His eyes met mine, and for a moment something seemed to flash across them. Was it anger? Hate? Fear? I couldn't pinpoint it. Whatever it was disappeared quickly, and his gaze dropped down to his hands, his fingers becoming his primary focus. It didn't seem like talking came easily to him. I wondered if he always took care of Sheri and if anyone had ever taken care of him. Did he even have friends to go to? I guessed no, since he couldn't get anyone to watch hiskids.
“Are you saying that from your own experience?” He still couldn’t look at me, but now it was my turn to look down at myhands.
“I was in a serious relationship once…” I stopped and took a deep breath. This wasn’t a story I ever freely told. “He, uh…” Fucking hell, I wanted to vomit instead of speak. “Let’s just say, he had some lifestyle issues aswell.”
“Drugs?” hewhispered.
I leaned my head back against the wall, not wanting to answer. My story had nothing to do with Dylan's, but when you're trying to hold on to hope, you want to hear anything that will give it to you. I shrugged my shoulders, "Drugs, crime, gambling, women; you name it, he drowned himself withit."
"So you left him, and your life is better now, right?" His words were clipped and dry, dripping with anger. "That's what all the guys at work think I should do, just leaveand—”
I looked straight into his eyes. “Actually, I didn’t.” I pulled my knees in and wrapped my arms around them. “I stayed. I stayed through everything. Overdoses. Suicide attempts. Arrests. Loan sharks.” I smiled so I wouldn’t cry and squeezed my hands into fists to give myself the strength to speak. “I stayed until I was eight months pregnant with his child, and that’s when heleftme.”
“What?” His lips pressed into a tightline.
Tears stung the corner of my eyes, and I stopped to clear my throat and give another shitty smile. “And my prize for being the most understanding, forgiving girlfriend was a stillborn child and the complete removal of my uterus, which ruptured when I ran after him, and he pushed meaway."
I must have told this story thousands of times in therapy and support groups, to friends or strangers. But somehow, talking about it with Dylan was different. It felt too raw, too personal—it feltintimate.
He reached out and gently touched a hand to my arm. “Callie. I’m sosorry.”
The complete irony of the situation felt too thick between us, him trying to comfort me when I was the one who was trying to be the one helping him through a difficult time. And it was nice just to hear anI’m so sorry, instead of the venomous advice I’d get from most people. Most people would hear my story, then proceed to tell me how they thought my ex deserved to die or what they would do to him if they ever methim.
I locked eyes with Dylan—waiting for him to say something—waiting to hear the disgust and hatred for a man he never knew. Expecting the worst, I stayed quiet, tension hardening my body, ready to listen to whatever harsh words he’d throw atme.
His fingers gently pulled at my arms, dragging me across the floor toward him. Then his arms wrapped around me in a hug, a huge, warm, consolingembrace.
“What happened then? You…you still loved him, didn’t you?” he asked, leaning his chin over the top of myhead.
I loved him. I loved him through all his faults. Then I losteverything.
Dylan and I were tangled together, a strange thing, yet it felt like the most natural place in the world tobe.
“When he heard about me losing the baby, he either had one hell of a party or he purposely overdosed, I still don’t know which. It didn’t matter, though. In the end, I lost themboth.”
His arms tightened around me, and for a while we stayed like that, sitting on the cold floor, holding on to one another, making sure there was enough room there for our tragedies and the ghosts that haunted usstill.
“Well, I guess we’re both a little broken,” he said after awhile.
I pulled away then and attempted a small smile. “Everybody’s broken. We all just have different ways of putting our pieces backtogether.”
We sat close for a moment, staring at one another. I felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him then. Just put my lips to his and fuck away the pain. But for the first time in years, I didn't give in to my impulses. There were kids here—a wife—a family to save. They had a chance I was never given. I climbed to my feet and withdrew. He loved his wife, no matter what she did, like I lovedCraig.
I pressed myself against the wall and cleared my throat. “I can come here after work and help out until Sheri gets better. You guys can make it work.”For better or worse, right?“Right now, Sheri is safe somewhere with her family. Your only job the next two days is finding a full-time babysitter before you have to go to work onMonday.”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right.” But he didn’t look like he believed me atall.
