A Broken Us (London Lover Series Book 1) (23 page)

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Authors: Amy Daws

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“I know!” I cry, tears forming in my eyes. “You
think I don’t know that now? You think I don’t know what a colossal mistake I
made in doubting you? In doubting your character? It’s the biggest mistake of
my life. And now I just have to live with it and watch you…watch you…” I can’t
finish that thought.

He shakes his head free from my grasp.

“Watch me what? Watch me find someone fertile
and play house with another woman? That’s what is so mind boggling to me,
Finley! Who
are
you right now?” he
admonishes.

“I get it now, Brody. It was all me! All of it!
I couldn’t get past it, for myself. I went through all these scary tests, and
then the doctor said
adoption,
and it
was like the wind got knocked out of me! To know that I can’t do this basic
human nature thing with my body…it broke me, Brody. I was
broken
.”

“So you turned me into your scapegoat by
pegging me as the villain in your messed up mind.
You
broke us, Finley,” he finishes, with a sneer. “But don’t worry,
I’ll be there for those girls tomorrow. And I’ll be there for the memorial
service on Saturday, because contrary to what you may think, I’m
not
a piece of shit.”

Before I can say anything else, he stomps off
to his truck and I’m left alone on the porch. Alone with my thoughts, alone
with my pain, alone with my massive, massive mistakes, and a seriously
dwindling amount of hope.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The M&Ms are extremely excited for our day
together because they get to skip out on school, and that’s better than
Christmas to them. We drive into Kansas City to shop and I appreciate the
distraction from my thoughts and the sadness that is engulfing me. There’s just
too much rolling around in my head right now. Cadence, Baby George, Big George,
and now Brody. It’s too much.

My lightness is short lived because we’re
headed to the movie theater where Brody is meeting us. After we park, I grab
McKinley’s hand, Megan grabs Maya’s hand, and we make our way to the theater
entrance. Brody is waiting for us in the lobby, looking great in a long-sleeve
half-button grey shirt and jeans. His sleeves are pushed up slightly on his
forearm, revealing his dark arm fuzz and I have to physically restrain myself
from reaching out and stroking his arms.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I tried a little
harder on my appearance today, hoping Brody might take notice. I’m not
disappointed when I see his eyes run up the length of my body. I’m wearing my
black leather leggings that have sheer wrap-around cutouts on the thighs. I
paired them with a cream-colored top that drapes off the side, revealing a lot
of my shoulder.

“Hi,” I say, coming up to him.

“Hi,” he replies, eyeing the exposed skin along
my collarbone and arm.

“Did you get our tickets?” McKinley asks.

“Not yet,” Brody laughs, “I just got here.”

He grabs McKinley’s arm and pulls her into him,
ruffling her hair. She whines and attempts to straighten it and we head over to
the ticket counter.

After arguing over who is going to pay for the
tickets, I give in and let Brody buy them, as long as he lets me pay for the
concessions. I hate this argument. It feels so formal and awkward, not at all
like we used to be.

We get two large popcorns and two large pops to
split between all of us. Brody causes all the girls to giggle when he flashes
them the M&Ms he’s stashed away inside his jacket.

He’s so good with the girls, so natural. Just
seeing him with them reminds me of all that I ran from and what I would have
never been able to give him. The familiar ache in my heart returns and I turn
away from his watchful eyes to conceal my thoughts.

“Finley, I need to go to the bathroom,” Maya
says, as we settle in our seats waiting for the previews to start. I’m so far
away in my own thoughts that she has to repeat herself three times before I
register what she’s saying to me.

I get up and lead Maya past McKinley and Megan,
just when I go to pass by Brody, he reaches out and grabs my wrist.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, concern on his
features.

Yesterday, I would have killed for him to look
at me like that. I’ve been dying for him to call me and check on me, care about
me, anything. Now that I have it, I don’t think I still want it.

“I’m fine,” I say, and shake my head, following
Maya out of the theater to the bathroom.

As Maya does her business, I look at myself in
the mirror and I feel ridiculous. Here I am, dressing up for a man I’m trying
to win back, when I know damn well he’d be a thousand times better off without
me. Brody is perfect. He’s great with the girls. He is meant to be a father. He
will be the perfect father to someone…someday. I’m being selfish trying to win
him back. I silently chastise myself as I pull my collar up to cover my bare
shoulder.

