The Ground Rules: Undone (26 page)

Guilt consumes me as I feel relief wash over me. I don’t need to ever tell the girls about a new baby.

It’s all over now.

And Gabe and I and the girls can move on with our lives…hopefully.

The girls practically climb on their dad, showering him with kisses. “We missed you, Daddy,” Chloe tells him. “Can you stay? Is your friend doing better?”

Gabe cocks a brow. “Oh…yes, my friend is doing much better now. I can probably stay here for a while if…” he falters a bit, “if that’s okay with your mom.”

My heart feels a little heavy, and my eyes well up. He wants to move back in. After all we’ve been through, he’s willing to give us another chance. “You don’t have to. I’ll be fine. You’ve done so much already.”

His gaze is soft. “I want to, Ella. I want to be here for you.”

Butterflies skitter around my stomach, and I wonder where the hell they came from.

Gwen smiles at me. “Yeah, I don’t mind staying but Greg might be missing me a little.”

I smile, knowing exactly what she’s up to. “Sure, you go,” I tell her and I give her a squeeze. “Thanks so much.”

“No problem. Feel better.”

I look up at Gabe, not quite able to keep eye contact.

“I’ll call work,” he says. “I can take the rest of the week off.”

“No, you don’t have to do that.”

He trails his hand against my cheek. “I want to.”

He’s being so sweet.

My beautiful sweet angel.

Gabe and I argue about dinner. I insist I don’t mind whipping up something, but he tells me I should take it easy. He makes chili macaroni and steamed broccoli slathered in cheese. I’m pleasantly surprised.

He cleans up the kitchen after dinner, insisting I don’t lift a finger. I pace around the house, twiddling my thumbs.

“This isn’t better, Gabe,” I point out. “I’ve got nothing to do but think. I need to keep busy.”

He smiles and hands me the broom. “Don’t say I didn’t try.” He wipes the table. “Have you told Weston yet?” He asks the one question which has probably weighed the most on his mind.

“No,” I tell him as I drag the broom against the terra-cotta tiles of our kitchen. “I haven’t seen him in a few days. I mean, I haven’t seen him. He’s in California on business.”

He starts loading the dishwasher, putting in the dishes all wrong. I suck in a breath, willing myself to let it go.

“You should really tell him,” he says. “He should know.”

I sigh loudly. “I know.”

“Do you think he’ll be relieved?”

I shrug my shoulders and don’t say a word. I don’t tell him about Weston’s big plans — about the house not fifteen minutes away, the pink and blue rooms, the green and blue nursery. He doesn’t need to know this stuff. Gabe despises him as it is.

The truth is, Weston will be devastated.

This is the reason I can’t bring myself to call him.

After dinner, we watch
Honey, I Shrunk the Kids
— a family favorite. I’m so glad to have my family to lean on. The sorrow certainly hasn’t disappeared, but it has dissipated somehow, blending into this new happiness of having my family reunited.

The girls are happy to be tucked in by the both of us. Gabe gives them each an extra-long plane ride tonight, hauling them across the second floor, from room to room. The shrill giggles can probably be heard across the road. We promise them we’ll go to McDonalds and the park tomorrow. They’re both on cloud nine.

Simple pleasures.

I’m still not feeling quite right. It’s both emotional and physical. I’m still cramping and still so torn-up about Weston. I know I need to call him.

Once the girls are all cozy in their beds, Gabe asks me if he should go for the night. I tell him no.

“Stay.”

I see his eyes light up. He wants to stay. “I’ll sleep on the couch downstairs.”

I smile at him. “Are you sure you’re okay down there?”

He smirks. “Big screen TV, beer in the fridge, comfy couch, what else could I ask for?”

I laugh. “Yes, you’ll be fine all right,” I tell him, closing the distance between us. “Thank you for all this. You didn’t have to be here.”

“I did,” he argues, his long fingers stroking my cheek. “You’re my wife.”

I look down, not quite able to face him. I don’t deserve him. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He swallows me up in a big bear hug. “Let’s forget about all that right now.”

He does go back to Bridget’s condo where he’s been staying, but only to get a few of his things. He tells me he just bought the complete
The Sopranos
series on DVD.

