Some Sort of Love (Happy Crazy Love #3) (21 page)

On the ten-minute drive to Natalie and Miles’s adorable house, complete with white picket fence, a nursery upstairs, and a sign hanging on the front door that said Love Lives Here, I kept telling myself I’d done the right thing. I’d fought back tears the whole time, but as soon as I saw that fucking sign, I lost it. Natalie opened the door to find me wailing on her porch, and she opened her arms.

I went into them, crying into her shoulder like I was the baby sister needing comfort for once. Miles appeared and shut the door behind me, then rubbed my back. “How about a drink, Jilly?”

“OK.” I sniffed, picking up my head. “Got any whiskey?”

“I sure do. On the rocks?”

“Perfect.” I sighed, my shoulders releasing some tension. “I need a tissue.”

We filed into the kitchen, which smelled delicious, like when my mom used to make homemade chicken potpie. It was a smell that reminded me of home, of family, of happiness. Would I ever have those things? I blew my nose, willing myself not to start crying over fucking chicken potpie.

Miles brought me the whiskey a moment later, and Natalie rubbed my shoulder. “You look terrible. Your eyes are all puffy.”

“I know. I feel terrible.”

“Should we go into the family room?”

I nodded. “OK. Skylar’s on her way.”

“Good. Miles, will you check the pies and see if the crust is golden brown yet? If they are, please take them out and turn the oven off.”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks, babe.”

I will not be jealous
, I vowed.
I will not, I will not, I will not. This is just a bad night.

In the family room, I dropped onto the couch and Natalie sat beside me. I couldn’t resist putting a hand over her belly. It was hard and round, about the size of half a basketball. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. He’s moving around in there a lot today.”

“Yeah?” That cheered me up a little, and I left my hand there. Took a sip of whiskey. A few seconds later, I felt it—that tiny little thump of life within her. I grinned. “Awww. There he is. Hi, baby.”

She smiled too. “He says hi back.”

“Any favorite names yet?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I have favorites and Miles has favorites, but if you’re asking do we agree on any names, the answer is no.”

I laughed, sniffling again. “What do you like?”

“I like James, Alexander, or Colin.”

“What about Miles?”

“Miles likes Gotham, Optimus, and Huck.”

“Huck?” I nearly choked on my whiskey.

“Oh, yes,” she said with a straight face. “Short for Huckleberry.”

“Miles wants to name his son Huckleberry Haas?” I shook my head, laughing. “That’s hilarious. And kind of awful.”

“Are you kidding? It’s totally awful, and somehow he thinks Gotham Haas is a nice compromise.”

“Oh, God.” I lifted the glass to my lips as I heard Miles greeting Skylar in the kitchen.
This is what I need—a little whiskey, a little laughter, a little sisterhood.

“Hey.” Skylar rushed in and dropped down on the other side of me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “How are you?”

“I’m OK. But…” I shook my head, fighting off tears. “I think I broke it off with Levi.”

“You think?” Skylar’s brows went up.

“Yeah. I decided to do the right thing and be honest. Ask him why he’s holding back. Tell him I want and deserve more.”

“Did he disagree?”

“No,” I said, my eyes filling. “He didn’t. He basically just said, ‘I knew this would happen’ and stormed out.”

“What?” Natalie squawked. “What an asshole!”

“I know, but…he said he loved me too. He said he’s never loved any woman the way he loves me.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Skylar crossed her arms. “I don’t get it.”

“He also said he doesn’t know how to be what I want. He said he knows I deserve more.”

“Forcing you to make the decision to end it, so he could say ‘See? I told you you’d leave.’” Skylar harrumphed, crossing her arms. “Passive aggressive bullshit. Sebastian tried to pull this same thing. He was scared as all get out to open himself up to being hurt, so he built up this wall of stubborn resistance and refused to let me in until I had to be the one to say ‘I love you but I can’t do this.’”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, throwing one hand up. “That’s it exactly. I asked him flat out if he was forcing me to walk out now so he could avoid the pain of being abandoned later on, since he’s
so sure
that’s what would happen.”

