“It’s not up for discussion, Raegan. We’re going,” I say in the most stern, yet concerned voice I can muster. This is not something I could have anticipated and I’ll feel like shit if there’s any permanent damage because of this. “Now let’s get you dressed.”
It’s nearly two in the morning and sleep is the last thing on my mind. Raegan is snuggled up next to me, lightly snoring.
We spent almost four hours in the emergency room. They gave her strong pain meds and then it took forever to get the x-rays she needed.
There were two clear fractures. The scaphoid and the distal humerus. Scaphoid. Distal Humerus. Three words I’ve never once said in my life, but have now repeated at least a hundred times in my head since I heard them.
Her left arm is resting outside of the fluffy comforter. The cast that encases her delicate wrist and forearm taunts me… trying to shame me for causing her so much pain.
Spoiler alert: It’s working.
It’s not Raegan’s fault I’m blaming myself. She told me numerous times since it happened that she doesn’t blame me.
But I don’t hear her voice chastising me in my head.
It’s my father’s.
I stare at the ceiling, wide awake as I recall all the times my father screamed and yelled in my face. Usually there was alcohol involved, but the message was always the same.
“It’s your fucking fault your mother’s not here.” That was his favorite thing to remind me for as long as I can recall. I suppose when your mother dies giving birth to you and you’re an only child, there really isn’t anyone else to blame.
As I got older, and started becoming interested in girls, the verbal abuse evolved into some variation of, “You killed your mother just by existing. How are you going to keep your little girlfriend safe? You fucking can’t, you little shit.”
Every interaction I had with girls through high school, his voice lingered in the back of my mind. It wasn’t until I left the house and got away from him that I was able to separate his reality from mine.
Until now.
His voice is back, raging in full force and I can’t fucking shake it.
A thin layer of sweat forms against what feels like every square inch of my body. I toss the covers and swing my legs off the side of the mattress. Looking over my shoulder at my wife, resting so peacefully, I wince as I hear my father’s voice again in my head. “You think you can keep her safe after this? You think she’ll even trust you after you literally broke her bones? She’ll never be safe with you.”
“Fuck you,” I mumble into the air–to no one–or maybe I’m talking to myself now.
What if he’s right?
I hunch over with my elbows on my knees and my hands encasing my head. Tears begin to fall as the realization of what I have to do hits me.
Hopefully–one day–she’ll forgive me.
3
Hayes
Present Day
“Jesus, Hayes. You really just left her there?” Arabella asks, her face pulled into a mixture of uncertainty and probably a little bit of judgment. “No note or anything?”
“Bella,” Ryker scolds, shooting her a glare that clearly hits the intended mark when she softens, but I don’t miss the slight roll of her eyes as she retreats.
“Sorry, Daddy,” she whispers so low I almost don’t catch it. She rarely calls him that in public, but it’s not like I don’t already know about their dynamic. I’ve surely given my best friend enough shit about it. My big, tough, dominant best friend… reduced to a mushy daddy for his girl. Whatever makes him happy, though. It’s nice to see it.
Ryker’s head turns to face me again. “Wait. I seem to recall you texting me when you were taking that class to tell me you got married.” He pauses. The wheels are turning. “I honestly thought you were fucking with me.”
“Who jokes about getting fucking married, Ryker?” I ask, shaking my head and dragging my hands down my face.
“Come on. You know damn well you’ve joked about far worse.”
He’snotwrong.
