a losing battle (free at last Book 2) Page 12

  But it feels good to finally be back here. Here, where everything started. Here, where I rewrote my story. Here, where I became the hero of my own story.

  “Hey, sweetness,” Sheila says as she gives me a hug. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  “I’m happy to be here, too,” I say, the tears starting up.

  “Don’t cry, sweetie. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  I nod but don’t believe her.

  “What are you standing around for?” Jean calls. “My class is starting in five minutes, and you’re going to work it until sweat is pouring out of every single one of your pores.”

  “Jean, leave her alone…”

  I raise my hand and smile slightly, the first smile in what feels like years. “I’m coming.” I’m grateful Jean’s being his usual self with me. I really don’t want to be treated like a porcelain doll anymore. That’s not what I am. Maybe at the moment, I’m a little breakable, but not usually. I’m tough. Even if I forgot it for a while there.

  I hurry into the changing rooms, take my gym clothes out of my locker, and get changed, before I sprint into the training room.

  “You’re late!” Jean calls. “Fifty push-ups!”

  Great start. I get down on the floor and start them, my knees on the floor.

  “No way!” Jean interrupts. “Like we’re pussies here. No women’s push-ups. Real ones! And if you don’t get your ass moving, you can do a hundred!”

  If I had daggers, I would throw them at his chest. But as it is, I have to do the push-ups. Usually, I can do a hundred no sweat, but I’ve been so lazy these past few weeks. Not just after what happened—even before that I wasn’t around as much with all the other work I was trying to do. I had this other job, other commitments for a different charity.

  After twenty push-ups, my arms collapse. I simply can’t convince the Jell-O in them to harden.

  Instead of screaming like he usually does when I can’t do any more, Jean kneels down beside me, pats my head, and says, “Good girl.” He helps me up and looks around at the rest of the class. “What are you all looking at? Ten push-ups, all of you! Come on!” He winks at me.

  After that, we have to jog in place and do jumping jacks, then endless combinations of punching and kicking. At the end of the class, I feel like I’ve just emerged from a meat grinder, but I’ve also come to the realization that I have a lot more strength and power than I ever thought.

  After another shower, I go to reception to see Sheila, who brings me a young woman. The new girl looks intimidated, but there’s a fire inside her. The same fire Shane saw in me way back when.

  It feels like ages since I worked with a patient. The other job is more marketing, more talking with higher ups, asking for support, giving speeches. But now, back here, I ask myself: why did I ever think I wanted more than this? This, talking to the victims, to the women who have been through hell…this is what I want. Maybe I should rethink whether I’m doing what is right for me.

  I know I can achieve much more working there, but, on the other hand, that job isn’t giving me the same level of satisfaction I get from helping individual people. I like to see the results of my effort. I like to see that I can actually make a change. I miss that. I do.

  But there’s a reason they say, Don’t make important decisions when you’re emotional.

  Still, I’m going to keep this feeling in mind.

  A few hours later, Carey picks me up, and we drive to the mall. We watch a movie and share a popcorn and nachos before heading to Shane’s. And for the first time in weeks, I get more than two hours of sleep. Progress.

  19

  Mackenzie

  I throw up. Again. It’s every fucking day. Not just in the morning, either, but all day long! Why is it called morning sickness if it lasts all fucking day?

  After I threw up for three weeks straight, Carey made me do a pregnancy test. And—of course—I’m pregnant. By Hunter, who hates me so much he went to war to get out of talking to me. Great prospects for the future.

  I’ve called his cell about two thousand times, but he won’t pick up. Carey’s tried, too. We tried calling his camp, but every single time, whoever answers tells us he’s out on a mission or just busy. I’ve written him emails. So many his inbox must be full. But he must have blocked my address by now.

  I’ve sent imploring emails, angry ones, sad ones, loving ones. He hasn’t responded to a single one. Not one. It’s driving me crazy, and it’s not helping with the pregnancy, which is driving me just as crazy. I can’t believe he’s not here to go through this with me.