He puts his brown distressed leather jacket on — the one I got him a few years back. “Do you wanna watch it?”

I smile. “Why not? There’s nothing like a little mob violence and sex to get your mind off your problems, right?”

He smiles — a bright happy smile I haven’t seen in a while. “I’ll bring it. I’ve been watching the first few episodes, but I don’t mind watching them again.”

I want to ask him about her, about the two of them. I know she’s no longer with Weston. Is she at her loft too? But I know it’s none of my business. I know Gabe loves me. And he’s with me right now, and that’s all I care about.

The girls are both in bed, and I know this is my window of opportunity, the perfect time to call Weston. I check the clock on the oven. It’s 9:05 PM, so around seven o’clock in California.

With my heart in my throat, I pick up the phone and dial his number, my fingers shaking.

He picks up on the third ring. “Weston Hanson,” he says, his tone formal.

I swallow the lump in my throat. My voice cracks when I say, “Hi.”

His voice softens. “Is that you, Mirella?”

“Yes.” I say simply.

“I didn’t recognize the number,” he explains. “You sound different.”

I swallow, trying to even out my voice, but I know I’m about to fall into sobs any second. “I’m calling from my home phone.”

“You don’t sound like yourself,” he says again.

My voice trembles as I tell him, “I-I’m not.”

I can hear the worry in his voice when he asks me, “What’s wrong, Mirella?”

I don’t want to tell him. I fall to pieces, not saying a word. My sobs and whimpers mixed with a hiccupping wail are the only sounds he hears.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Mirella,” he pleads. “You must tell me.”

I can hear the desperation in his voice. I think he already knows.

I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my sweater. “It’s…the baby,” I say softly. “I lost the baby.”

The line is silent and then…

“Oh, Mirella,” he says, his voice cracked at the edges. My heart sinks.

I hear a soft sob. I know he’s crying too. Neither one of us says anything. We both just sob into the phone for what seems like an eternity. I wonder where he is.

As the tears flow, the weight lifts. “I’m so sorry.”

He clears his throat. “Don’t be sorry, Mirella. It’s not your fault.”

I hug my knees, the receiver cradled in the nook of my neck. “I’m not sure what went wrong. Everything was fine. There were no medical conditions. They couldn’t really tell me.”

“Perhaps we shouldn’t have…” he says, the words so soft, I almost don’t hear them at all. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so forceful.”

He’s not making any sense. “Weston,” I tell him. “That has nothing to do with it. Sex does not cause miscarriages. Can you imagine if it did?”

He doesn’t say a word. I hear sniffles across the line.

“There would be no humans on earth,” I point out. Suddenly I’m the one who needs to be strong, to be the voice of reason. “That’s crazy talk.” I hear a soft laugh and my heart lifts. “You know what I’m saying, right?”

“I suppose you do make sense,” he concedes. “I’m just so…”

“Devastated?”

“Yes,” he says. “You have no idea how much I wanted this child.”

I think back to the blue and green room. “I think I do. I wanted him just as much as you did.”

“I’m so sorry,” he suddenly blurts out. “I didn’t even ask about you. How you’ve been?”

I bite my lip. “I’m fine, Weston. I was taken to the hospital where I had an ultrasound, and a procedure under general anesthesia. I didn’t feel a thing. There was a lot of cramping but I dealt with it. They even gave me a Popsicle after. There’s still is a little bit of a dull pain, but nothing I can’t fix with some Ibuprofen.”

“Who is taking care of you right now?”

I can’t tell him the truth. That would be adding the coarsest of salts to a very freshly incurred wound. “I’m fine. Gwen was here, helping me out. She was the first person I called.” I don’t quite lie. I suppose I lie by omission.

“I’m coming to see you as soon as I can,” he tells me, his words delivered with conviction. There is no question he’s hopping on the first plane out of California.

“No,” I plead. “Please don’t. Finish your business. You don’t need to come. I’m fine.”

“Nonsense, Mirella,” he presses. “I’m coming as soon as I can.”

Oh God.

“You should have contacted me as soon as this happened. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Uh…” I stammer. “I had too much going on. And I knew you were in California. I’m sorry.” The truth is, I didn’t have the strength to tell him.

