A Broken Us (London Lover Series Book 1) (4 page)

“Well, fuck it! The flat is yours if you want
it,” says Frank. “You’ll get the shit room because it’s all that’s bloody left.
But who knows, you’re American, you might think it’s quaint.”

I look at Frank, wide-eyed, as realization sets
in that he’s offering a room to me, indefinitely.
Thank God
. This is a huge load off my mind, knowing I at least have
an affordable place to live while I figure my damn life out.

Suddenly Frank stands up on his seat and
shouts, “
Zoey
, another round! We’ve got a new
roommate to toast.”

“Get the fuck off that chair
er
I’ll rip your bloody
arse
off
there myself!”
Zoey
shouts back at him with a thick
dialect I barely understand. Maybe Irish?

“My
arse
hasn’t bled
in years, you wench!” Frank shouts back.

Leslie and I burst into a fit of laughter at
Frank’s announcement in a room full of strangers.

I think
I’m going to like it here. I think I’m going to like it a lot.

As the sun creeps in through the white lacy
curtains, I grab my head.
Ugh. My head.
My head hurts really bad!
UK beer must be a lot stronger than American
beer; I’ve never felt so crappy. I check the time and see it isn’t even 6:00
a.m. Damn it, why can’t I ever sleep in with a hangover? I should be exhausted
after all the travel and drinking yesterday.

I look around the room that is to be my home
for the foreseeable future. Frank told me I was getting the tiny room and he
wasn’t joking. It is super tiny, but has its own personal charm. The room is
situated alone on the third floor in the Rapunzel-style tower overlooking the
corner. Half of the room is a semi-circle with three large bay windows covered
with sheer lace curtains. An old-fashioned radiator that’s been painted white
adorns the flat part of the wall.
And
lucky me, no closet.

This room would be a perfect little art studio.
Anything but a bedroom. But all the other rooms are occupied, and the master
bedroom on the first floor is off limits for Frank’s parents, so this is what
I’m left with. Beggars can’t be choosers. And I would have desperately begged
for anything at this point, so long as it gets me away from home—and
Brody.

Brody.
Just thinking his name hurts my heart. I sit up on the twin mattress plopped
unceremoniously in the center of the room. No bed frame, just a lavender
fitted-sheet and a big purple comforter. This is what I’m running to? Sure, we
had a curb couch, but it was definitely a step up from a tiny circular room
with a mattress.

I stand up and look out the window to remind
myself to stop moping. I’m in London, for crying out loud.
Stop being a pansy ass, Finley. You flew across the ocean to start a
new life and now you’re sulking? Enough already.

A skate park with various ramps and rails is
located diagonally from the corner. Even with the excessive amount of trash
around it, it still manages to look quiet and peaceful in the morning light.

A buzzing sound echoes in my small room. I rush
over to check my phone and see my sister’s name pop up on the caller ID.

“Cadence, hey!” I say, excitedly. I slightly
wince at the tone of my scratchy morning voice.

“Oh my God, Fin. How is it? Tell me everything!
How was your flight? Where are you staying? How’s Leslie?”

“Leslie is good. Different, yet the same. We’re
staying in this big old house that Frank’s parents own.”

“Frank, huh? Is he a
hottie
?”

“Um, not really my type. I’m afraid I’m not
really his type either. But he’s a lot of fun.”

“Awesome, awesome. So, what time is it there? I
was supposed to be in bed hours ago, but I got interrupted.”

“It’s just after 6:00 a.m.”

“Crap, did I wake you? I need to get a London
clock or something!”

“No. Actually, I woke up right before you
called. It’s fine. So, what interrupted you, is the baby kicking?”

A slight pause on the other end spiked my
curiosity.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, slightly alarmed
now. “Is the baby okay?” I feel tension rising in my chest. This is my first
time realizing how difficult it will be for me to be so far away from family.
If something goes wrong, I can’t be there right away. Booking an international
flight isn’t cheap. Most likely, I’ll have to endure my helplessness here by
myself.

“Chillax, oh my God. Everything is fine.
Mini-George is still baking away in there.”

I release a relaxed sigh.
Stop being so dramatic, Finley.
I think my nerves are still on edge
because of the whole Brody situation.

