Life After Taylah (4 page)

I step closer and narrow my eyes. She’s got no blanket on and she’s curled into a tiny ball. I stare down at her bed and realize it’s wet. Growling, I hurry over and lift her tiny body gently. She’s wet the bed because Lena was too lazy to put a diaper on her. She knows she isn’t ready to sleep without them. Macy curls into me, and I can feel her damp pants touching my arm as I carry her to a clean spot on the floor.

I gently lay her down and remove her wet clothes as quickly as I can without waking her. She groans and her little eyes flicker open. She’s got stunning green eyes. Her little lips part and she squeaks, “Daddy?”

“Hey princess,” I murmur, putting her diaper on. “You wet the bed. It’s okay, Daddy will get you all cleaned up.”

“I didn’t wear a dee dee,” she says, her voice soft and sweet.

She’s called her diapers dee dees since she could speak—I never bothered to correct her. She’s only little for so long; if it makes her happy to call them that, then who am I to stop her?

“It’s okay, baby,” I say, pulling a fresh pair of pajamas on her tiny body. “You’re all clean now.”

I lift her up and with one hand, pull the sheets from her bed. I carry her into the hall, get some new sheets and then sit her on the rocking chair in the corner while I make her a new, clean bed. When I’m done I turn and lift her, placing her back on the mattress. I stroke her curls as her little eyes flutter back closed.

“Night, sweet girl.”

I carefully step out, closing the door behind me. I contemplate sleeping on the couch, but it’s so damned hard I decide I’d rather sleep next to Lena then fuck my back before tomorrow’s race. You’d think with all our money that we would have gotten a soft couch, but no; Lena insisted we get some fancy new style that’s hard as stone.

I get into the room and Lena is on the bed, naked, hair trailing down over her breasts. There was a time I couldn’t resist her; now I find it difficult to respect her or her body. How can I when she doesn’t respect our house, our marriage, or our daughter? I ignore her as I walk past, pulling off my shirt. We’re usually in bed at separate times, so I don’t have to have the “why don’t you fuck me anymore” conversation.

I slide my belt off and drop it on the floor before walking into the bathroom and brushing my teeth. I take as long as I can, but she’s still on the bed, staring at me when I come back out. She drops her legs open, exposing herself to me. I sigh. There’s just no nice way to reject her without hurting her feelings, and as angry as I am about Macy, I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you without a shirt,” she says, looking at my chest. “I’ve missed it. You’ve gotten stronger, Nate. I’m lucky, aren’t I? My husband is hot.”

I don’t answer her. I just get into the bed, pulling the sheet over me.

“I’m tired, Lena.”

She rolls towards me, trying to straddle my hips but I push her off.

“You don’t fuck me anymore.”

I knew it was coming.

“Fucked you two weeks ago,” I mutter, dropping my phone on the bedside table.

“Two weeks is a long time.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“You don’t love me anymore,” she cries.

I sigh. “You’re hardly making any of this easy.”

“Not this again,” she yells. “You’re always accusing me of being a bad mom, of being a bad wife. I’m doing the best I can.”

I turn and glare at her. “Macy had no diaper on tonight; she wet her bed. Did you even check her before you came in here?”

She crosses her arms over her breasts. “She was fine before.”

“She was not, Lena,” I yell. “She’d been laying like that for hours. She was freezing. Would you like to sleep in your own piss? How fuckin’ hard is it to put a diaper on her?”

She starts to cry, big tears running down her cheeks. “You hate me. You think I’m a bad mom. You’ve never been proud of me.”

Fuck.

I hate when she cries, I really do. It’ll always be my weak point.

“I don’t hate you,” I say as softly as I can when I’m this mad. “I just want you to try harder with her.”

“I will,” she murmurs running her hands over my chest. “I will, I’m sorry, baby. So sorry. I’ll try harder.”

I sigh and put an arm around her. “I’m sure you will.”

Marriage means trying.

You can’t just walk away.

You have to fight for the choice you made.

I tell myself this over and over, each day. Marriage isn’t something you just walk away from. It gets bad; you have to fight for it. You have to try. I do, I try every day. I’m sure it’ll get better. I’m sure she’ll turn into the woman I thought I was marrying. I just have to hang in there.

