Page 37 of Infinite
As her head turns to me, the red in her normally white eyes guts me. “I would’ve loved it.”
She nods quickly. “I know because you would’ve loved that our daughter knew how great you were. But what do I do with it? Do I burn it? Throw it away? Rip it to shreds?”
I take her chin in my thumb and forefinger, keeping her eyes on mine. “We hold on to it.”
“What for, huh? There’s no baby that will ever wear it. We don’t have a child, Quinn, and we never will.”
“Still, we keep it.”
She shakes her head, tears falling. “Why? So we can remember? I want to forget it all. Please, help me forget it.”
My chest aches so badly I worry it’ll break. I look at her, feeling so low, and I can’t stop her from going deeper into despair. My hand moves across her face, wiping the moisture from her tears, and I can’t hold back. My emotions are bubbling to the top, my breathing is shallow as my heart races.
“That’s not the way it works, sweetheart. It won’t ever be something we forget. All we do is remember everything,” I say as a tear falls down my cheek. “We hold on to how much we love that child and each other. We allow that child to live on through us. It’s not easy, but I don’t want to forget. We have to fight, Ashton.”
Her tears fall more freely, and another burns a trail down my cheek. It’s the pain of losing it all. Of having something in our grasp, the happiness we were so sure would come, only to have it end with devastation. I think of the child I dreamed of.
I imagine her red hair in pigtails and how she would’ve sounded as she called for her daddy. If it were a boy, he would’ve learned to fight and shoot. I picture us at the range as I teach him the basics.
More than anything, I hear their laughter. The sound of the child’s giggles as we loved it. It was all there, right on the tips of our fingers, but we lost it.
“I can’t hold on,” Ashton admits.
I let all of the grief that I’ve been smothering rise up. “We have to because I loved that baby, Ash. I loved it and wanted it and I refuse to believe this was all for nothing.”
“I’m trying.”
We both are. We’re trying and failing, but I can’t surrender. I need her to feel the same and I worry she doesn’t.
“I love you, and I don’t want to lose you, but I’m watching you slip through my fingers each day,” I confess, feeling weak as I try to breathe through the pain in my chest. “I can’t, sweetheart. I can’t lose you.”
Ashton moves closer to me, her arms wrapping around my neck as she allows me to cradle her close. I hold on to her, praying she won’t let go. “It hurts so much.” Ashton’s voice is muffled into my neck, but I can sense it all.
She’s in agony. I’m supposed to protect her, and I couldn’t. I should’ve been there, but she was alone because I failed to go to her. “I’m so sorry,” I say into her hair. “I’m so fucking sorry. I failed you, sweetheart. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there, and I . . .” I trail off because I’m falling apart.
We hold each other, the hurt surrounds us as our reality is brought forward. I won’t ease up as I pull her closer. I need her to breathe. All I hope is that she can feel the love I have for her and my fear of losing it. She’s in pain, and I understand this, but so am I.
For the first time, I allow this part of myself to accept the truth. I’m angry, sad, and want to go back in time. I’d change everything about that day.
I never would have left that bed like she asked. I would have held her close, made sure she was never scared or stressed. If things had happened anyway, it would’ve been me who comforted her.
Maybe that’s why we’re breaking.
I wasn’t there.
I didn’t keep the people in my life safe, just like I didn’t keep King in that Humvee safe. I survived, and for what? To let the people I love down.
I won’t let that happen again. I’ll protect her and heal this. I will never let her wonder if I’m going to be around.
“I’m here now, Ashton,” I promise her. “I’m here, and I won’t leave, don’t fucking leave me. I need you.”
I’m struggling to get ahold of myself. My head is buried in her hair, and I inhale the flowery scent. I cling to the familiarity of it and pray I never know what it’s like not to have this.
Ashton squirms, and I lean back, afraid I’m crushing her. I can’t look into her eyes and allow her to see the shame. I won’t let her shoulder a scrap of guilt over that. Then there’s a seed of hope that settles inside me.
She trusted me to hold her as she cried and gave me some of her pain.
Then another truth hits me, she was right about the weight of it. It’s heavier than I ever imagined, but it hasn’t crushed me.