“God, that’s so sad,” Natalie said quietly. “I mean, I don’t think he’s right, but it’s really sad to feel like you don’t deserve love, to be so scared that you have to push it away.”

“It is sad.” Skylar’s voice was soft, and she laid a hand on my shoulder. “But I had to say it, and so did you, Jilly. You did the right thing.”

The lump in my throat grew. “I’m not so sure I did. I…” Swallowing hard, I confessed what really had me terrified. “I hit him where it hurt the most. All this time, I felt like this guilt, this self-doubt, stemmed from his love for his child, but I think there’s a deeper source. I think when his son’s mother abandoned them, he blamed himself. Like if he’d been a better man, she might have stayed.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “He fucking told me as much, almost in those exact words, the night he first told me he loved me. But I didn’t realize—because he wasn’t in love with her—how bad the wound was. And then I made it bleed tonight.”

“What? How?” Natalie asked.

“I accused him of being afraid of a future with me because he’s scared I’ll leave them like she did.”

“Oooh.” Skylar winced. “That had to be tough.”

“It was. I think that’s what made him walk out.”

Natalie put her hand on my knee. “But not because it wasn’t true, Jilly. Because it
was
.”

“I agree,” Skylar said. “You had to use the hard words. If Levi is stubborn, like Sebastian was, they have to hear it that way. They have to confront their fears. They have to live with them.”

“Can I say something?” At the sound of Miles’s voice from the entrance to the family room, we all turned.

“Sure,” I said. “Come on in.”

He shuffled in and plopped down on the floor at Natalie’s feet, setting his drink on an end table. “I never had the things in my life that Sebastian or Levi had to deal with. No OCD or anxiety, no child.” He glanced at Natalie’s bump. “But I did have a hell of a hard time seeing how I could change my life to be with Natalie. I thought there was no way I could do it. I thought I wasn’t capable of doing it. Even though I loved her and she knew it, I still needed to hear the hard words from her telling me it’s not enough to just love someone. You have to work for it. You have to let it ruin you a little.”

I sniffed. “We’ve definitely done that tonight. At least I did.”

“Then give him some time. Seriously,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I think he needs to let this sink in. He’ll realize his life is better with you in it, and he’ll do anything it takes to get you back.”

“Geez, Miles,” Skylar said wryly. “When did you get to be such an expert?”

“Since your sister schooled me.” He shook his head. “I’d never had a woman turn me down or make me wait before, but that time between telling Natalie I loved her and her accepting my proposal was the longest, like, five minutes of my life.”

Natalie threw a pillow at him.

“Thanks,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I do think I did the right thing. I’m just scared I’m walking away from the love of my life.”

“Oh, honey.” Skylar put her arms around me and tipped her head onto my shoulder. “Sometimes we have to.”

I stormed out of Jillian’s house, mad as fuck and scared as hell. From the heavy sound of my feet on the pavement, you’d have thought I had conviction about what I was doing, but I didn’t. God, why did I have to be so fucking stubborn? Why couldn’t I just admit to her that yes, I was scared, of course I was. Why couldn’t I just tell her she was right, tell her I wanted her in my life and Scotty’s life, that I wanted to build a life together? Why did I have to be such a fucking defensive asshole just because she got me?

Shouldn’t I be happy about that? Shouldn’t I feel good that there was another human being on this earth who knew the way my mind worked and still loved me? Who tolerated my dirty jokes and caveman habits and insatiable sexual appetite? Who knew the man I was, knew I wasn’t the man I wished I could be, and told me I was enough?

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I got in the car and hit the steering wheel with the heel of my hand hard. Twice. Then three more times. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Should I go back up there? Apologize? Give her the chance to love us both, like she said? My eyes watered and I shut them tight. She probably could love us both. She had that much love in her. I reached for the door handle.

