Mended Affections (The Affections Series Book 2) (3 page)

Reagan

I've always had trouble with my emotions, even as a child. Looking back now and thinking of my behaviors, saddens me. Escaping and hiding away from my problems, never solves anything. I fight the urge to do so now, wanting to crawl into my bed, bury myself under the blankets, and never see the light of day again.

It’s early morning, or at least I think it is. I'm curled in a ball, under my comforter. The warmth of its embrace does little to settle my racing thoughts. I know I need to get up, but every day has been a struggle.

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks since Dalton died. I'm not sure how long I will last in this hell. I'm doing the best I can. I know the boys need me, and it's usually a knock at my bedroom door that pulls me from my hideaway, but getting up for myself is hard.

I promised Dalton many things before he passed. The most important thing was that I would continue with my therapist, even on good days, so that I could be strong for the boys. Even though I was still seeing Dr. Shanor occasionally, I started seeing her on a regular basis the week after Dalton finally told me about his illness. We would go together at times, and I'm thankful we did.

When you are in such a devastated frame of mind, it's hard to recognize what other people are going through. Dr. Shanor helped us discuss things that would have never crossed my mind; like how Dalton feared death. While I worried about his suffering and worldly pain, he was willing to except all of that just to have one more day on this earth.

Most people, who are suffering, tire and come to peace with their passing. Dalton never did. That will be one of the hardest things to carry with me. Not only did he spend the last few months of his life in pain, but he lived in fear every day, thinking each one might be his last.

Near the end, I kept the boys close, not wanting them to miss their father's final moments. He needed them there with him, along with Striker and me. We all sat around, quietly talking of things from our past that brought us joy, when Dalton tightened his grip on my hand and whispered for me to come close. I leaned in, brushing my hand across his ashen forehead, waiting to hear the softest of sounds pass through his lips.

"I know its coming Rea, but I'm not ready. I'm not done loving you yet," Dalton whispered.

"I know, baby." Tears formed in my eyes. I tried my best to be strong. "You will always be with me, okay?" I placed his hand over my frantic heart. "I'll carry you right here."

Leaning forward, I placed my cheek against his. Every breath he took was labored and irregular. Every rise of his chest took longer and longer to feel. When I thought he had taken his last breath, I leaned back, finding his eyes unfocused but looking toward me. His time was so close.

"Don't forget me," Dalton whispered, and then moments later he was gone.

I think of his last words all the time, playing them over and over again in my head. I want him to know that it's impossible to forget him and wonder what I did wrong when he was alive for him to think I could. He was my husband, before that my absolute best friend. He owned such a large part of me. I will never be the same.

I burrow further into the bed, pulling his pillow to my nose, inhaling Dalton's scent. Tears spring to my eyes and slowly travel across the bridge of my nose before dropping from my face, soaking the pillow.

I need to pull myself together. It's time that I played my role as mother again. I can't keep relying on Striker to take care of the boys. They returned to school a little over a week ago, and I have yet to drive them in the morning. Dalton would be completely disappointed in my neglect of the kids. I promised him that I would always tend to their needs before allowing myself to wallow in my grief.

I've already failed. He put all of his trust in me to do the right thing for our children. Worst of all, Dylan started middle school this year. A new school, with new people, and I wasn't there for him on that big first day.

Throwing the covers back, I sit up, catching movement at my bedroom door, but I'm not sure what it was. I guess I'm seeing things now. It wouldn't surprise me. I feel like I'm slowly losing my mind.

My feet slowly drag my fatigued body down the stairs and into the kitchen. I find it empty, with a sink full of dishes. I check the clock on the microwave and its quarter past twelve.

"Shit." I can't believe I slept this late. I turn and make my way down the hall toward the office, and the sound of music hits my ears as I near the entrance to the room. My eyes are greeted with the straining muscles of Striker's back as he does pushups on the floor.

I'm rooted in place, my heart picking up speed, feeling like an intruder as I stand and stare, not speaking a word to make him aware of my presence. My eyes are fixed to his back, and I can't pull myself from this trance. Hot, slickened flesh, covered in a sheen of sweat from his workout, tugging and pulling over his muscles, causes a flutter in my stomach.

Striker stops when he reaches the ground, his chest expanding with each forceful breath. He must realize that I'm here. I slowly start to back away. I didn't mean to catch him like this.

"Wait," Striker calls out.

I'm embarrassed to be caught watching him like I was. I continue to turn into the hall, but his firm grasp catches my elbow, stopping me in my tracks.

"It's okay to come in, Rea. What's wrong?" he says, turning me to face him.

"Sorry, I was just wondering where everyone was. I didn't realize how late I slept," I timidly respond, focusing on my hands as I nervously pick at my nails.

Striker places his hand in one of mine and leads me to the couch, inside the office. I feel awkward, as if I've been caught doing something completely wrong and embarrassing.

"How are you feeling?" Striker asks.

"Um, okay, I guess." I can't meet his eyes for some reason. I feel like I need to retreat and head back to my room, so I can wrap myself into my cocoon, where things are safe, and I don't have to face anyone or how I feel.

Warm fingers grab gently at my chin and Striker slowly turns my face up until my eyes meet his. He's so close, his eyes sad and full of concern as he stares down at me.

"Please talk to me. You can tell me anything. I know this is hard. It's hard on all of us, Rea, but the boys need you. Hell, I'm doing my best with them, but I'm still new at this. Helping them handle Dalton's death is not easy for me. I need your help." Striker's eyes are pleading with mine.

What he just said confirms the thoughts I was having in bed a few minutes ago. I've abandoned my children when they need me most. Turning, I place my face in my hands, unable to hold back the tears, as guilt crashes over me.