“I was calling because I had a late-night
visitor tonight.”

I pause, waiting for her to finish.

“
Brody
.”

My heart stops. It literally stops beating for
two whole seconds, then I breathe really fast and heavy for a few seconds while
attempting to regain my equilibrium. Brody lives in Kansas City, nearly two
hours from my sister’s house in Marshall. What the hell was he doing there?

“He’s heartbroken, Fin. He showed up drunk and
angry. Seriously angry. George nearly threw him out twice because he wouldn’t
lower his voice and calm down. At one point, I thought George was going to
punch Brody!”

“Oh my God,” I reply, my heart breaking into a
million tiny pieces.

“Yeah, George is protective of his girls. He
didn’t take kindly to a belligerent drunk yelling at his pregnant wife, I’m
afraid. Luckily, the girls were asleep and didn’t see any of this.”

My heart continues racing as the drama plays
out in my head, “Oh my God.”

“At first, he demanded I tell him where you
moved, who you were living with, whether or not you were sleeping with someone
else. Like, he was angrily shouting and stuff. George stepped in and was able
to settle him down. Then he just got really sad. He kept saying, ‘It’s
us
, it’s
us
. How could she do this to
us
?’”

“Oh my God.”

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why did this
all have to happen like this? Maybe I should have told him I was moving
here.
 

“Then he just kept begging me to tell him where
you are, Finley. I could hardly stand to look at him. He looks so miserable. So
incredibly miserable.”

Tears immediately form in my eyes.

“He’s sleeping it off in the living room right
now. I told him he was a freaking moron for driving here drunk. He got really
nasty again and said I shouldn’t give a fuck about him because
you
sure as hell don’t. He’s being a
total dick, but I can’t help feeling bad for the guy!”

“Oh my God. This is all my fault,” I say.

I curl into the fetal position on my tiny
mattress as tears run freely down the side of my temple onto the pillow. I
can’t stop picturing him sleeping on their couch with his curly brown hair all
rumpled and his big long legs falling off the side. Maybe I should have just
told him where I was going? That way he wouldn’t have harassed my family.

But he won’t leave this alone if he knows where
I am. He’ll come after me. He loves me. He loves
us
. An ocean wouldn’t stop him from getting to the bottom of what’s
going on, and I refuse to tell him about my infertility.

“You can’t tell him, Cade. You can’t. He won’t
let it lie. He’ll come here and demand answers. Right now, I’m the bad guy and
that’s okay. It’s my fault we can’t have kids anyway, so let me be the villain.
Brody is way too good of a guy to be stuck with someone like me. If he learns
the truth, he’ll feel guilty for wanting to end us and he doesn’t deserve that.
It’s my fault. My body. My issues. All mine.”

“You have a warped-ass view of this situation,
Finley. But I’m tired of trying to convince you otherwise. I promised not to,
so I’m keeping my mouth shut. Anyway, everything is fine. I’m sure he’ll leave
in the morning before the girls get up, so we won’t have to explain anything
about Uncle Brody.”

Uncle
Brody
. Ugh. Those two words slice into me like a dagger through the heart.
My sister is the queen of passive-aggressive comments. She may not be actively
trying to talk me out of my decision, but she sure as hell is going to make
back-handed comments to get her point across.

“Anyway, this international call is costing me
a fortune. I’ll message you on
Facebook
later and we can talk more, if you want. I need to take my pregnant booty to bed.”

“You can’t message me. I deactivated my
account,” I say.

“You did? Why?” she asks.

“Just to be on the safe side, so Brody can’t
contact me.”

“You are so messed up, Finley,” she says,
flatly.

“I know, Cadence…and hey,” I reply, before she
hangs up, “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” she responds with a little
more sincerity. I can tell she is angry with me, but she promised to let me
figure this out on my own.

I hang up my phone and curl up under the thick
comforter, sobbing as quietly as I can while my thoughts continue on Brody.
This is my worst freaking nightmare. My barren body has turned an incredibly
beautiful man into a mess of anger, resentment, and sadness. All because I
can’t have kids.
Thanks a lot, God.

