Page 108 of House of Desire

Her gray eyes search mine.

“Is everything okay?”

“Hopefully.”

“Good luck.” She steps out of my way and I get out of the stadium as fast as I can.

The pending sunrise lightens the sky as my feet pound the pavement. When I woke up from a fitful sleep at five a.m., I quickly gave up on sleeping. Grabbing the first clothes my hands touched, I got changed, laced my shoes, and started a slow trot around my neighborhood.

Once I was properly warmed up, I started pushing my body faster and faster.

That was almost an hour ago and yet my brain can’t think of anything but the fact that in a little more than twelve hours, I get to see Anastasia.

Sweat drips down into my eyes, stinging, but I keep going until my legs almost give out on me. Hands on my head, I look around and don’t recognize anything around me. My neighborhood is like a labyrinth of loops and streets that double back on themselves. I pull out my phone and see Brittany texted, asking if I was okay. Apparently, she heard me leave the house.

As my lungs work to bring oxygen into my body after my excruciating pace, I know it’s time.

Pulling up a map, I plot out my route back to my house, and start walking, giving myself time to get my thoughts in order.

Sun rays break the horizon as I open my front door, shutting it behind me with no thought to the noise. I know Brittany didn’t go back to sleep. She’s been asking me, almost constantly, if everything was okay, picking up on my energy since my dinner at Charlie’s.

“Brittany?” I call out when I don’t see her in the kitchen, her favorite place in any home.

“I’m here,” she says, sitting up from the couch. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot, if you want some.”

Moving to the cabinet, I grab out a mug and pour myself some, long since abandoning my petty refusal to drink any if she made it.

“It’s time to talk,” I say, making my way to the couch, sitting opposite her. She fiddles with the blanket covering her legs. “And then you need to go.”

“I know.”

“I need to know why you left, Brittany. The whole answer. Please.” If we had been having this conversation a year ago, I would have yelled or begged her for an answer, but I know now that won’t change anything. Any of the hurt. Only getting through this will allow healing to begin.

She looks up at me and I see the woman I loved so long ago.

“Because I couldn’t breathe. I would walk past the nursery every day and I would think about him, my sweet Wyatt, and how he was gone and I couldn’t breathe. And there was a day I was trying to avoid walking past the room, and while watching TV I saw a commercial for the University of Illinois and I thought about my acceptance letter. It’s the first time I ever thought ‘I’m not trapped here. I don’t have to stay.’”

“Is that when you decided to leave?”

“Not consciously, but yes.”

“Why the middle of the night?” I ask, taking a drink of my coffee, giving my hands something to do.

“Because, despite everything, I loved you. I loved you more than I hated what we had become and I knew if you were awake, I could never walk away from you. I partially thought I wouldn’t even make it out of the driveway.”

“I called you,” I say, but there’s no accusation in my voice. I’m simply stating a fact.

“I know. Parker, I regret everything. I wish I had gotten help, worked through my grief. I did later, but it was too late. I am so sorry for hurting you. For leaving like that. For everything I said.”

“I’m sorry, too. I was a crappy husband even before everything happened. I didn’t know how to be an adult, let alone a partner, and so many things fell on you. And then everything with Wyatt happened. You weren’t the only one who needed help. I didn’t handle any of it well. I shouldn’t have shut down.” I try to blink back the tears, but I can’t hold them in any longer and tears well in her eyes in answer. “The only way I could live from one second to the next was to turn everything off.”

“Do you ever think of him?” she whispers.

“Always. Every day. I wonder if he’d have your smile and my eyes. How his laugh would sound. I’ve thought about all the parent-teacher conferences. The art projects he would have brought home. His first Christmas.” I sniff, wiping at the tears that have started falling. “How we would have enrolled him in soccer or dance. Whatever he wanted. We would have gone to the park and I would have taught him how to ride a bike. I love him with every beat of my heart. Every time I close my eyes I see his face, every perfect feature.”

She bursts into sobs as tears continue leaking down my face. I put my coffee mug on the table, and make my way to her, pulling her into my arms and we cry. Together, we mourn our son and all the heartbeats he never got to have. We mourn the end of us and as my tears subside, my soul feels lighter for the first time.

We pull back from each other, mopping up our faces.

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