“Fuck me, Nate,” she whispers, climbing onto my lap. “Please?”

I fuck her.

It takes me a solid hour.

Then I spend the night sitting, staring out the window because I know it’s gone.

There’s nothing left but I have to stay. I have to fight for my little girl, if nothing else.

~*~*~*~

M
orning comes quickly, and it takes me a solid hour to drag myself out of bed for my morning run. The cool air wakes me up, but I find myself trudging through my morning at work as though I’ve had no sleep. I’m sure it’s emotional exhaustion. The day seems to drag and it feels like it takes hours and hours before lunchtime rolls around and I head to the studio.

“Afternoon, Avery,” Maggie says, smiling as I walk through the halls. She’s like the mother I lost; she is always taking care of me.

I smile back at her, admiring her tall, lean body. She’s in her late fifties, but she’s as fit as a twenty year old. She doesn’t dance seriously anymore, but she runs the entire studio, having spent half her life as a professional dancer. She’s amazing. Her long black hair is tied in a bun on her head and she’s wearing an elegant dress that falls to her knees.

“Hey Maggie,” I say, waving as I move to the lockers.

“Lyn isn’t dancing today. She’s sick, so you don’t have to be here. Her class was cancelled.”

“I could have taught it,” I say, turning to her.

“You should have a day off. You’re here every day but Sunday. Go home, enjoy yourself.”

I frown. This is part of my routine; I don’t know what to do with myself if I can’t be here.

“Stop looking like that.” She laughs. “It’s not so bad for you to have to find something outside of this studio.”

I turn my thoughts to the ticket Nate gave me. Could I go to the race? Should I go to the race? I don’t really know him, but I don’t honestly have anyone else to see. Kelly is busy and Liam doesn’t want to see me. I’ve always found it hard to make friends, so that’s out of the question. Maybe going and watching the race will be good. It has to be better than going home.

“What’s on your mind?” Maggie asks.

“A friend gave me a ticket to the motocross race this afternoon.”

“You should go,” she encourages. “It will do you good.”

“I guess,” I say, hesitant.

She wraps an arm around my shoulder and steers me towards the door. “Go, have fun, enjoy yourself. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

I laugh softly. “It’s very hard to say no when you’re pushing me out the door.”

She spins me around, kissing my head. “I’m always for you being here and helping, but it’s a day off. Enjoy it.”

“All right,” I say, leaning in to hug her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye sweetie.”

Well, here goes.

T
he crowd is huge as I push through it, trying to find a seat. I finally get one on the grass beside the track. I’ve got a good view. I pull out a packet of chips and place them in my lap, and then I open my can of soda. I very rarely allow myself treats such as these, purely because I’m on quite a strict diet with dancing, and therefore there’s not a lot of room for extras.

I pop a chip into my mouth and moan. Diet or not, they’re my weakness.

I watch as bikes begin roaring around the track to warm up. I stretch my neck to see better and I recognize Nate right away. He’s got the number seventy-three on his bike and across his backside in bold letters is “Nathaniel”. I grin, enjoying the fact that he’s got it right on his ass. His gear is blue and his bike is a bright yellow and black. He skids around the track with ease, kicking up dirt as he goes.

When they’re done, I watch them all line up on top of a large slope. I clap loudly with the other watchers and when the race begins, I get to my feet. Nate is the first to hit the corner, skidding around it with perfection. When he reaches the tabletop, a flat jump, he revs his bike, soaring over it with ease. He lands with a bounce and puts his hand in the air. People roar and cheer. I join in, enjoying how it makes me feel to yell so loudly.

He reaches a set of woops, a line of tiny bumps in the ground, and he powers forward. He moves his backside over the back mudguard of his bike and pulls it flat, tearing over them. I clap loudly, cheering him on with the hundreds of other admirers, including the group of girls in front of me, screaming his name. He makes it around another two corners in front of the group. That’s when he reaches the triple jump.

I watch with my hand pressed to my mouth as he speeds up, launching off and flying a distance that I am almost sure he won’t make. He does—landing with ease. The crowd goes wild, and I get an intense adrenaline rush that spreads through my body. When the race is finished, my heart is pounding and I feel exhilarated in a way I’ve never felt outside of my dancing.

