Page 40 of Forever My Soldier

I would have been a father.

Jenna and I made a life together, a baby, and she never thought to tell me? Why would she keep something like this from me?

I poured myself another glass of scotch and took a massive swig, not thinking twice about the burning sensation in my throat as the liquid went down.

My phone rang for the umpteenth time tonight and I turned the screen over to see who it was. Jenna. I hated ignoring her, but I wasn’t in the right head space to talk to her. So I shut it off and tossed it aside.

I didn’t feel like talking toanyonetonight.

I went to pour myself another glass, but there was none left. “Shit!” I yelled and shot up off the couch a little too fast, as I felt the affect it had on my head. That only pissed me off even more, though, not feeling completely myself thanks to all the scotch. But it numbed the damn pain and that was all I wanted right now—to numb the pain.

I raked my hands through my hair but really felt like putting my fist through the wall. I was never so full of anger in my life.

I deserved to know dammit. I deserved to know we were having a baby. And I certainly deserved to know when we lost our baby. Because that was what it was—ourbaby. She didn’t conceive that child on her own. We made that baby together and we were going to raise it together.

Who knew, though? Maybe she never planned on telling me about our child at all. What, was she always going to keep my child from me? I was spiraling, I knew—Jenna would never do that.

“Dammit!” I shouted in the empty house. I picked up the glass and threw it across the room, watching it slam into the wall and shatter into a million tiny pieces.

I widened my eyes at the sight of all the glass on the floor and lowered my head in my hands. “We were going to have a baby,” I said aloud, my words cracking with emotion. “I was going to be a father.”

I started to cry for the loss of a baby I never even knew I had.

Chapter Fifteen

Jenna

Why was itso impossibly hard to open a jar of pickles? I mean, seriously, these companies obviously didn’t want you to get in. I banged the sides of the lid on the counter and swore to myself. I wanted a sandwich with pickles, was that so hard to get?

Still nothing.

I took all the anger I’d been holding in out on the damn jar, slamming it down on the counter. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally I gave up and dropped my head in my hands. “What is wrong with me?” I yelled to myself, since no one else was around. Someone could’ve been around—Deacon—but instead I screwed everything up. Typical me, I thought, keep secrets and have them bite me squarely on the butt.

From the minute he got back, I should have told him the truth. Consequences be damned, I should have been upfront with him, laid all my cards on the table. Or better yet, not let him in again. Now it was too late.

Dammit.I should have known that my secret was bound to come out at some point. Secrets always had a way of coming out.

It had been one week since Deacon walked out on me at my mother’s DAR event. It probably sounded ridiculous, but I missed him. I always missed him, he was like part of me, always had been. It felt like we had only truly been happy for such a short period before it was all ripped away, just like I feared it would be. That was the trouble with secrets. But at the time, I told myself I was keeping it for him, to protect him from the pain that would no doubt come. Part of me was also so afraid he’d never forgive me, never let it go that I didn’t tell him when it first happened. Even if I told him a few months later that would have been better, but now the situation worsened. All because so much time passed, because I couldn’t do the sensible thing back then and say something to him. Sent a letter, done any damn thing.

I felt like an empty well with no more tears left to cry. The Ben & Jerry’s I had in my freezer was practically empty from all my tear-filled nights eating takeout and wallowing in my self-pity.

I wanted to scream, but instead I groaned. This was exactly why I didn’t want to get close to him again.

Never mind what this was doing to me, though. Deacon was probably furious, sad, wanting answers. I wanted to give him those answers now, I really did, but he wouldn’t hear me out that night. There was no chance he’d hear me out now. I had to respect him when he said he needed space. I only hoped like hell he would’ve called or come over so we could talk things out, but no such luck.Of course not, Jenna, because you screwed everything up. Like always.

I prided myself on being a strong, independent, put-together woman, or at least I liked to think I was, but I didn’t feel any of those things right now. I was wrecked, positively wrecked. I wanted Deacon, but if I couldn’t have him, I only hoped this pain would go away one day.

The problem was, how was I supposed to move on from him?

If after all these years, I still hadn’t gotten Deacon Ryder out of my system, I had little hope it’d ever happen. The man was my drug and his absence again felt like someone was ripping my heart out and tearing it to pieces. All. Over. Again.

Maybe I was a masochist for wanting him, knowing full well I really could never have him. I must have been because I drove by his parents’ house so many times on my way to or from work it wasn’t even funny. It was a bit out of my way, but I couldn’t help myself. Multiple times his motorcycle was in the driveway, so I knew he was home. However, I couldn’t bring myself to actually get out of the car, so I just kept driving like a creepy, obsessive stalker.Damn him for doing this to me. Damn me for doing this to myself.

I combed my hands through my hair and blew outwardly. I didn’t know if it’d help, but I decided I needed a bath to try and relax, listen to some music, and just forget about my heartache for a bit. I needed a distraction from all of this.

Was that so hard to ask for?

The obnoxious sound of the phone ringing made me turn back around, retreating from the bathroom to my bed where I left the damn thing.

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