My phone buzzed on the seat beside me, and I looked at it in surprise. I hadn’t even realized it wasn’t on me, I’d been so anxious to see her. When I picked it up, I saw right away that I’d missed a call and three texts.

Scotty doesn’t seem right to me. Gave Motrin but can you call?

He spiked a fever. 103. Please call or come home.

Motrin not working. Fever up to 104.5.

Dropping the phone in my lap, I started the engine and tore out of the parking lot, tires screeching. As soon as I got on the road home, I picked it up, hit voicemail and heard my mother’s voice.

“Levi, Scotty had a seizure. I called 911 and the ambulance is taking him to the hospital. Don’t panic, he seems OK but sleepy. Please call when you get this or come to the hospital. I wish you had given me Jillian’s number.”

My heart was pounding, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
My son, my son, my son.
I hit the gas hard, blew a stop sign, and sped like a madman all the way to the hospital. I parked in the emergency room parking lot and ran at full speed into the lobby.
If anything happens to him, it’s your fault!
screamed a voice inside me. Your
head isn’t in the right place, hasn’t been in the right place for weeks!

At the desk, I showed my identification and was given Scotty’s location. A nurse hurried me through two huge automatic swinging doors and showed me into a long rectangular room where patient beds were sectioned off by curtains. Scotty was in the last one on the left, lying on his back, sleeping soundly and looking pale, but breathing. “Scotty,” I croaked, my throat raw and tight.

“He’s doing fine,” said my mother, who sat in a chair at his side.

I didn’t believe her. I wanted to throw off the blankets and examine every inch of him. Wake him up and see for myself that he could focus and talk and smile and laugh and play dinosaurs and listen to music and tell me hundreds of useless baseball statistics. I’d sit and listen to him talk about them for hours, in fact. I wanted to hear him ask for his yellow spoon, his iPad, his dinosaur pajamas. I wanted him to rub my ear, make me smile, hold my hand.

I wanted him to forgive me. Tell me he was OK. Tell me we were OK.

My mother was saying my name, but I didn’t respond to her. I lowered myself onto my son’s bed and stretched out on my side, putting an arm over his middle—careful not to hold him too tight—and let the tears fall silently, sorry for everything.

• • •

They kept Scotty for observation for a few hours and then let us go. He seemed himself, just tired and even less talkative than usual, not hungry or thirsty, and not asking for anything. When we got home, I helped him into his pajamas and put him to bed, lying with him until he fell asleep, playing with his ear.
You scared me, Scotty. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you, and I’m so sorry this happened and so angry at myself for not being here. I never should have left you while you were sick. I was selfish to think of myself, to put my feelings ahead of yours. You’ve been doing so well lately, much better in school, and it makes me happy to see you content. You’re the most important thing in the world to me, and I need to concentrate on you, not me. You’re what matters, and I love you so much.

I willfully pushed Jillian out of my mind, even though I’d been dying to call her ever since I got the word from the doctors that Scotty had had a febrile seizure. From what I’d learned at the hospital, this kind of seizure was not harmful in the long-term, and he’d mostly need only rest and the usual care. But was that the truth? Were they not telling me everything? Jillian would be honest—she was good at that. And she was good at reassuring me.

But I didn’t call her.

Instead I went downstairs, where my mother was putting together some dinner for us, although I wasn’t hungry.

“Is he asleep?” she asked, glancing over at me.

“Yes.” I sighed and sank into a chair at the island, rubbing a hand over my beard. Jillian, I wish you were here. As soon as I had the thought I was mad at myself.

“And how are you?”

“Miserable.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t here,” I snapped, taking my anger out on her. “Don’t you want to scold me about that?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because my son was sick and I left him here to go see my girlfriend. You even said on your voicemail that I should have given you Jillian’s number. And I should have. I also should have taken my phone into her house with me. Actually, I shouldn’t have even been away from the house! But I fucked up. Again. And my child had a seizure.”

She stopped what she was doing and put a hand over mine. “Levi, darling, you’re being too hard on yourself. Scotty would have had the seizure whether you’d been here or not. He had a high fever. And even if you’d given me Jillian’s number, I don’t think you’d have gotten to the hospital any quicker. You were there only about twenty minutes after we were.”