When we come back into the theater, Brody eyes
me, warily. The previews start, and he doesn’t get a chance to ask me any more
questions. I’m thankful for the dark theater and the nearly two hours of
solitude I have to get my thoughts together, but I feel Brody’s eyes on me
throughout the film.

After the movie is over, I barely look at Brody
as he walks us all to the car. I shut the last door once all the girls are safely
in their seatbelts, and walk around the back of the car, nearly running into
Brody. His face is covered with concern.

“What is it, Finley?” he asks, firmly.

“It’s nothing,” I say, plastering on a smile
but refusing to look him in the eyes.

“Don’t give me that. What is it?” he asks,
looking at the girls in the car.

I look in quickly too, and see they are all
back on their electronic devices they brought with them for the ride down.

“Come on. You wanted to talk last night and now
you have nothing to say?” he says.

“It doesn’t even matter anymore, Brody.”

“Then why don’t you tell me, if it doesn’t even
matter?”

I shake my head again.

“Just
fricken
’ say
it, Finley. I don’t just…I don’t just stop caring about you, you know. You owe
it to me to at least be honest,” he says, grabbing my arm with his large hand.

I look deeply into his blue eyes, “It’s just
that…this is all for the best, Brody.”

“What’s for the best?” he asks, furrowing his
brow.

“You’re
great
with kids,” I half laugh, half cry, because the insanity of the juxtaposition I
feel is beyond comprehension.

“Seriously Brody, you’re wonderful with those
girls! My M&Ms.” My eyes well with tears. “You deserve that, Brody. You
deserve to have your own M&Ms.”

He shakes his head at me, but I can’t decipher
what he’s thinking.

I shrug my shoulders and move past him, and he
stops me by my arm that he’s still holding on to.

“You can’t…you just…you can’t just say that
stuff and walk away, Finley,” he says, turning his face to look at me, his eyes
red.

“I mean it, Brody. I was right in leaving you.
You didn’t deserve to be my scapegoat. I was lying to myself about why I left.
It wasn’t your feelings that scared me,
it
was my own
.”

I sniff once and look him in the eyes again.

“It’s just too much to live with this regret of
not being able to give you what you so crazily deserve,” I finish.

He turns his body to face me fully again.
“Don’t I deserve you?” he says, confusion all over his face as his eyes rove
over mine.

My chin trembles as I fight back the cry
growing inside me. “You deserve better, Brody. So, so much better,” my voice
cracks and my reserve falls.

He shakes his head, rapidly, back and forth.

“No. No,
fuck
that
,” he growls, and slams his lips to mine.

I gasp against his mouth, surprised at the
brute pressure of his mouth. My salty tears slip from my eyes and mingle in
between our lips as he attempts to kiss the pain inside of me away. His kiss
feels possessive and passionate…needy and achy. It’s all I wanted him to do to
me last night. This is Brody. My Brody. I love him. I love us. But I can’t do
this to him. I can’t take his life away from him. A man like Brody is worthy of
everything he wants in life. And I know I can’t give him that.

I regretfully break the kiss, quickly, and
cover my mouth, shaking my head at him. Before he can say anything, I turn and
run around the car and hop into the driver’s seat.

Megan is eyeing me cautiously from the
passenger seat.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I nod my head, dropping my hand from my mouth,
unable to speak because I know if I do, I’ll just cry.

“Are you sure you want to drive away right
now?” she says.

I look over to her, my jaw slightly dropped,
and then start the car and leave.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I get ready for Baby George’s service with a
numb, foggy feeling over me. Crying today is a given. I’m going to be watching
my sister spread the ashes of her baby over the Fourteenth Street Bridge, just
outside of town. It’s where she and George had their first kiss when they were
young children, dreaming of a life together. I’m sure they never envisioned
doing something like this in that special spot, but they both agreed it was the
best place to have the service.

My dress is a simple knee-length fitted black
dress with a scoop neck and short sleeves. My sister wanted something loose to
hide her stomach because it hadn’t bounced back to its original form yet, so
yesterday when we were shopping for the girls, I found her a pretty, long
flowing maxi dress I knew she’d approve of.

