Crushed (Breaking the Rules Series Book 5) (11 page)

A nurse suddenly appears and smiles. “Time to go home, Andi.”

I don’t smile back. What the fuck do I have to smile about? I’m leaving the fucking maternity ward without my baby.

No smiles back.

No smiles ever.

As she wheels me out of the room, the sight of Jackson guts me. He’s standing there looking very uncomfortable as he holds one of the infant carriers we bought. I know Tyler is in there. Our backup baby. Jackson must be so thrilled. But when I see Tyler’s hand move, I have to look away.

The nurse pushes me down the hallway toward the elevator, and everything blurs because of my tears. I mentally begin making a checklist of what needs to be done. Call the funeral home. Choose a beautiful casket. Find the outfit he was supposed to go home in so he can be buried in it instead.

Sweet Thomas.

God, I miss him.

He was the tiniest little thing, but he was so damn perfect. Our time wasn’t long enough. I miss his soft nudges from within me.

I can’t breathe.

I clench the arms of the wheelchair until my hands turn white. The breakfast I picked at earlier sours in my stomach, and I want nothing more than to rid myself of it. Another painful ache seizes my chest.

I fucking miss him.

The nurse pushing my wheelchair stops but nothing is in focus from the never-ending tears that are flooding my eyes. When I feel a blast of cool air, I know we’re outside. I blink away some of the moisture in my eyes so that I can see and accept the nurse’s hand to help me from the chair. Briefly, I catch a glimpse of Jackson as he tries to figure out how to put the infant carrier into the base in the back of George’s car. Normally, I would giggle or try to help him.

I’m not normal anymore.

Instead, I turn my head away and open the passenger’s-side door of the car. Jackson can sit in the back with his baby.

After I buckle up, I stare straight ahead. George reaches over and pats the top of my hand before pushing his door open to go help Jackson. Good. Surely they can figure it out together.

I just want to crawl into bed. Forget this nightmare that is my life. And sleep for fucking ever.

Jackson’s baby starts to cry—probably from being jostled around so much—and I ignore the need in my chest to soothe him. I’m not his mother. I guess I am on paper, but I am Thomas’s real mother. Life was just too cruel to let me keep him.

Once George has reentered the vehicle and Jackson has gotten in, we ride silently back to the loft. I can hear Jackson whispering to Tyler, and I’m curious what it is that he’s saying.

Probably, “Good thing we have you.” The backup baby.

“Can you walk?” George asks when he eventually pulls up to our building.

I nod somberly and climb out before he can put the car in park. My body is sore and weak, but I’m not an invalid. Not bothering to help Jackson, I slowly make my way into the building. By the time I make it up to our floor, I’m exhausted. And what good it did me to run away from him and Tyler—I don’t have a key.

For what seems like forever, I wait. Finally, a frazzled Jackson emerges from the elevator loaded down with bags and a baby.

His
baby.

I can tell he’s angry with me, but I don’t care. I just want my damn bed.

Standing with my arms crossed, I wait for him to set some of the bags down and unlock the door. Tyler cries out and I flinch.

Nausea consumes me, and I bolt for the bathroom the moment he gets the door open. I’ve barely made it before I throw up that raunchy hospital breakfast. I’m not going to be able to handle this. I wish God would strike me dead with a massive bolt of lightning and end my suffering now.

Of course, no lightning strikes.

My suffering has no end in sight.

Where are you God?

You better be with my sweet Thomas.

Crying.

Thomas?!

I burst from the bed and am halfway to the nursery when I realize that it is not my baby. Tyler is crying—loud and hungry. Where the hell is Jackson?

Storming back into the bedroom, I crawl back into the bed and haul off and kick him.

“What the fuck, Andi?” he growls, but he immediately bolts out of the bed once he realizes his baby is crying.

The crying won’t stop.

It just goes on and on. It gets louder and louder, taunting me with every passing moment.

“Make him stop,” I groan into the pillows as I try to wrap one around my head to muffle the noise.

But he doesn’t make him stop. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was in there pinching the poor thing. Jesus, didn’t he read the damn books like I did? The kid is hungry.

I hear all sorts of racket in the kitchen, and thankfully, moments later, the crying stops.