I gritted my teeth. “I still should have been here. A good father would have been here.”

“For heaven’s sake, Levi,” she said, going back to her stir-fry on the stove. “Being a good father doesn’t mean never doing anything for yourself. What are you teaching Scotty that way? That being a good parent means you sacrifice your own happiness for someone else’s? That you can’t have a personal life? That you can’t be a whole person with your own needs?”

“Well, doesn’t it?” I asked, feeling like I was right back where I started with her, and everything I did was wrong.

“No,” she said firmly. “Being a good father does not come at the expense of being a happy, well-adjusted person.”

“Well, I don’t know how to do that,” I said bitterly. “I never have.”

“Nonsense,” said my mother. She didn’t even look at me. “You’re just stubborn as a mule and don’t want to let anyone help you. You said you have a girlfriend?” she went on before I could argue back. “Where is she? Who is she? Not only do I not have her number, I don’t know a damn thing about her. Does she even exist?” She looked at me over one shoulder, arching a brow. “Are you gay?”

“For fuck’s sake, Mom.”

She threw up one hand and shook the pan with the other. “What? There’s nothing wrong with it. Betsy Hillerman’s son is gay, you know. The attractive one. The dermatologist. I could introduce you.”

“Mom. I’m not gay.”

“Well, you can’t blame me for wondering. You’re thirty-two, Levi. And you haven’t had a companion to speak of since Scotty was born. That’s not healthy. Either you’re gay, you’re not human, or you’re lonely and suffering and telling yourself you deserve it.” She looked back at me again. “And I think we both know which one it is.”

I rubbed my eyes, exhausted all of a sudden. “I give up. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, I don’t either,” she said, turning off the heat under the pan. “But if you want the gay dermatologist’s number, let me know. He’s
very
attractive.”

I sighed. Heavily. “You mentioned that.”

• • •

Later that night, after a lot of arguing with myself, I called her. I half-expected it to go to voicemail—I wouldn’t want to talk to me if I were her—but she answered.
That’s because she’s not a fucking six-foot-four chicken like you are.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi.”

“I’m really sorry about today.”

Nothing.

“I feel bad about the way I left.”

Nothing.

Can you blame her? You’re not adding anything new to the conversation. You’re not offering her anything. Tell her what’s going on with you. And be honest, asshole.

“I…it’s been a rough night. Scotty had a seizure while I was at your place.”

She gasped. “Oh my God! Is he OK?”

“He’s fine.”

“A febrile seizure?”

“Yes.”

“Did he go to the ER?”

“Yes. My mom couldn’t reach me because my phone was in the car, and she didn’t have your number—which I feel horribly guilty about—but she called an ambulance. When I got to my car, I heard the message.”

“I’m so sorry, Levi. That can be scary.”

“It was. But he’s home sleeping now.”

“Good.”

Silence.

I opened my mouth.

Silence.

I closed my eyes.

Silence.

I clenched my fist.

“Well, I should go,” she said woodenly. “I’m very sorry to hear about the seizure, and thank you for calling.”

“Jillian, wait.” I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I felt so horrible when I left you tonight, and then this thing with Scotty happened and it made me question everything even more. I just…I need some time to think, OK? I already miss you, and I know I’ve probably fucked things up too much already, but would it be too much to ask for some time? I need to make sure my head is in the right place.”

“I don’t know, Levi. I want to say yes, but I don’t really get the sense that you’re ready to put your fears aside. It’s easier to put
me
aside. And I feel like you just want time to wallow in your guilt some more. Beat yourself up.”

God, she knew me so well. Too well.

She took my silence as confirmation she was right. “Goodbye, Levi.”

“Jillian, wait—I love you.”

I held my breath.

“I love you too,” she said, and I could tell she was crying. “It wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t. But time is not going to make a difference here. I’m done waiting on the outside.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

And she hung up.