Fusion (Explosive #5) (41 page)

“I’m sorry.”

My fingers clutched hers. I brought her hand to my lips and kissed it before placing my other hand on her cheek, cupping it gently. “Sierra,” I whispered, using my thumbs to wipe her falling tears away. “I…”

I had nothing to say, no words or platitudes to give her that would take her pain away. Instead, I rose and sat on the edge of the bed. She scooted back, giving me enough room to lie down with her. I laid my head on the edge of her pillow and took her hand again. I brought our entwined fingers up between us, and I held on as tight as I could. Our eyes were locked, and behind hers, I saw something I’d never seen before, something I never wanted to see: unadulterated pain laced with guilt and confusion. Tears streamed out of them, but she didn’t say a word.

She didn’t have to. Those eyes. They said everything.

I have no idea how long we laid there, barely clinging to each other, but when the doctor came to release Sierra, I reluctantly got off the bed and greeted him. He gave her orders to take it easy for a day or two and told me what to look for in case of complications.

“Doctor?” Sierra called just as he was leaving, surprising me. It was the first thing she’d said since her apology. “Was it… Did I cause…” She trailed off.

My heart squeezed—I hated that she was blaming herself.

“Mrs. Banks, no, of course not. It’s no one’s fault here. There’s no one to blame, I assure you.” He paused, and the solemn expression on his face made it apparent this wasn’t easy for him, either. “It’s unfortunate, and there’s often no reason. These things just happen sometimes.”

“These things
just
happen?” Sierra exploded. “How can you say that? How did it
just happen
?” she asked, a cry bursting from her. “What did I do wrong?”

The doctor gave me a sympathetic look as her shoulders shook with hysterical sobs, to the point that she was struggling to breathe. I pulled her onto my lap and rubbed her back, whispering to her, telling her everything was going to be okay.

What could I do? I wasn’t sure at the time, but holding her seemed like a good place to start. Everything after that? I’d figure it out.

At least, I hoped so.

THE WEEKS FOLLOWING SIERRA’S
hospital visit were some of the hardest weeks of my life. She wanted to keep what had happened between us, and I respected her wishes.

But I was drowning, and there was no one to throw me a lifeline.

When we’d returned home, Sierra had retreated to the bedroom and sobbed into her pillow for hours. I’d changed my clothes and climbed into bed behind her, but for the first time, she didn’t sink into my embrace. The comfort she needed, I couldn’t offer, and it damn near killed me.

The next day, she sent me to pick Ava up from her parents on my own. I thought Ava would help, but when I got home, Sierra was a zombie version of herself. She didn’t smile. She didn’t frown. Her face was a blank canvas, and no matter what I tried, nothing would spring her to life. It continued the next day, and the next, and weeks later, there hadn’t been so much as a spark.

She was grieving, I knew that, but so was I. We’d both lost something that day. I felt like I was losing more though. It hit me hard, but it was only in the dead of night, when I lay awake, that I allowed myself to even think about what we’d lost. All of my waking moments were spent trying to care for my wife and daughter any way I could. But those long, lonely nights, when she wasn’t clinging to me? Those were the worst. She wouldn’t reach out to me, which made everything so much more difficult to handle.

I knew it was different for Sierra. As short as it had been, she’d carried our baby inside her body. For four weeks, she’d knowingly placed her hands on her belly, excited at the prospect of another little moon. Instead, an asteroid had torn through our solar system, completely wreaking havoc on the blissful existence we’d had.

I wanted to mourn, and eventually, I would, but the last thing I was going to do was mourn the loss of my unborn child
and
my wife. Because that’s how I felt. With each passing day Sierra retreated into her shell, she was also slipping away from me.

As her husband, it broke my fucking heart. I was supposed to be her rock. I wanted to be her strength. I wanted to be her solace. I wanted her to find her peace in me, to lean on me in her time of need. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and form the cocoon she needed so she could hide until she was ready to emerge back into the land of the living. But that’s the funny—and shitty—thing about life. You don’t always get what you want.

