Third Date
Authors: Leah Holt
THIRD DATE
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Leah Holt
Copyright © 2016 Leah Holt
All rights reserved. THIRD DATE is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely
coincidental.
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HIS PRICE: A Billionaire Romance
MY SOLDIER: A Military Romance
BARE SKIN: A Billionaire Romance
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T
oday was a day that should have been insignificant, one easily forgotten, and tossed into fragments of my memories.
But today became the day of reckoning, the day of numbing emotions, and unalterable pain. It would be my last breath in the life I knew, and the first breath laid before me by an unseen force I couldn't control.
If I had only been able to see my future, the surprise and hurt might have been easier to manage. Except I had let myself be blind to the hand that held fate.
And for that, I will forever send voiceless apologies to my daughter.
Snatching the bottle from the counter, I turned on the hot water to warm it up. My two month old, Fay, was screaming her head off in the other room, as if her body would implode if it didn't receive food right that very moment.
The steam from the water had wafted up, coating the cold glass of the window behind the sink. The fog blurred out any and all sight of the two feet of snow that had fallen the night before. The only reminder of its icy hand was the bright white sheen that glowed as loudly as the sun.
“Mommy's coming, hold on!” I yelled as sweetly as possible from the kitchen.
I wasn't a single mom, but I sure felt like one. My husband was in the army, and even though he luckily made it for the birth of our daughter, not one week after, he was sent away on a tour that was going to last eighteen months...
Eighteen months. I can't believe I'm doing this alone for a year and a half.
Why does it have to be so long?
I knew his job was important, lives would be saved, and our family had food on the table. But having to be the only one getting up every two hours, the only one changing diapers, the only one feeding, bathing, caring—
You get the picture—
It was a lot for one person.
We were living in North Dakota, a world away from family, but I had gotten a lot of support from the other army wives. I was thankful for that, but it still didn't fix the loss I felt of doing it all by myself. Because it wasn't the same, it wasn't my husband.
All the help in the world didn't compare to the feeling of having my love by my side.
Twenty years old, married with a new born, and
alone,
was starting to get to me. But each day I got up, took in a large breath of air, and kept going strong.
Because that's what I have to do.
Everyday I would paint my face with a fresh mask that covered my weathered lines. It was easy for me to make everyone think I had it all under control, that help was unnecessary.
All I wanted was to succeed in the game of motherhood. I wasn't the first woman to be in this position, and I certainly wouldn't be the last.
But I had underestimated the intense strain having a newborn would put on my shoulders. And each time I looked down on the precious gift my world had been blessed with, all the weight seemed to lift off, and disappear.
Fay was beautiful, and I loved her with every piece of my soul.
The crying turned to a gut-wrenching squeal. “I'm coming!” I shouted with a nervous concern. I hated hearing her cry, even though it was just over food. I knew if I felt this awful over a cry for food; a true, valid, painful cry would probably kill me.
Tapping the rubber nipple against my wrist, the milk felt nice and luke warm. “Here I am, Mommy's here.” Fay was still screeching, her face flushing between a deep red and bright purple with each wail.
I had no idea that babies could even make the sound that was coming out of her lungs.
Her lips quivered with a lusting hunger, as if I had just starved her for days. Because, you know...
I hadn't just fed her a couple of hours ago.
Scooping her up into the crease of my arms, her body snuggled into the nook of my elbow. Instantly, I felt her muscles loosen, arms curling in across her chest, letting herself be engulfed by the comfort of my embrace.
And this is what keeps me going.
Her mouth puckered up, searching the air for her meal. “Here, Honey, now you'll feel better.” Fay's large blue eyes flashed happiness as the bottle met her lips, then gently closed to the relief of starvation washing away.
I wonder if her eyes will change?
Questions of what features she would get from Max or myself had become a playful bet between us. I had deep brown eyes, Max had dark green, my hair was pin straight and chestnut colored, Max's was dirty blonde and super curly.
Although, you wouldn't be able to tell that if you saw him now from the crew cut the Army gave him.
My husband was banking on the fact that she would grow up to look like a really cute girl version of him... I was hoping for a sweet mix of the two of us.
But it was too soon to tell.
Fay finished her eight ounce bottle in fifteen minutes flat, and I was positive she had beaten some infant formula eating record. A giant man-sized burp exploded from her throat, as her head fell down onto my shoulder. The intense Thanksgiving-size meal had grabbed hold, sending her off into nap number three of the day.
Easy, easy. Don't wake up... Please don't wake up,
I thought as I tried to place her down as gingerly as possible in her bassinet.