"I'm sorry," are the only words that I'm able to speak, as I break down.

Striker wraps an arm around my back and slides one under my knees. He lifts me off the couch and places me in his lap. I can't help but lean into him, burrowing into his chest. His strong arms tighten around my shoulders.

"I know this is hard for you, but the boys don't need to feel like they lost both of their parents," he says, as he slowly traces circles along my back.

Tears are covering my cheeks, and I've reached the level of an ugly cry. Snot is running from my nose, and I'm sucking in staggered breathes. My bottom lip quivers uncontrollably. Striker bends down his head and places his soft warm lips against my forehead.

"It's okay to be sad, Rea. We all are, but we need to be sad together, not apart. We all need each other to move forward." Striker's voice is soft and calm, and his breath brushes past my ear.

"I can't move forward." I sound like a stubborn child as I speak, but that's the truth. I know I need to be available to the kids, and I'll try. I can't fail Dalton and the promise I made to him, but I don't want to move forward.

I feel a firm hand on each side of my face, turning my head until I'm nose to nose with Striker. I tightly shut my eyes. I don't want to see his disappointment in me. I'm already disappointed enough in myself, but then he speaks and his words catch me off guard.

"I know it doesn't feel like it, but you're holding up great, Rea. Have faith in yourself. You will get through this. We are all grieving and that's okay. I just want for you to grieve with the boys, not alone," Striker says in a whisper.

Until this moment, I didn't realize how alone I have felt. I miss Dalton desperately, but I also miss my boys. They must feel so confused. They're just not old enough yet to understand the bond and relationship I had with their father. How he was always my support and strength, helping me through all the hard times I faced in life. I was blessed to have him for as long as I did. Not everyone is that fortunate.

I need to be that person for my kids. They deserve to have a strong shoulder to lean on, and maybe Striker has provided that so far, but it needs to be me. I just need to figure out how to push past my own emotions. It's only fair to them.

Striker's words replay in my head. I have made them feel like they have lost both parents. Even though my parents didn't pass away, I know what it feels like to lose one parent physically and have the other leave you mentally. I may not be drinking like she did, but I'm doing the same thing to my kids, as my mother did to me. My gut twists just thinking about hurting my children that way.

I speak through my tears, "You're right. I'm behaving just like my mother did after my father left."

"Wait, no, Rea, that's not what I meant," Striker says, sounding alarmed by the fact that I think he is comparing me to someone who failed as a mother.

"I know, but I am. I need to pull my shit together and be a mother to my children. They need me now, more than ever, and I've abandoned them at the worst possible time. Please, Striker, don't let me sulk in bed anymore. Throw my mother's behavior in my face if you have to, but I need your help to keep me focused." I search his eyes, looking for strength behind them to do as I ask.

"Rea, I'd do anything you asked me to, but you’re nothing like your mother, so I can't do that," Striker says, reaching up to brush my hair from my forehead.

I sit up straighter in his lap, frantically wiping away my tears. "I need to do better. I promised Dalton I would."

A sad smile crosses Striker's lips. He leans forward, until our foreheads are pressed together and his eyes close. We are silent for a moment, leaning on each other for support.

"I need you, too, Rea. I know I have the boys, but I feel alone in this. I've gone through a lot of loss, feeling alone in it, and I don't want to do it again. So please, Rea, I need you too." A single tear slips from the corner of his eye.

Every time Striker cries over the loss of Dalton, I feel my stomach twist into a tangled knot. There's something about this big, strong man, baring all his emotions to me, that tugs at my heart. Watching his pain and sadness makes me want to wipe it all away. But how do I help him, when I'm not even capable of helping myself? 

I am lost in thoughts of fixing everyone's heartache, including my own. How great would it feel to have a complete family again? One that sticks together through the hard times; if only I could play my part in that.

At some point, while lost in thought, I must have leaned forward, placing my lips to Striker's. The soft warmth of them, provides me comfort. It's a welcomed feeling to bond with someone physically, but then guilt settles in. I'm a married woman, always will be, with or without Dalton's physical presence.

Striker's muscles feel taut and his body is rigid. I need to pull away, but before I have the chance, his hand reaches behind my neck, pulling me into him and his tongue parts my lips. I can't help but groan at the intrusion; this only encourages his advancements, pulling me in closer.

The warmth of his tongue, sliding across mine, causes a tingle low in my belly. I don't have the same response to this feeling as I used to. I used to crave it, but now I want to push the feeling away. It reminds me of everything I've lost, and all the things I will never have again. My stomach flips and nausea sets in. My time of feeling wanted has passed. It ended along with Dalton's life.

The contrast between Striker's touch and my icy mood makes it feel as though his hand is burning my skin. Forcefully placing my hands on Striker's chest, I push away, trying to break his hold.

"This is wrong. I can't do this." I slide from his lap and begin to stand, feeling like his lips are still on mine. It's only been three weeks. I’m committed to my husband, what am I thinking? A chill breaks out across my skin. I’m already breaking my promise to myself, to never be with another man. My lower lip begins to tremble, as tears build in my eyes.

"Rea, look at me." Striker stands, towering above me, and lifts my chin so that he knows he has my full attention. "I'm sorry. That was too much. I just didn't expect you to kiss me, and then I got carried away. Please don't beat yourself up over it. We're both hurting right now and trying to figure out how to cope. I won't let it happen again." His eyes search mine, as he waits for a response.

I have to learn to live my life without my husband, without feeling his chest pressed against me while he holds me in bed, and without intimacy. I have to learn how to live a life without the touch of a man, without passion and love. It’s something I haven't done since I was a teenager. The overwhelming fear of being alone penetrates me bone deep.