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  Sandy’s biggest regret has always been my saving grace, even if it’s all fucked-up. She encouraged Heidi to trust my judgment that night. She should not have. It’s her guilt that kept me out of prison. She could have insisted they check my blood alcohol level right after the accident, but she didn’t. Shock, grief, and guilt kept her from saying anything to anyone. In the meantime, the alcohol cleared my system while paramedics focused on my son and my wife.

  The accident left me unscathed on the outside but dead on the inside.

  She filed for custody after we buried Heidi. It was too late to prove that my alcoholism caused the accident, but it wasn’t too late to save her grandson from any more grief.

  I didn’t even fight her; I let her take him because I was fucked-up in every way possible.

  “Harrison says everything out of context. You know that.”

  “So you didn’t have sex with this Ellen person?”

  “My sex life is none of your business.”

  “Maybe not, but my grandson talking like he lives in a brothel is certainly my business.”

  “A brothel? Really?” I try not to chuckle.

  “Did you tell him you had sex with this woman or did he see you having sex with her?”

  I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Her name is Ellen, not ‘this woman,’ and I’m not going to discuss this with you. He’s my son. My responsibility. I will raise him as I see fit.”

  “Are you drinking again?”

  “Jesus, Sandy …”

  “When’s the last time you were at a meeting?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “My daughter is dead. Whether you like it or not, I’m her voice. So you can answer my question or I can get an attorney.”

  “Then get an attorney.”

  “You killed her.” Her voice breaks.

  I flinch. I will never dispute that fact.

  “You can’t just replace her in his life.”

  “I’m not replacing her.”

  “Six years. Just wait until he’s an adult. Can you do that? Can you show a little gratitude and do this for him? Can you just let him be your priority? Can you forego your physical needs and just be a dad?”

  Her words are my words. They’ve been my thoughts of self-deprecation since Heidi died. Ellen changed that, but that doesn’t matter now either. She’s no longer in the picture.

  “Yes.”

  Sandy blows out a slow breath. “Thank you.” She turns and walks away.

  It’s hard to resent Ellen leaving me when, had she stayed, it might have caused some real problems between Sandy and me. Still, I miss her every damn day.

  “Ellen, look at my rats!”

  Sandy gives me a hard look as Harrison video chats with Ellen, like I have any control over it. I give her a shrug and head to the kitchen to avoid all things Sandy and all things Ellen.

  “You did good, Son.” My dad pats me on the shoulder.

  “How so?” I load the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.

  “The rats.”

  “Don’t be too proud too quickly. After today, he’s going to find out that they will be kept in his room and banned from every other room in the house or they’re gone.”

  “Fair enough.” Dad leans in and whispers, “They’re fucking creepy.”

  I chuckle. “Told you.”

  “Everything good with Sandy?”

  “Yup.”

  “Don’t let her guilt you out of having a life beyond Harrison.”

  “I do that just fine on my own, Dad.”

  “Did you say hi to Ellen? She looks stunning today.”

  She looks stunning every day. “Nope.”

  “You should pack up the kid and go get the girl.”

  I grunt a laugh. “Great idea. Pack up the kid who made me promise him we would not move. And go get the girl after I just promised Sandy I’d live a celibate life for the next six years. I want to be you when I grow up, Dad. Don’t think. Just do. You live in a ‘fantastic’ world.”

  “Thinking is what people do when they’re not following their dreams.”

  “I’ll stop thinking and start dreaming in six years.”

  “She’ll be married with two kids by then.” My dad fills the sink with hot soapy water. My mom has taught him well.

  “Lucky for me, she’s not the last female on the face of the planet.”

  “Your mom and I can talk with Sandy.”

  I shut the dishwasher door. “Dad, let it go. The truth is, her leaving was for the best. As much as I thought for a brief moment that she could fit into our lives, the truth is it would have been extremely difficult, and I fear it would have ended in disaster.”