Fay had this horrible habit of jerking her arms out fast whenever I laid her down while she was already out. On so many occasions that little spastic movement had stirred her awake, leaving me with an extremely cranky baby, and no mommy time.
Thank God that time she stayed fast asleep.
Falling back onto the couch, I didn't even bother lifting my legs or getting comfortable. I simply let my body fall and stay right where it landed, that was all I wanted and needed.
Quiet time with no crying.
Exhaustion, lack of sleep, and the never ending care of a newborn was taking its toll. I could feel the weight of my lids as they pulled down. Letting my head fall back, tiny anchors had launched from my lashes, stealing away the daylight hours as I drifted between a weird mix of consciousness and napping.
The sound of my laptop jingled off the desk, snapping me awake. In my state of confusion and delirious sleepiness, I jumped off the couch like the smoke detector was going off.
The blood had rushed to my head, causing me to sway. Stumbling into the coffee table, my hands shot out to brace the wall, head shaking side to side trying to regain my focus.
Max... What time is it?
My husband always tried to face time me at some point during the day, but I never knew when that moment would come. With groggy strides, I made my way over to the desk, only to realize that it wasn't the computer, it was the phone.
Who's calling me?
What time is it?
“Hello,” I said, the words half-heartedly escaping through tired lips. I was still trying to catch my bearings, still trying to lift the fog off my brain.
The jingle sprung up again, louder and more intense than before. Holding the receiver out, an endless dial tone filled the speaker.
The doorbell. Damn I need more sleep.
My feet scraped the wood floor, barely lifting an inch. Reaching the door, I tried to peer through the warped etched glass. But all I could see was a figure; a dark, broad outline of a man standing on the doorstep. The subtle movement of a second set of shoulders caught my eye.
If I could have seen the change coming my way...
I wouldn't have answered.
Not that it would have saved me from the inevitable, but it would have delayed the shock I never let myself imagine.
Instantly, my heart began to tremble, muscles flickering with a warm dose of anxious blood that coursed through my veins.
Oh no.
What's this?
What's happening?
“Yes, can I help you?” I asked through the door, my body warm and tingling with fear.
“Mrs. Davidson, I'm Captain Thomas Webster, can you open the door please?”
My lungs began to strain to take in air as I turned the handle. I knew what was coming before he even said the dreaded words. Looking into his eyes told me everything I needed to know, and everything I didn't want to actually hear.
The man's face was drawn back, brows lifting a hair with an empathetic arch. His arms were set by his side, not dangling, but hanging with professional precision. “Mrs. Davidson, the Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your husband, Maxwell, was killed in action early this morning due to small arms fire.”
That was it, that was all I heard. The room tunneled into a black hole, the world around me grew hazy and started to fade away. A soft, angelic cry echoed in my ears, my brain turning off the switch to process anything else but the words he had just thrown in my face.
Then nothing.
Every sound had gone to a horrid silence, I couldn't hear the man, I couldn't hear myself, all I heard were his words.
My world had forever changed, my life had been forever altered by that one moment.
And my baby girl would never get to grow up knowing her father.
A father would never get to hold his child, tend to her wounds, hold her after her first heartbreak, or walk her down the aisle.
A hole was cast into my world, one I couldn't close or fix. There was no erasing this moment, no magic spell to alter what had happened. My husband was gone, the love of my life was gone within a few words.
Where was I supposed to go from here?
How was I going to go on alone?
How would I raise our child without her father?
Kinsley
Five Years Later
“U
h, Kinsley! You might want to get out here, the kids are getting restless!” Gina yelled through the screen door of my small patio. Her hair blew softly in the breeze, eyes flickering between the yard and me in the kitchen. Gina's thin lips that normally rested with a birth born frown, twisted and turned up, teeth biting down with a snicker of a smile.
Oh no.
“What? Why? What in the world is going on?” I asked, grabbing the freshly topped off bowl of chips from the counter. Making a mad dash for the door, Gina jumped out of the way, giggling to herself as she cupped her hands under her chin.
It was my daughter's fifth birthday party, and knowing what it was like to have one young child... Add in six more, and it was a damn circus. All I needed was a few elephants and a couple tight rope walkers, and we had the Ringling Brothers in my yard.
I honestly shouldn't have been surprised, when you have a child, you should expect anything. And why?
Because
anything
was always possible.
One time, at the age of three, my daughter had found a permanent marker; a large, dark black, permanent marker. I of course was asleep, because only kids can be up half the night and still wake up with the roosters.
