dig out dusty ornaments from boxes—mostly handmade by Damien when he was a child—and decorate the tree in Chrissy’s room. Whenever I find an especially cute ornament, I take it over to her and tell her about it. She never responds of course, but I figure she still wants to hear about them if she is in there. Even nurse Denise joins in and helps us wrap tinsel around the foot of Chrissy’s bed.