  “Wanna say Merry Christmas to Ellen?”

  Dad and I turn to the iPad in Harrison’s hands. Shit. She heard us. I can tell from the look on her face.

  “Merry Christmas, Ellen.” My dad smiles at her. He has no idea how well that thing picks up sound, but I do.

  She forces a smile that shoves a knife straight through my heart. “Thanks, Gene.”

  “Merry Christmas,” I say.

  She barely nods at me before diverting her gaze to something else in the room around her. Technology sucks. And I’m an asshole.

  Harrison runs off again.

  I do the dishes with my dad, pick up the wrapping paper disaster in the family room, and escape to my office for some privacy while Harrison plays with his rats and other Christmas presents. My parents and Sandy take mid-morning naps.

  After debating what good can come of calling Ellen to apologize—and deciding that nothing good can come of it—I call her anyway because all I hear in my head is her voice.

  “I’m going to love you so hard, time won’t matter … distance won’t matter … all you’ll feel when you take each breath … is my love.”

  “Hey,” she answers.

  “Hi. I … uh … wanted to say sorry for what you heard.”

  “What makes you think I heard anything?”

  “Ellen …”

  “It’s doesn’t matter. I know those words weren’t meant for me. I get it.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  She laughs. It sounds painful. “You meant it.”

  “I just meant … I didn’t mean anything unkind. I was just explaining …”

  “Life,” she whispers. “I know.”

  “I don’t regret anything.”

  “Well…” she chuckles “…we’ll see about that.”

  “I don’t.” It kills me that she doesn’t believe me.

  “With two words, I’m going to make you regret ever meeting me.”

  “Elle, I won’t ever regret—”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  What?

  Leaning back in my chair, I run a hand through my hair, fisting it hard to make sure I’m awake and not dreaming or hallucinating. She didn’t say that. No. This can’t be … “We used—”

  “Not every time.”

  Closing my eyes, I rub my temples. We didn’t use condoms every time. There were a few times at my house—in my bed—that I simply woke up and needed to be inside of her. She blinked her tired eyes open and kissed me. Not once did she question the lack of a condom—she just moved her body slowly with mine.

  “Not every time …” I whisper.

  “I wasn’t going to share this today, but you called me, and then you tried to convince me that you regret nothing and … well … it was too much to bear. Don’t let it ruin your day. I mean, I’ve been vomiting for the past forty-eight hours, but really, you just enjoy the holidays with your family and we’ll discuss it later.”

  I flinch. My brain feels sluggish. It’s hard to really process this. Ellen is pregnant—with my child.

  “I’ll fix this.”

  “Fix this? Really?”

  I shake my head. “I mean, I’ll figure this out.”

  “Ha! Wow … okay then. Here’s the issue with that mentality, I’m not broken nor am I a puzzle you need to f
igure out. I’m pregnant. Period.”

  I sit up, resting my elbows on the desk. “You’ll move back here.”

  “I’m not leaving my dad. You move here.”

  “I can’t. I have my practice and there’s no way Harrison will move. Move your dad here.”

  “So, because we were irresponsible, I have to pack up my dad in his impaired condition and move him away from his house, his parents, his doctors and therapists, his life? Sure, that sounds fair … oh … no … not again …” her voice mumbles.

  “Ellen?”

  I hear gagging and coughing and then a toilet flush.

  “Shit,” I whisper.

  Water runs, probably from the sink. “I need to go lie down.”

  “Ellen …”

  “Merry Christmas, Flint.” She ends the call.

  *

  “THOUGHT YOU WERE dead.” Cage, my “only” friend, answers his phone.

  “Might as well be.”

  “Drinking again?”

  “No. But it’s tempting. Merry Christmas.”

  Cage chuckles. “Thanks. You too.”

  “Can we do all the catching up, how’s-the-family stuff later? I’m in a predicament.”

  “This is new, you coming to me. It must be really bad.”