Over the years, my sadness has turned into
resentment of this world around me. It pains me to see so many people have
children they don’t deserve. Why can’t I get a teeny tiny break? That’s not too
much to ask. If God could just give me one little baby
us
with Brody, I would want for nothing else the rest of my life.

The sobs seize me again as I think back on each
negative pregnancy test. My eyes would play tricks on me as I’d stare at the
strip, imagining the second line was popping up to tell me I was pregnant.

Walking the streets of Marshall, or even the
neighborhood Brody and I live in, would be littered with constant reminders
that my body isn’t good enough to do the natural thing most women’s bodies can.

Going to London maybe looks like I’m running
away from my problems, but I don’t care. I need a fresh start away from
everyone. Away from Brody.
 

Brody was it for me; I know I’ll never find
anyone better. Deep inside, I know that if I told him the truth, he would love
me through it. The truth is, I can’t love myself through it. Looking into
Brody’s eyes would be a constant reminder of what I can’t give him. I can’t let
him stay with me and wonder when he’ll begin to resent me. I can’t handle the
idea of
us
turning into something
ugly.

I sigh as memories of how Brody and I met
flutter into my head. I had noticed him on campus before, but never had a
chance to talk to him. When he finally approached me in the parking lot of our
apartment complex, I was a smitten kitten. We were together nonstop after that.
We managed to go out and have fun with all our friends and enjoy our senior
year, but the reality was, we were both itching to graduate and start our lives
together, away from the college scene. After graduation, we found a house in
Kansas City and moved in right away.

Brody landed a great job with a well-known
contractor after his awesome recommendation from an internship with the city.
Now he’s a commercial construction estimator. He’s outdoors most of the year
and drives around to different job sites putting estimates together. His
company is always building the next best thing in town and surrounding areas. I
got hooked up with Val at the agency, and Brody and I had life by the balls. We
knew exactly where we wanted to go with our future. It was easy.

After living together for a couple of years, we
decided to stop using birth control and let Mother Nature decide when the right
time was for us to get pregnant. Even though we were acting like we didn’t care
when it happened, I couldn’t help but get my hopes up every time we made love
that nine months later, a piece of
us
would arrive.

When nothing happened for nearly a year, I
became a little obsessed with finding ways to help it along. Brody humored me
with acupuncture and psychic visits, herbal treatments and abdominal fertility
massage. He about cut me off when I told him I wanted to talk with a shaman
healer, but it was nothing a little sexual manipulation couldn’t overcome.
Never mind the crazy shit that lady told me! “Bury a piece of your hair with a
piece of his hair in the oil of the ellipsis and chant this chant to the Gods
of the Moon every night for a fortnight.” Holy balls, even I knew that sounded
crazy! But those were the acts of a hopeful woman with her head in the clouds.

I became increasingly worried there was
something seriously wrong with my body, preventing us from conceiving. I’d
always had irregular periods and heavy cramps, so nothing felt natural to me
down there.

Without telling Brody, I scheduled an
appointment to have a private consult with a fertility specialist. I didn’t
want Brody to know. I was embarrassed and ashamed. I hated the idea of him
sitting with me in a waiting room full of other reproductively-challenged
women. I was perfect in Brody’s eyes. I didn’t want him to see me as anything
less if I could help it.

And he was always so optimistic. He never
seemed concerned with the fact that we hadn’t been preventing pregnancy for
over a year and achieved no results. He knew I took a lot of pregnancy tests…
probably way too many.
He’d always put
on a happy face and do whatever he could to cheer me up. If I had to hear
“Maybe next month” one more time from him, I was going to scream.

I wanted the cold hard truth from a specialist.
After a couple months of exams, tests, blood draws and procedures, the doctor
scheduled a consult with me. As soon as the nurse placed me in the doctor’s
office, instead of an exam room, I knew I was done for.

The words
infertile
and
adoption
tumbled out of his
mouth. I was seized with panic. I wanted to run out of his office right then
and there, but I sat there and listened to him talk about my hostile uterus and
how I will never be able to carry a baby and blah, blah, blah. I was sick to my
stomach. I couldn’t contain the trembling in my hand as he passed me an
adoption agency’s pamphlet. To think about adopting an unknown child, when our
whole love story is based on this crazy
us
theme, seemed unfathomable!