“Trent?”
I shifted my gaze back to Rayden’s somber features. I got the feeling his so-called calm I encountered from the call earlier that evening, had hit rock bottom. Something was on his mind. “What’s up.” Looking at me, he exhaled on a huff “Want to talk about it?” When he still made no move to speak, I gently pushed, “Is it about Zena?”
“There are some things that both mine and her family don’t know about us,” he blurted before his jaw snapped shut. I got the distinct impression he regretted his words.
“I’m not even going to remind you who you’re speaking to, Ray.” He knew what I meant. There might be a seven-year gap between us, it didn’t stop us from sharing the filthiest of shit.
He stepped away and raked a hand through his hair. “Fuck this shit,” he cursed then swung deadpan eyes back at me. “You know the worst thing about losing a loved one?” I frowned and he continued, “you get to fucking mourn the living crap out of yourself, but you know what’s worse?” He paused. “Finding out that loved one is alive.” I opened my mouth to agree having gone through the motions of seeing Krisha again, I understood. He shook his head, stalling my words. “But it’s got nothing on not knowing where the fuck she is. Jesus, Trent, I’m stuck in a perpetual fucking realm of the unknown. Questioning myself over and over about whether she did the disappearing act to get away from me...” He was ranting now and I let him. “Some shit went down the week before she died...disappeared and even though I convinced her it was okay, it looks like I fucked up.”
Turning away, I poured him another drink, stuck it in his hand, and pointed to a chair. “Sit. Let’s talk.”
Much later, after Rayden finally took my advice and hit the sack and I tucked the kids in, I retired to my study for a nightcap. Giving no thought to my actions, I powered up my laptop and hovered my mouse over the folder titled ‘Krisha.’ The last time I’d opened the folder happened the evening the kids turned three.
It had taken me almost two years after their birth to accept her death. Each time I opened the folder, memories surfaced, hard and fast, and with it, emotions I’d worked at hiding, especially around the kids. That evening I finally found the courage to say goodbye, begging her to understand that I wanted her to remain in my heart through memories and not photographs. Still, I hadn’t felt grief this strong since then. It occasionally simmered on the surface, accompanied by a dull ache behind my breastbone when anyone brought up Krisha.
Leaning my elbow on the armrest, I rolled a finger over my lip, uncertain I wanted to go down this road.But she’s my wife.A second later, I right-clicked. I smiled at the image of my adorable wife at her prom staring back at me. The first time I met her, it was that wary expression mixed with irritation that captivated me. To date, I still couldn’t describe the authenticity behind it or how it radiated the realism of her quiet personality, followed closely by her eyes and the way they lit up like that first radiance of dawn when I kissed her. She’d been an innocent, easily manipulated, flower child, I was the bad boy biker-type with tattoos and long hair. An unlikely couple but she’d come into my life at a time when I’d chosen recklessness as my guilty pleasure and changed that, giving me a new lease on life.
I smiled remembering how her father had run me off his property when I arrived on my motorcycle to take her to the dance. It took us a few dates before I convinced him that I cared for her and swore to love her until death parted us, something I never saw coming.
Sighing, I flicked through the images and sat back in my chair staring at the last photo I’d taken of her standing—a month before the complications began and she’d been ordered to stay off her feet until her due date. I reached out and traced a finger over the image. Memories of those last few hours before she gave birth tightened my stomach muscles. The thought of losing her had taken away my joy over welcoming my kids into the world. Thinking about it, an anvil of pain speared my heart, the weight so dense, it grew in my chest and radiated out to my limbs, burning into every pore. I swallowed to curb the tears.
“How’s it possible, Krish?” I tilted my head, studying the dark hair, lustrous grays and dimpled smile. I couldn’t have been mistaken. “Maybe I was just distraught with the uncanny resemblance.” Shaking my head slowly, I loosened my shoulder-length hair from its tie and raked a hand through it.“Go back, Trent, and confirm it was no mistake.”Rayden’s earlier words rang in my ears. “If it’s you, how’s that possible?” Even as I repeated the question, the rationality behind the thought sounded implausible.
“Daddy?”
I looked up and smiled. With her stuffed bunny tucked under her arm, Neha stood at the doorway. “Come here, Pixie.” When she reached me, I scooped her up onto my lap. “What’s wrong? Is Mr. Snuggles not sleeping again?” I took the bunny, kissed it, and nuzzled her neck with its snout.
She giggled. “He’s angry with you.” She stuck out her bottom lip in a serious pout.
I faked a hurt look. “Really? Why?”
“You promised him that Princess castle he saw on the tele last week, remember?”
I grinned, loving the personification of her stuffed toy. Turning the animal, I stared at it. “I’m sorry, Mr. Snuggles. I was going to buy you that castle, but you’ve been a bad—”
“Why?” Neha’s soft wail cut me off, those brilliant blues taking on an immediate shimmer.
Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, I replied in a stern voice, “because he’s up after bed-time.”
“But I’ve been a good girl.” She shoved off my lap and with her arms crossed over her chest, she went to stand on the other side of my table with her back to me.
“Neha, come here, baby.” I used my playful tone. Scrunching her lips in a fierce pout, she turned slightly and shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not a nice daddy.”
Laughing, I shot off my chair and lunged for her. Squealing, she scrambled around the table, trying to dodge me. I managed to grip her by the waist and tickled her sides making her giggle and squirm to get free. “Daddy!” she shrieked. “Let me go!” Laughter bubbled from her. When she finally sagged against me, I scooped her up in my arms and nuzzled her neck.
“Your Princess castle will be here tomorrow.” Grinning, I dropped into my chair once more.
“I love you, daddy,” she squealed, throwing her hands around my neck and kissing my cheek.
“I love you too, Pixie.”
“Why do you call me Pixie?”
I studied her earnest expression and smiled, realizing I hadn’t told her why. The nickname had come naturally the first time I used it—after her first step and she’d wobbled to me, her lips wide in a toothless smile. “I used to call your mommy Pixie.”
Excitement widened her smile. “Really?” I nodded. “Why?”