I get to my feet and make my way towards the line of people wanting to get out. They’ve also put the food stands nearby, so it’s not easy to leave without getting trapped in a food line. With a sigh, I patiently wait as the crowd moves out. Most of them stay behind for the live music, food and alcohol but I’ve no one to stay with so I feel out of place sitting by myself. The race was amazing, but it’s time for me to go.

“Hey.”

“Oh, it’s Nate!” a group of girls scream just as a hand goes around my upper arm.

I turn to see Nate wearing everything but his helmet. Holy wow. He is breathtaking. His skin has a sprinkle of dirt scattered on it, and his clothes give him a rugged, extremely attractive look that has my skin prickling. His hair is messy from being trapped under his helmet. It looks . . . great. He smiles at me, and I smile back, still feeling quite thrilled.

“You did really good,” I yell over the crowd.

“Nate, sign my boobs!” a girl says, jumping in front of me and exposing a good amount of her flesh.

Nate takes the pen she thrusts at him, quickly signs and then pulls me towards him. “Why are you leaving?”

“I had no one to talk to,” I say.

“You’ve got me. Come on, I’ll show you my bike.”

I don’t protest; instead, I let him take me through the crowd until we reach a fence. There are guards lining it, and the moment he nods at them, they let him through. Finally we’re away from the fans and wild crowds. I sigh. “Wow, they’re a little crazy, aren’t they?”

He laughs. “People get motorcycle mad. It’s hard not to.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say, falling in step beside him. “I’ve never been on one.”

He stops and turns to me, gaping. “You’ve never been on a bike?”

I flush, shaking my head. “No, I’m too much of a girl.”

“We’re just going to have to change that, aren’t we?”

I shake my head, eyes wide. “No way. I’ll probably break my leg and never be able to dance again.”

He laughs. “Live it up a little, Dancer. Life is too short to be afraid.”

Don’t I know it?

“Doesn’t it ever scare you?” I ask as we round the corner to a group of people.

“No, never.”

“Have you ever fallen off?”

“About a hundred times, give or take.”

“A hundred?” I gasp.

He grins at me. “That’s nothing compared to some.”

“Wow.”

We reach the group of people and a tiny girl comes tearing out, running towards Nate. She’s the sweetest little thing I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s got these long blond locks, big green eyes and a face that would melt any heart.

“Daddy!” she cries.

She must be Nate’s little girl—which means his wife must be here too. I feel a little uncomfortable that I’m here, considering I don’t really know him or any of them.

“Hey princess,” he says, scooping her up and pressing his lips to her cheek.

My heart aches watching them, I can’t really say why. It’s just a feeling of loss and longing.

“I want you to meet my friend,” he says, turning to me. “Dancer.”

I laugh. “It’s Avery.”

He tilts his head to the side, giving me an intense look that has me focusing on his daughter with a flush in my cheeks.

“Avery,” he murmurs, as if testing it on his tongue.

“You must be Macy,” I say to the little girl.

She smiles at me, showing me a row of perfect little teeth. “Mwacy,” she says in the cutest, tiny voice.

Nate laughs. “She can’t say it properly.”

“That’s okay.” I smile. “Mwacy is a very cute name.”

She beams. “Daddy called you a dancer,” she points out.

“That’s because I am.”

“I want to dance,” she cries, throwing her arms up.

“Well, I’ll have to show you then, won’t I?”

She turns to Nate. “Put me down, Daddy, Avie is going to teach me to dance.”

I feel my chest tighten. I know she’s tried to say Avery but ended up with Avie, and it warms my heart to hear her say it like that—but there’s only two people who have ever called me Avie: my mom and my brother. I swallow and push the emotions down as Nate puts her down and she takes my hand.

“Okay,” I manage, my voice tight. “Are you ready?”

“Yes!” she cries, spinning in a circle.

I glance at Nate, and he’s got his eyes narrowed, watching me intently. I don’t dare ask why he’s staring at me like that, because I’m afraid he saw on my face what I try hard not to show anyone. I focus my attention back on Macy.

“Can you spin in a circle?”

She spins around.

“Wow, good girl.”

I spin too.

“You look so pretty spinning.” She giggles.

“So do you. Come here, I’ll hold your hand and you can spin.”