The pain in my head stops.

However, in the silence, the throb in my heart begins again.

I miss you, Thomas.

I’m not sure how much time has passed, but soon, I feel the bed sink down as my husband climbs back in. I want him to hold me. I want him to tell me that everything will be okay. Instead, I lie with my back to him.

“Andi, you need to hold him.” He’s not asking anymore. He’s telling.

Fuck him. “No.”

“It’s not up for debate, babe. He’s your son now whether you like it or not.”

I sit up so fast that the room spins. Jackson turned on a lamp and looks breathtakingly beautiful in nothing but his boxers while holding the swaddled baby against his bare chest. This is a vision I dreamed about for years.

Years.

And now?

Now, it’s all fucking wrong.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” I murmur as I climb out of bed.

His jaw clenches so tight that I’m afraid it’ll break in half. I can see the anger lying under the surface. The words he wants to say to me sit right on the tip of his tongue. So I challenge him with a glare, but he backs down.

“I’ll stay here with
our
baby. Tell Mommy goodnight,” he says sarcastically.

His words crush my soul, and I hobble out of the room as if they physically harmed me.

I.

Can’t.

Do.

This.

Two days. For two days, I’ve allowed her to ignore me and Tyler. But I’ve had fucking enough. Tomorrow is Thomas’s funeral, which has really sent my wife off the deep end. She’s been very active around the house while planning for it. Even though she’s supposed to be resting, I’ve watched her clean every inch of our home—except for the nursery—just to avoid us. When people come to visit, she locks herself in the bathroom.

She’s exhausting the hell out of me. I don’t know what to do. Mom thinks I should just leave her alone with Tyler. I think that’s the worst goddamned idea I’ve ever heard. Andi is too unstable, and even though I know she would never hurt a soul, in this dark state of hers, I don’t know that she wouldn’t neglect him.

The thought of her neglecting sweet Tyler kills me.

God, I just want her back.

A knock on the door startles me out of my daydreaming. It’s after eight in the evening, so I’m not sure who could possibly be here. Andi already went to bed, and Tyler is asleep in his crib. I’ve just been staring at the damn wall, trying to figure out how to wake my wife up from her mind.

After getting out of my chair, I walk to the front door. When I open it, I’m surprised to find Bray of all people standing there with his hands in his pockets.

“How is she?”

I roll my eyes. “Same.”

“Can I come in?”

“She won’t talk to you,” I mutter.

He frowns but comes inside. “Can I try?”

At this point, I’ll try anything. “Knock your socks off.”

With my permission, he strides down the hallway and into our bedroom. When he closes the door behind him, jealousy surges in my chest. Bray loves Olive more than life itself, but just the fact that he’s Andi’s ex and now in the bedroom I share with her rubs me raw.

I’m desperate though.

If he can reach her, I hope to hell he can knock some sense into her.

Padding barefoot down the hallway, I peek my head into the nursery. Tomorrow, after the funeral, I plan on taking the other crib down. It’s too much of a sad reminder, and it will only hurt Andi to see it each day. I walk over to the one with Tyler in it and smile. He’s so fucking cute in the pajamas Mom got for him. All boy dressed in blue. His blond hair is so soft that I have the urge to touch it, but I know what a mistake that is. He’ll wake up, and I’m too exhausted for that right now. I haven’t slept for more than two hours straight in a couple of days.

When I hear voices, I creep out of the nursery and down the hallway to our room. I want to burst through the bedroom door and beat my fists on my chest. Remind Bray that Andi is my wife. But that’s stupid and uncalled for. He’s just trying to help. I just wish I were the one who could help her, but she won’t let me.

Unable to keep my curiosity in check, I quietly turn the knob and crack the door open. The sight fillets my heart. Bray is holding my wife. He’s holding her how she won’t let me hold her. And as her body shudders wildly with her sobs, he strokes her hair. I watch him with green eyes of envy as he mutters whispers of assurances to her.

I’m a voyeur to their private exchange, and I’m jealous as fucking hell. But at the same time, I love her deeply. And if this helps her, I will push away the rage that bubbles in my chest and let him hold her. Anything that helps comfort my wife is progress in my book. I’m thankful that she let someone in—even if it is Bray.