  “A sperm got away from me.”

  He laughs. “Oh shit. A baby?”

  “Yes, I knocked a woman up, but I’m not banging on my chest about it.”

  He laughs.

  “It’s not funny, man.”

  “No. I’m sure it’s not to you. I was just going to say welcome to my world.”

  “I’d take your world over mine any day of the week and twice on Sunday.”

  “Harrison is a great kid.”

  I nod. “He is. You should hear him play the guitar. If he weren’t so socially awkward, he’d sell out stadiums.”

  “Yeah, well … playing to big crowds is overrated.”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  “So the baby mama, was this a one-night stand.”

  “No.”

  “So what’s the problem? Put a ring on her finger and sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  “We’re not a geographic match. Circumstances have her on the East Coast where she can’t leave, and I have my whole life here. Harrison made me promise we wouldn’t move.”

  “You’re coddling him. My dad never coddled me. I advise against it.”

  “I’m not coddling him. He just doesn’t adapt like other kids.”

  “Does he like this woman?”

  “Ellen. Her name is Ellen.”

  “Aw … you do like her. You give a shit that she has a name.”

  “Shut up … fucker. And yes, he likes her. But as his friend. Not as mine. She plays guitar with him. But I’m quite certain he will not like her popping out a baby that’s his half-brother or sister.”

  “Again, you’re coddling him. I get it. He’s autistic. He reacts and adapts differently, but you have to let him deal with life. You can’t protect him from reality. And the realty is … you and Ellen are having a baby.”

  “Thanks for the advice. I think. Give hugs to your big-ass Monaghan clan.”

  “I’ll do that. And Flint?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Congratulations.”

  I shake my head and disconnect the call.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Ellen

  AFTER VOMITING SIX times in one day, I start to lose my mind. I can’t do this. Pregnancy hormones are the devil. I’m six weeks pregnant at most. I can’t do this. My throat is raw. Every muscle in my stomach aches like I’ve been doing nonstop crunches. And I’m tired. So. Very. Tired.

  “We’ll stay a bit longer until you get to feeling better, honey,” my grandma says, handing me a mug of ginger tea.

  “Thank you.” I curl up on the sofa with my tea.

  My dad studies me, but he doesn’t try to say anything or pick up his whiteboard. However, he has that look. It’s the same look he used to give me when I did something wrong as a child. He rarely had to say anything; he knew if he gave me “the look” long enough, I’d fall apart in a desperate confession of all my wrong doings.

  “Do you want some tea too, Dad?”

  He shakes his head.

  I wish he’d stop studying me.

  “Tomorrow night is New Year’s Eve. You should go out. Be young. Have fun.” My grandma smiles.

  I’m green with oily hair. There might be some vomit in my hair as well. There’s over eight new inches of snow on the ground, and I haven’t lived here for years. But … bless her heart for thinking I might have some grand New Year’s Eve plans.

  “I think I’ll save young and fun for next year. But thanks, Grandma.” I sip my tea, praying it stays down.

  “Your grandpa saw Ron yesterday. Alex is home for the holidays. They might stop by later today.”

  My dad makes a noise like he’s trying to speak, but it sends him into a coughing fit instead. After he gets past it, he scribbles on his whiteboard.

  He owes you an apology.

  Apology or not, I don’t want to see him. Not like this.

  “I don’t know if today is a good day to visit. I’m not feeling well. I’d hate for anyone else to get sick.”

  “I’m sure they won’t stay long, dear. If you’re not feeling well, just stay in your room. But Alex was your husband. I can’t imagine him not wanting to see you. Surely he’s seen you ill before.”

  Ill? Yes. Pregnant? No.

  As a new wave of nausea hits, I set down my tea and sprint to the upstairs bathroom. A little bit of tea mixed with bile is all that comes up. Lovely. After a quick rinse of my mouth, I make my way to the bedroom and collapse onto the bed. I grab my phone and type out a text of pure raging hormones.