  My thoughts are always with him. I stalk him, as much as I can. But the guy’s not into social media. Who in the world doesn’t have a Facebook account? Instead, I read every shred of information I can get about Camp Leatherneck. I look at all the photos hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

  I know he’s alive. He named Carey as his next of kin, and Carey’s living with me, so I would know if anything happened to him. That means there’s only one possible reason he’s not getting in touch.

  He doesn’t want to get in touch.

  In the beginning, Carey and I went to the base in San Diego, and they told us he was on his way to Afghanistan. I broke down then. Just fell right onto the pavement, crying, and the only reason I didn’t smash into a thousand pieces right then and there was Carey. Carey was there to hold me together.

  I cried for days after that as I desperately tried to get in touch with him. I begged Carey and Shane to contact him. But nothing. There was nothing. He didn’t respond. For three months now, he’s been ignoring me. Cold as ice.

  I’m angry with him and angry with myself. Angry with him because he’s being such a bastard. And angry with myself because the moment he stuck out his hand wanting me to take it, without a second of hesitation, I failed him. How could I be so stupid? And how could he be so stupid as to quit his training to go to fucking Afghanistan?

  We really managed to make the absolute worst of this situation. I don’t know whether Hunter even wants kids—not to mention at twenty-one—but, in my dreams, he’s happy about my pregnancy. I imagine him putting a hand on my belly, pressing his lips against it, and talking to our baby. Saying funny things. Sweet things. Things that drive me up the wall.

  But my fantasy remains a fantasy. He’s not here. In fact, I don’t know if he’s ever going to talk to me again—if I’ll ever see him again. I can’t stand the thought of him dying over there with that idiotic thought in his head—the thought that I don’t love him. I can’t stand the idea of it. I want him to know I love him. I want him to know he’s going to be a daddy. That he’s going to have a little boy or a little girl. I want him to know that I want this. Our baby and him and me.

  The idea that he’s blocked me completely is the worst. That he doesn’t care what I’m writing to him. I’ve written to him a thousand times, telling him I’m pregnant, and I’ve left messages on his voicemail. He doesn’t know, right? He hasn’t listened to them or read my emails. But what if… What if he does know and it’s just that he doesn’t care? Does he care so little about me that he doesn’t even love this baby?

  These thoughts are killing me slowly. They penetrate every last corner of my mind, pushing aside any rational thoughts that may have been there before. My mind is entirely populated with madness. This must be what going crazy feels like…

  But before I can get to that point, I put my hands on my stomach and imagine I can feel my baby, and everything gets better. Much better. If your daddy doesn’t want you, I’ll want you twice as much, I think, wishing I could plant a kiss on my own belly.

  My pregnancy is driving me crazy, but it also keeps me from going completely off the rocker.

  After I realized I couldn’t live with Shane forever, I went to look for an apartment. When I found one and showed it to Carey, he rigorously rejected the idea of it. Instead, he suggested we get an apartment together, so we can split the rent. After all, he got access to his trust fund whe
n he turned eighteen. I don’t like the idea of living off Carter’s money, but Carey is right—we can’t live in an area where I can’t go out on my own at night. So we moved to South Park, a pretty nice area that’s not super expensive—though not cheap, either.

  I’m sitting on the couch one day, eating ice cream, when, suddenly, my phone blinks. My heart beats a mad tattoo. This can only be Hunter! With sweaty fingers, I push the green button.

  “Hello?”

  “Mac?”

  “Hunter!” I yell and immediately start crying. I’m sobbing so loudly I’m afraid our neighbors are going to be at my door any second.

  “Mac, don’t cry. Come on. Don’t cry,” he says, sounding helpless.

  But I can’t stop. I thought I would never hear from him again.

  “Hunter,” I sob again.

  “Don’t cry, Mac,” he repeats.

  I nod, trying to regain my composure, but I guess I can forget about that right now. I don’t think I’m ever going to stop crying.

  “Mac, I’m calling because I need to tell you something. Are you listening? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” I say quietly, trying to suppress the sobs.

