And I’d seen it before when she was panicking in my truck.
Let me in, Jules, please. I love you.
I planted a kiss on her forehead and shut the door. My heart was a brick sitting on my lungs. I took a deep breath. Tried to prepare myself for whatever lay ahead.
We made the drive back to her apartment in silence. When we walked to her door, her feet tangled over the curb. She would’ve fallen without my support. I found her keys in her purse, opened the door, led her to the couch, and got her situated with her favorite pillow and a glass of water.
She lay there, staring at the ceiling with her arms crossed. Looked like she was one poke away from withdrawing forever.
Breaking the silence was a risk I’d have to take.
I used the gentlest tone I could muster. “Talk to me. Why are you hurting like this?”
“You—you don’t want to know, Pat. You’ll be”—she waved a hand in front of her face and tried to snap her fingers—“gone like that.”
“Try me.” I settled on the floor next to her.
Her eyes fluttered to mine for a brief moment. “I know why you’re here.”
“Why?”
“You—you want to know why I won’t—can’t—marry you.”
“I’m here because I love you, and I know you’re not okay.”
“You want to know? Why—I’m not okay?”
“Desperately.”
“Buckle up, Moore. I’ll tell you why.” She placed a hand on her stomach and stared straight through the ceiling. “Cameron is dead because of me.”
My stomach twisted.
“We had gotten into partying. We were broke as a joke—literally had no money. A friend of Cam’s invited us to his birthday party. There was going to be alcohol, and it was this whole big thing. Cam was really excited to go. A lot of the time, we’d call an Uber after parties. But we were trying to be smarter with our money, so Cam wanted me to be the DD. But, I didn’t want that responsibility.”
She scoffed at her own story then swallowed hard. “I wanted to have fun. We had a big argument about it before we went. It was so stupid. By the time we got there, I was so—so mad at him. I decided to do whatever the hell I wanted. I knew he’d change his mind about the Uber by the time the party was over. So I drank alot.Even more than he did. I was totally wasted.”
I hung onto her every word. I’d waited for her to tell this story for a long time. I wanted to prove to her that I was going to love and be there for her no matter what. No matter how ugly it ended.
“When—when it came time to leave, he agreed to get an Uber. I was so proud of myself, like I’d proved some point. We went to pay and the app kept declining our card. Most of our friends had already left the party. Cam was too embarrassed to tell the remaining couples we couldn’t afford a ride home. So—so he drove—”
Her voice broke. My stomach turned. My brain had already filled in the rest of the story.
“He was all between the lines. He veered into oncoming traffic, but it was the overcorrection that killed him.” Tears leaked out of her eyes, soaking her pillow. I swiped at my own.
“Our car wrapped around a tree. He died before I even had time to realize we’d been in a wreck.” She groaned, and her shoulders shook as sobs wracked her body. It was all I could do not to pull her into my arms, but I was afraid affection would cause her to stop talking. So I anchored my hands to the carpet floor. Said a prayer she’d keep going.
“I don’t know how I’m still alive. Every single day I wish I wasn’t.” She took a few shaky breaths, tried to regain her composure. “It gets a lot worse. About three weeks after he died, I found out I was pregnant. I’d never been more angry in my life. Having his baby inside me was”—she fumbled for words—“I hated that baby.” Her voice rose as her fists beat the couch, and her eyes never moved from the ceiling. “Ihatedmy own baby. IhatedCameron’s baby. I should’ve been glad to have a baby to remember him by.”
She swallowed, continuing, “But I didn’t want to remember. In order to remember Cameron, I had to remember whatIdid. How our last moments together were because of me.”
Her raw voice was breaking. I couldn’t resist. My fingers came up to rest on her shoulder, and I scooted closer.
“I lost the baby at sixteen weeks. I’m not sure if it was the grief, the stress, the anger, or the drinking. But I lost her.” Her chest was heaving. My hand ran down her arm to cover her fist. “I was home by myself when I miscarried. It was the scariest moment of my life. But when she was gone…I was relieved. I wasgladshe was gone.”
She shifted to look me directly in the eyes. The anguish of her soul poured out of her expression. Her wet cheeks and lips were tight and twisted as she attempted to hold up under the onslaught. “What mother is glad when her babydies, Pat?”
The idea of her losing a child all alone wrecked me. Who could survive a trauma like that? Warm tears trailed down my face. “Jules—”