“Are you going to be fine until I get there?” he asks. He has no clue Gabe is here. And Gabe will
still
be here when he shows up at God knows what time.

“Weston,” I struggle to say, “you should know… Gabe might be here,” I tell him but am very quick to add, “He’s getting some things for me. He should be back soon with a few supplies I need. Gwen had to go for a bit.”

Dreadful silence fills the line. Who knew silence could feel so heavy.

He sighs heavily. “That’s fine,” he says. I can tell he’s upset from the tone of his voice. “I’ll be there shortly,” he adds before hanging up.

I close my eyes, reminding myself I need to warn Gabe when he gets back.

I don’t wait up for Gabe, wanting this day to end. I sink into the sheets of my bed, hoping not to have any more nightmares. And I drift away…

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I know I didn’t love you right.

I
wake up at around six in the morning — much too early. My head hurts and my body is tense, achy. Gabe’s loud voice has woken me up. I can’t quite hear what he’s saying. I slip on my housecoat and bound down the stairs, curious to see what’s going on. He’s shirtless, in grey sweats, standing at the door, speaking to someone.

“What part of ‘she’s fine’ don’t you understand, Hanson?” he barks.

He stands, arms hanging off the frame of the door. His tall shape blocks the doorway in a pose of male dominance of sorts.

Oh fuck. Not this again.

My heart starts to race. The last thing we all need is Gabe pounding into Weston again.

I scurry quickly to Gabe’s side. I can’t quite see Weston but I hear his voice. “I just want to see her for one second,” he pleads, his voice soft, laced with a hint of prudence.

I’m surprised he’s here at all, after what Gabe did to him. Weston sure has some balls on him.

I sneak in under Gabe’s outstretched arm. “Let him in, Gabe. Just for one second.”

Gabe scowls at both of us as he backs away, reluctant.

To say it is awkward is to not do the scene justice. It is
beyond
awkward. Weston stands there, quiet, looking at me with the saddest eyes I have ever seen. Weston has always towered over me, seemed bigger than life. But now, he just seems so small, vulnerable, and fragile. I almost want to reach out and give him a hug, but I can’t. Gabe won’t leave us — he stands there leering at us.

“How are you feeling?” Weston finally ventures.

I shoot him a small smile. “I’m fine, Weston. Thank you for coming. I really appreciate it. You didn’t have to.”

His eyes dart quickly from Gabe to me. “I wanted to.” I can tell he’s dying to take me in his arms, but I’m sure he knows it just wouldn’t be right. And perhaps he has no desire to be killed today.

My eyes prick and my throat tightens. This is so horrible.

I turn to Gabe. “This was his child too,” I say softly. The jagged edges of my voice betray my feeble attempt at composure. “Can we just have a moment?”

He glares at both of us. “Sure,” he snaps just before he turns on his heel and bounds down the stairs.

Weston stares without a word. He doesn’t budge. Doesn’t come to me. I inch closer, taking in the sorrow in his features. His face crumbles as he starts to cry. His shoulders quake as I wrap my arms around them. He buries his face into the plush fleece of my housecoat as he tightens his arms around my waist. His body is still quivering, and mine too. “This is for the best,” I whisper, finally uttering the words I hadn’t had the courage to say before.

“I want to be the one here for you,” he sobs. “I understand how you feel. I should be the—”

I pull away from him. “Stop it, Weston. I don’t want to hear that kind of talk. I’m glad you came but…”

“But he gets to take care of you now,” he cries. “Is he taking good care of you, at least?”

I nod, wiping my tears with the sleeve of my housecoat. “Yes. He’s been really good to me.”

He blows out a breath, staring down at the floor. I’ve never seen him look so tired, so weak. “I suppose I’m useless here, then.”

I smile at him. “Go home and get some sleep.”

His gaze lingers on me. His blood-shot eyes are still beautiful. “This doesn’t change anything…the house, the life I had planned,” he goes on. “I still want it. I still want you, Mirella.”

I catch my breath. I don’t want to even think about those things. “Weston, you should go,” I say, my heart heavy. “I promise I’ll keep in touch.”

“I want to know how you’re faring. Please don’t leave me in the dark.”

“I won’t,” I tell him just before he turns to the door.

He gives me a soft smile before he leaves. “I love you,” he whispers.