  “I forgive you,” he says. “Life is too short for hatred and anger. I forgive you, do you hear me? I want you to be happy, to be with the man who makes you happy. I’m sorry it’s not me. I will never stop loving you, Mac, but I can no longer wait for you. Okay? I forgive you, but I need to move on. I’ve been on standby for four years because I kept hoping you would choose me. But…I can’t do this anymore, Mac. It’s killing me.”

  “Hunter,” I whisper, terrified because I realize his monologue is heading in the completely wrong direction.

  “You can’t help the way you feel, Mac. I understand. I really do. If you’re happy with Dad, then I’m going to accept that. But please respect that I can’t stand by and watch. Okay, Mac? I love you, but it breaks my heart knowing you don’t love me back. I can’t do this anymore, you understand?”

  “No, Hunter, no—”

  “I need to go, Mac. I’m sorry about how things turned out. Please be happy. Do it for me. I love you. But we’re not going to see each other again. Goodbye, love of my life.”

  Beep beep beep.

  “Hunter! Hunter! HUNTER! No! I love you! I choose you! You make me happy! Only you!” I scream into the phone like he can hear me thousands of miles away in Afghanistan.

  When I realize what I’m doing, I throw my phone against the wall and watch it smash into a thousand pieces, then I roll up on the couch to cry bitterly. I put my arms around myself, protectively, like they’re his. A torrential flood streams down my cheeks. It hurts so much. I thought the worst part was over, but this is worse. It’s taken any remaining shred of hope out of me.

  Carey finds me in this position hours later.

  “Mac, what’s going on?” Looking worried, he pulls me into his arms.

  “Hunter…”

  “What about him?” he asks, alarmed.

  “He called,” I whisper, hoarse from crying.

  “And?”

  “He never wants to see me again.” I start crying again. “Oh, God!”

  Carey wraps his arms around me. “Did you tell him you’re pregnant?”

  “He didn’t let me say a word!” I wail.

  Carey nods and kisses my head. “Once he knows you’re expecting his baby, he’ll change his mind.”

  I shake my head resolutely. “No, no! I don’t want him to take me back just because I’m pregnant!”

  “Mac, he’s the father. He has the right—”

  “No way!” I snap. “If he doesn’t want me, he doesn’t deserve this child, either!”

  “Mac—”

  “No!”

  Carey holds my face between his hands. “He is my brother, Mac. I can’t keep this from him.”

  I look at him firmly. “If you tell him, I’m leaving. I’m running away! And you will never find me. You won’t be able to trace me, not through my ID, not through my credit card. It’ll be like I never even existed.”

  “Mac—”

  “No, Carey! I’m serious.”

  “Don’t be like this!”

  “I’m not being like anything. I don’t want Hunter being with me because I’m pregnant. If he takes me back, okay, I’ll tell him, but not before he makes his decision.”

  “Mac—”

  “Carey, I’m pregnant. This much agitation is bad for the baby.”

  He sighs dramatically. He knows I just pulled out an irrefutable argument. “I think that’s a really horrible idea, Mac.”

  “But you’ll do what I say?”

  “I’m not going to lie to him. If he asks me, I’m going to tell him you’re pregnant. But I won’t bring it up.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” He gives me an annoyed look, but I put my arms around him.

  “Thank you, Carey.”

  “I really don’t like what you’re doing.”

  “That’s okay.”

  He kisses my head before getting up from the couch. “You’ve got three minutes to get ready to go out.”

  “Carey—”

  “Get ready, doll. End of discussion.”

  Grumbling to myself, I go to the bathroom to wash my face and put on some makeup. Then I put on a top that’s not soaked through with tears. “Where are we going?” I ask, returning to the living room.

  “That little restaurant you like in La Jolla.”

  “Okay,” I say despondently. Not even that can cheer me up.

