Page 129 of Give Me Love
“I was enormous, married to an alcoholic, broke as hell, and trying to raise you.” She twirls her glass on the counter and smiles. “But it wasn’t all doom and gloom. I did get happy with the fact I was having twins. I talked to them every day and even got you to feel my stomach several times. Your father and I were still very much in love, despite his drinking, but the reality of our situation still weighed heavy on me.
“One day I was cleaning the kitchen and I had a minor sharp pain shoot all the way across my belly. It got worse and more painful as the day went on, and when I couldn’t handle it anymore, I called your father.
“By this time, he’d found another job working the fields at some farm. I told the owner of the house to tell him to call me, and the next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital room. I’d had Jace, and they told me his twin sister didn’t make it.
“I blamed myself. I should have called the ambulance as soon as I got the very first pain. I shouldn’t have been so stressed out. But not only did I blame myself, I blamed your dad.
“I sank down low into depression, had postpartum. I could hardly feed Jace. I gave up, and I chose to forget. I can’t tell you why I didn’t fight. Maybe I just don’t have any fight in me. I couldn’t shake it.” She looks down. “I just couldn’t shake it.”
I unhook my arms and walk up to the island, grabbing the bottle and pouring each of us a little more as I try to fight the urge to comfort her. She doesn’t get that from me.
People get depressed every day.
They get help, or they don’t, but it doesn’t give her an excuse to stop being a mother, to go off and do drugs.
I hold up my glass. “Well, here’s to successfully forgetting.”
She doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me as I down my drink. I grab the bottle, leaving her and hoping she feels alone like she’s made me feel so many times.
Maybe I’m wrong for doing this to her. Maybe I shouldn’t act this way toward a recovering addict, but fuck it. This time she needs to prove to me she wants things to be different. I’m done begging her to be a mother.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kathrine
I stand at the top of the staircase as Mary comes up. I know I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but I did, so that’s that.
She stops when she sees me. We make eye contact, and I’m afraid she’s pissed, but then she grabs the rail and keeps walking. She sighs when she reaches the top, looking at me. Her eyes are tired. “You should go comfort him.” She looks down behind her. “He acts like he doesn’t need anyone, but he does. Maybe more than any of us.” She turns back to me. “I messed up, but he’s made me see that my life can be better. He needs to see his can, too.” She walks past me.
He’s laid back on a lounge chair, shirtless with a pair of basketball shorts on and a bottle of whiskey resting at his waist.
I close the sliding glass door and walk over to him, taking a seat down by his feet. His eyes shoot to mine, but then he looks back out at his city view.
“You all right?” he asks me.
“Am I all right?” I ask lowly. “You’re the one I’m worried about.”
He smirks. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about me.” His voice is slurred, and he’s more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. It’s sexy and sad, and it breaks my heart.
“It’s too late for that,” I say with a small smile.
He lazily holds the bottle beside him. “You should get out while you can,” he says to me as he brings it to his lips and takes another swallow.
I reach out and gently grab it from him. Bringing it to my own lips, I take a sip, wincing as the harsh liquor goes down my throat. I want him to know we’re in this together. If he drinks, I drink. If he’s sad, I’m sad.
I place the bottle down beside us. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He narrows his sad blue eyes. His face holds a five o’clock shadow, and his hair is growing out. The wind blows, and I can smell his scent—bright vivid green, forest spice.
He’s all man. He’s all mine.
He’s fucked up mentally and emotionally. But so am I. We’re two of the same. I know more about his life now. I understand why he is the way he is, and I care about him no less.
In fact, I care about him more.
Standing and careful not to kick the bottle over, I turn and lift my leg, placing it over his waist on the other side of the chair, straddling him. His hands go to my hips, and he looks up at me.
Splashed in glowing moonlight, he looks beautiful, and I lean down and touch the side of his face as I kiss his lips. His hands tighten their hold on me, and he kisses me back, sitting up.