I would though.

I had to.

There was no other option.

Every day when I pulled into the driveway, I had no idea what to expect. I’d been working from home as much as I could, but I still had to do showings and paperwork needed to be signed. I tried to remain as present as possible at home for whenever Sierra decided she needed me though.

For a couple of weeks, I’d been able to run interference with her family. First, she was sick. Then Ava was. Then we had plans. But it was exhausting, and Lexi was getting suspicious. It was unlike Sierra to go days, let alone weeks, without seeing her family, and I was at the end of my ropes trying to hold them off. Part of me wanted to break down and tell someone, but the other part of me knew Sierra would be furious if I told anyone before she was ready.

Like I said.

I was drowning.

But what could I do? I didn’t have any answers, so I just kept on, letting the waves of grief crash down on me, hoping like hell I’d reach the eye of the storm soon.

The day my forecast changed? It’s one I will never forget.

When I left that morning, guilt consumed me. It was my first full day back at the office, and I hated that I was leaving Sierra home alone to wallow in her grief. Hated that Ava was missing her lively, loving mom. The same guilt crept back in as I pulled into the driveway, because I was terrified of what I was going to walk into. Terrified that Sierra couldn’t come back from this. That
we
wouldn’t come back from this. And I couldn’t take it anymore. Something had to change.

I was grieving, too. But Sierra couldn’t see that. As much as I needed her, she couldn’t see through her own haze of mourning, and it was killing me. That had been my unborn baby, too. My kid. And it hurt like fucking hell that I’d never meet him. Sierra was blaming herself for that, but why couldn’t she see that I didn’t blame her?

Didn’t she know that I wondered if I were to blame, too?

But none of that mattered anymore. Because, at the end of the day, we were still there. Ava was still there, and we owed it to her, and ourselves, to remember that.

I was Copper. She was Tod. And I’d never felt farther away from her than I did then.

I had no idea how to fix it. Or if I even could.

I’d never hated going home to Sierra, but that evening, when I parked in the garage, I had no idea what to expect. Dread filled me, and I hesitated when my hand twisted the knob on the door that led to the kitchen. Justified dread, because as soon as I stepped into the house, I heard her. Ava’s cries echoed down the hall.

I threw my keys on the kitchen counter as I followed the sound of her hiccupping sobs. My breath caught when I entered the living room and saw her standing in her playpen, her arms stretched out wide, reaching for her mommy. Her face was red, covered in tears, and Sierra had her back turned to her, her eyes fixated on the television. Her expression was glazed over, and I wasn’t sure she was even watching whatever show was on.

Rage welled up inside me. I wanted to smash that television in. I wanted to shake Sierra until she came out of her haze. I wanted to scream at her for what she was doing to us, and at the same time, I wanted to wrap her in my arms so we could cry together. Grieve together. Whatever we needed to do—as long as it was together.

But first things first. My daughter needed me.

I sighed and crossed the room to pick my baby girl up. She clutched me immediately, and I softly rubbed her back as I rocked her in my arms.

“Ava, baby, Daddy’s here,” I whispered. Then I started crooning “Blue Moon,” singing until she settled against my shoulder. She hiccupped once or twice then let out the sweetest sigh.

“Mommy’s sad,” she whispered, and my heart shattered.

All the while, Sierra paid us no attention. In that moment, I wanted to hate her.

But how can you hate the one you love more than your own life?

The answer?

You don’t.

You examine your heart. You identify with how badly she’s hurting. You don’t try to fix her. You don’t push. You simply be. And, moving forward, that’s what I did for Sierra.

I was.

I was there, and I always would be.

And, when she was ready, she’d reach her arms out and take hold of her family again.

At least, I hoped that’s what would happen.

Somewhere off in the distance, I could hear a child crying.

It sounded like a baby’s cry. I squeezed my eyes shut. Why was there this constant cruel reminder of what I’d lost?

It wasn’t until Jeremy was cursing and scooping Ava up that I realized the cries were hers.

Oh, God.

What kind of mother was I?