“Knock
knock
,” I say,
entering her master bathroom with a small package that came in the mail
yesterday.

She’s sitting on her stool in front of her
vanity mirror. Her blonde hair is in a messy bun at the nape of her neck and
she looks like she’s in the process of doing her makeup.

“Can I help?” I ask.

She nods, silently.

I set the box down and sit up on the counter in
front of her. I lean in to apply some eye shadow and tears slip out past her
eyelashes. I pause, and her eyes flutter open, looking red and puffy.

“Cadence,” I say, my voice cracking at the pain
and anguish in her eyes.

She squeezes her eyes hard, and more tears
spill out.

“I just keep picturing him, Finley. His soft
pudgy cheeks, his beautiful brown hair,” she says, grabbing one of my loose
brown locks hanging in front of my shoulder.

“Do you regret cremating him?” I ask.

“No,” she shakes her head. “I don’t. I can
picture him here,” she says, pointing to her head. “And here,” she points to
her heart, her chin trembling wildly. “Those images are more beautiful than any
funeral home could have made for me.”

I nod and my eyes well with tears.

She sniffs hard again and forces a pained smile
at me.

“How about no makeup?” I ask.

“Great idea,” she stands up and pulls me in for
a hug.

“Are you going to tell me what’s in the box, or
do I have to figure it out myself?” she asks, pulling back and sniffing.

“It’s for you. Open it,” I say, handing it to
her.

She opens the small black jewelry box and gasps
when she sees what’s inside.

As soon as Cadence was released from the
hospital, I called Mrs. Adamson about making a necklace for her. I wasn’t sure
if she and Sheila would have the time or resources to make one quickly enough,
but she expedited the shipping, and it arrived yesterday, just in time.

Cadence’s hand touches the beautiful silver
cross that has intricate pressed detailing around the edges, and one light-blue
stone at the top. She feels the layers of thin, shiny, silver wires in the
shape of angel wings fastened on the back. Engraved across the cross are the
words:
Mommy’s Angel
.

She looks up to me with tears falling down her
cheeks, “Finley.”

I smile at her.

“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,”
she cries, and hugs me hard with the necklace clasped tightly in her hand. “I
love it.”

I hug her hard and then pull the necklace out
of the box and fasten it behind her neck, “You ready?”

She takes a deep breath, touches her necklace
on her chest and links her arm with mine as we head downstairs to George and
the girls.

The day is chilly and overcast and there’s
about twenty people all huddled near each other on the Fourteenth Street
Bridge. It’s a rural part of town, so traffic shouldn’t be an issue. George and
Cadence only invited close family and friends. McKinley is grasping my hand,
tightly, and in her other hand are her baseball cards. I smile when I see that
all three girls brought them with.

Maya is climbing on the curb by the bridge and
Megan is holding George’s hand. Cadence looks flustered and nervous and my mom
is clutching her arm tightly to try and calm her nerves. My dad is standing
near all of them, looking stoic as ever.

I’m not surprised to see Brody walking up in
his tailored grey suit. I knew he’d be here for Cadence, George, and the girls.
His eyes meet mine and he half smiles at me. At first, I think he’s going to
come up and stand by me, but he stops himself and stands awkwardly behind some
of George’s family. I’m grateful for that because I know that the closer he
gets to me the harder it will be to push him away. Especially today.

The pastor quiets everyone down and begins the
service with some scripture. He then says a few words about George, Cadence,
the girls, and then Baby George. My sister is crying freely, and I’m sniffing
loudly as tears run continually down my face. I can feel McKinley’s eyes on me
several times throughout the service and I squeeze her hand a little tighter in
response, each time.

“And now, Cadence would like to say a few words,”
the pastor announces.

This is news to me; she hasn’t mentioned
speaking at the service at all. I wonder if this is what she did on all of her
walks.

Cadence places her hand on the rail of the
bridge and clears her throat.

“I’m definitely not a poet, so don’t judge me
too harshly. This is just something I needed to get out of me before we say
goodbye.”

She unfolds a white sheet of paper.

“I’ve titled this poem:
Postpartum, With No Baby

I have memories of
flutters down below.

Ultrasound pictures of
growth and more.

Doppler heart rates
streaming loudly,

sighs of relief as
progress shows proudly.