  He drives us to the little neighborhood by the coast that I love so much. I’ve always imagined I’d be living here one day. And over the past few months, I’ve imagined living here with Hunter. I shake my head, trying to chase the sad thoughts away, but I can’t. Again and again, I tell myself that it’s not good for the baby if I’m so upset all the time. This baby will surely be born depressed, considering all the tears I’ve shed in its first weeks of life.

  When we’re seated on the beautiful terrace, I order a burger, extra well done, with cheddar instead of goat’s cheese, even though I love goat’s cheese.

  “You’re such a good mommy already,” Carey teases.

  I shrug. “Just making sure Hunter can’t blame me for causing toxoplasmosis to our baby.” And just like that, I start crying again. God. In public. At an upscale restaurant, of all places.

  “Mac, Hunter’s not going to blame you for anything. He’ll just be happy to be a dad.”

  “Remember what you promised me!” I wail through my tears.

  He snorts. “You are so crazy it’s not even funny anymore.”

  Even more tears stream from my eyes. “Don’t talk to me like that. I’m pregnant.”

  “You’re a crybaby.”

  “I know.”

  He grabs my hand. “Mac, you’re going to be a great mom, but at the moment, you’re a little annoying. Which is the reason the father should be there when his woman is pregnant. After all, he caused this condition. He should be getting all the craziness associated with it, not some poor uncle who has nothing to do with it.”

  “Very funny. Sounds like you don’t want me to stop crying.”

  He grins. “I do want you to stop crying. In fact, it’s my greatest wish at the present moment.”

  “I can’t stand you.”

  “Liar.” He takes a sip of his Coke. Poor kid. He’s only nineteen, and he’s dealing with all this. For some reason, the thought stuns me. Nineteen. He seems so much older! Oh my God! What have I done to him over the past few months? Not only have I been a wreck—forcing him to take care of me—we’re going to add a baby to the mix. And now I’m asking him to hide important information from his brother—his best friend. I’m such a cow! How could I do this to him? I want him to enjoy his life, be young and carefree, not let himself get dragged down by my problems.

  “Mac? What’s wrong?”

  “I-I’m s-so sorry, Carey!” I stutter, crying even harder
.

  “What? You’re scaring me.”

  Slowly, I pull myself together. I’m the grown up here. He needs to be able to rely on me, not the other way around! “I relieve you of our agreement, Carey,” I say quietly. “I know I’ve been…a little out of it. But you’re right. You can’t keep this from Hunter. I’m sorry I asked you to. Please forgive me.”

  “Mac…”

  “Can you forgive me?”

  “For anything, doll, you know that. I love you more than PB&J sandwiches.”

  I grin and wipe my tears away. “Thanks.”

  His charm works. At least a little. And now that I’ve shifted my focus to not ruining Carey’s life, I can push my pain aside and be there for him. For the first time, I remember that he’s lost a brother. After all, Hunter’s been shutting him out these past few months, too. All because of me. And yet, Carey’s not mad at me. No, he’s affectionate as ever, even when I’ve wrecked his family. He has no relationship with his brother, none with his mother, and a bad one with his father since he can’t forgive him for hitting me.

  I’m so goddamn selfish. No longer. From now on, I’ll take care of him like I should.

  Being pregnant is the best and the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. On the plus side, I always have an excuse for being too fat. That’s a great bonus—the greatest bonus! And somehow, I feel more in tune with nature. And I also like that a part of Hunter is here with me, and that the three of us—Hunter, Carey, and I—are truly related now.

  But I hate that the baby is always pressing down on my bladder, and I swear I have to pee every five minutes. I also can’t stand the idea that my majestic stride has been replaced with an undignified waddle. And I really hate that the pitch of my voice changes every hour or so. In a single day, I can be angry, happy, sad, lethargic, full of energy, laughing, and crying, in unparalleled proportions. Not to mention everything makes me cry.

  A YouTube video of little ducklings following their mom? I’m crying my eyes out. The fact that Serena Williams could not defend her title at the U.S. Open? Heart-wrenching. Waterfalls spring forth from my eyes—and I don’t even watch tennis. A thank you from Shane? I could turn the Sahara into fertile soil with my tears.