  ME: I hate you and this demon you put inside of me.

  A few seconds later, my phone chimes.

  FLINT: How are you?

  ME: Fuck you.

  FLINT: What do you need?

  I laugh. What do I need? Really?

  ME: To not be pregnant and sick.

  FLINT: Do you mean that?

  Tears sting my eyes. Yes and no. This wasn’t how I imagined my first pregnancy. I shouldn’t have texted him. Feeling shitty makes it hard to think straight. I bring up my favorite classical playlist and close my eyes, praying for peace, praying for sleep.

  *

  “HEY …”

  I turn my head. It’s a good dream. I’m not sick.

  “Hey … Elle …” The voice is distant, yet familiar. I haven’t heard it in my dreams for a while.

  The exhaustion hasn’t left my body, but I pry open my eyes anyway.

  Blink. Blink. Blink.

  “Heard you weren’t feeling well.”

  I scoot myself to a sitting position. “Alex …” My eyes go straight to his robotic-looking hands attached to his forearms and three remaining fingers.

  “Pretty cool, huh?” He holds them up and wiggles the robotic fingers.

  Pretty cool. Look at my new fingers. Let me mesmerize you with them so you don’t think about all the terrible things I said to you and all the awful names I called you.

  “Alex …” I don’t even know what to say.

  He looks at me like he did before he lost his hands. It’s as if those two years of hell never happened. The grudge I hold is tangible. It’s a living, breathing part of who I am. And I know this anger only survives because I still love him. The memories I have of the boy I fell in love with fifteen years ago have not faded one bit. I remember the love. It was real. We were real.

  The love.

  The exciting life.

  The heartbreak.

  The tragedy.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, resting his hand on my leg. It’s the first time he’s touched me since he lost his hands.

  He did the unforgivable and said the unthinkable. He broke me from the inside out and left me to pick up the pieces on my own. I’m not sure I eve
n got all the pieces. Since that day, I’ve felt emotionally wrecked with uncleaned wounds and safety pins holding together my tattered heart.

  Can all of that be forgiven with a simple “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m going to be sick …” I leap off the bed and dash to the toilet.

  There’s nothing more than a trickle of bile to burn my throat, just dry heaves racking my stomach. Even my ribs hurt. I flinch at the feel of something in my hair. It’s Alex’s hands pulling my hair out of my face. It feels like I’ve waited a lifetime for his touch. The day he lost part of his hands, I knew I’d love him no matter what. I knew I’d welcome the new and forever cherish what was left of the old. But he never gave me that chance.

  “Stomach flu or food poisoning?” he asks, sitting on the floor behind me, pulling me onto his lap. It’s so tender. This is not the man who called me a needy cunt and threw my belongings in the yard. This is not the man who told me we died when he lost his everything. Funny … I thought I was his everything. Perspective is a sneaky little bitch.

  I sigh, leaning into the familiar curves of his body. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Alex chuckles a little. He used to ask me that before feeding me some exciting tidbit of information about his next big adventure or our next big adventure. We both knew I couldn’t keep a secret.

  “Yeah, I think I’m the only one of us who can keep a secret.”

  This isn’t revenge, or vindictiveness, or even Karma. It’s just my inability to lie to this man. Even when I should have lied to protect myself, I didn’t—I couldn’t. I still can’t.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  His hold on me stiffens. “Jesus …”

  “Yep.” I pull away, stand, and rinse out my mouth.

  Alex lumbers to his feet behind me. I look at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’s still handsome, maybe even more so than when I last saw him. That blond surfer hair has always suited him. Tan skin. Deep sapphire eyes. He’s beautiful.

  “The father?”

  I shrug. “It’s complicated.”

  “That’s code for he’s not in the picture.”

  Brushing past him to the stairs, I shake my head. “No. It’s not code for anything. It’s just complicated.”