The O'Conners: A Made for Love Novella (20 page)

I finally get up and head back inside. I go straight for the bathroom door, wiggling the handle to see if Avery has changed her mind. She hasn
’
t. I close my eyes and let out a tired sigh, pressing my palm against the barrier that separates us. I can hear her whimpering and I want to pull her into my arms in hopes of absorbing some of her pain. All I keep thinking is how much bigger than her I am
—
I can shoulder more.
For her, I would shoulder it all.
Right now, I
’
d do anything, absolutely anything, to help her
…
my broken bride.

“Avery?
”
I murmur.
“
Shorty, would you please let me in?
”
When she doesn
’
t respond, I knock softly.
“
Sweetheart
…”

“I just
—
I want to be
—
alone.
”

I nod, even though she can
’
t see me do it, and force myself to take a step back. I don
’
t have it in me to sit here doing nothing while she
’
s in there falling apart. Knowing it would be best  for me
not
to break down the door, I decide to be useful in other ways.
“
Ave, I
’
m going to be right back. If you need me
…
I
’
ll be right back.
”

I search and find her car keys before I set out to run my errand. An hour and a half later, I
’
m wrestling our new mattress up the stairs to our front door. The salesman tried to tell me that they could deliver it for me tomorrow, but I wasn
’
t hearing that shit. I told him I was leaving with my purchase strapped to the roof of my car and that I wouldn
’
t have it any other way. I was probably far more aggressive than necessary, but
this
was something I could control.
This
was something for which I wouldn
’
t take no for an answer.
This
was something my wife needed, something that I could actually provide for her.

If nothing else, she
’
ll have a new mattress to sleep on tonight.

The moment I step inside of our apartment, I abandon my heavy load and hurry across the room. Avery is on the floor, her hair damp, her body swallowed up by one of my old CSU t-shirts as she holds herself around her middle. Her cheeks are covered in tears, her eyes are shut tight, and her bottom lip is clamped between her teeth as she groans in pain.

“Avery, what can I do? What do you need?
”

“I couldn
’
t find my pills,
”
she breathes.
“
This hurts so badly.
”

I can feel it as all the blood drains from my face.
Her pain meds
…
I reach into my pocket and pull out the prescription we had filled just this morning. I can
’
t believe I left and took them with me.

“I have them,
”
I admit.
“
I
’
m so sorry, Ave
—
I have them.
”

“It
’
s fine,
”
she murmurs, holding her hand out.
“
Could you get me a glass of water?
”

“Yes, just one second,
”
I say before I jump up and head for the kitchen. I
’
m back, crouched in front of her, in less than ten seconds. She accepts the glass and swallows her pills, but not once does she look at me.
“
Avery
…”

“What is it, Sonny?
”
she sighs, turning to prop her head against the wall.

“Look at me, Shorty,
”
I plead, gently running the back of my fingers down the side of her face.

She sucks in a breath as her face begins to crumble.
“
I can
’
t,
”
she insists, her voice softer than a whisper.
“
I can
’
t. I can
’
t even look at myself, okay? I just
…
can
’
t.
”

“Sweetheart
—”

“Please don
’
t make me talk about it,
”
she whimpers.
“
Sonny, please?
”

My eyes well up as I take a seat next to her. I
’
m overwhelmed by this moment, by this day. I feel her disappointment; I feel her devastation; I feel it and I know it and I understand it because her loss is my loss. Yet, in the same breath, I get it that I don
’
t feel her pain and I don
’
t feel her emptiness and I can
’
t, no matter how much I wish I could.

I
’
m exhausted
—
my head full of questions and worry and sorrow, my heart split open
—
and I realize that I
need
my wife in a way that I never have before. It
’
s not something I can explain or even fully understand, but when I reach for her, I can
’
t stand for her to tell me no. When she shrinks away from me, I scoop her up and set her in my lap. She tries to resist me, but I won
’
t let her. I can
’
t. If she doesn
’
t wish to speak, I won
’
t make her
—
but I need this
—
we
need this. I hold her tightly against me, whispering of my love and of my sorrow. It
’
s not long before she begins to relax. She clings to my shirt, which still smells like hospital, as she buries her face in my neck.

This is where we sit. This is where we cry. This is where we drift to sleep
—
on the hardwood floor.

Reality startles me out of my sleep. When I open my eyes, I find that I am alone, propped up against the wall, my ass completely numb, my stomach aching with hunger.

Have I eaten today?

The sun is setting
—
or is it rising?

I feel so removed from time, my mind consumed with far greater worries, the first of which is
—
where is my wife?

I get up and search for her on the couch, wondering if she was in need of a more comfortable place to rest. When I find it empty, I look across the room, at our mattress propped against the wall. Considering the way my girl responded upon entering our bedroom earlier, I can
’
t help but question whether a new mattress will encourage her to sleep in our bed tonight or not.

There are no lights on and as the darkness descends, signaling nightfall, I listen for her movements. I hear nothing. I check the bathroom and the kitchen before I finally wander into our bedroom. The sight of her steals my breath. She
’
s curled up on the floor, clutching the stuffed giraffe meant for our little one as she sleeps. That was our first baby purchase
—
our first gift for our beloved surprise. She saw it in the store a couple of weeks ago while we were running errands. She insisted that it was too adorable and too perfect and that our son or daughter would love it. I loved the way her face lit up when she held it against her chest, so we bought it.

I take a deep breath, willing myself to pull it together before I scoop her off of the floor and carry her to the couch. I cover her with a blanket and set her pain meds and a glass of water on the coffee table, in case she wakes up in need of either. Then I set out to move our new mattress and make up the bed with a fresh pair of sheets. When I
’
m finished, I shower and make myself a sandwich. Despite my hunger, I can only stomach half of it. I wrap the rest and set it out for Ave. I highly doubt that she
’
ll eat it of her own volition, but I know she needs the sustenance.

I sit on the arm of the couch, reaching out to run my fingers through her hair. I wonder how long she slept before she crawled out of my arms. She usually sleeps through anything, and with all her body has been through, I
’
m surprised anything woke her
—
then again, her cramps have been hell for her to endure.

I unconsciously send up a prayer, asking God to ease her suffering and to heal her body. It isn
’
t until after the words are spoken over her that I realize what I
’
ve done. I won
’
t deny that there
’
s an anger that simmers deep inside of my chest, but I know that prayer is the only thing I can offer her physically. Thinking about God makes me realize that tomorrow is Sunday. A part of me wants to go to church simply to see if I can find any answers. I know that she won
’
t be well enough to go, though
—
and I won
’
t leave her. Not after the shit I pulled today. I
’
ll be here when she needs me.

I
’
m distracted from my thoughts at the sound of my phone. I left it to charge in the other room. I
’
m sure it
’
s our parent
’
s checking on us. I don
’
t have it in me to speak to them right now. I know they
’
ll want to talk to Avery, who hasn
’
t spoken to them since they heard the news, but I don
’
t want to wake her. Not wishing to ignore them, I retrieve my device so that I might send them a text, promising to call them tomorrow. Just as I
’
m about ready to leave the room, Avery
’
s phone beeps. I check and see that she
’
s received a few messages today, four of which are from Brenna.  I hang my head as I
’
m shoved further into
life after
…

I
’
m not sure what Avery
’
s schedule looks like for the rest of the month, but there
’
s no doubt in my mind that if she
’
s set to play in the next few days, they
’
ll need to find a replacement cellist. Facing Monday already seems like an insurmountable feat
—
I can
’
t even think about school starting up again in a couple of weeks. I shake the thought away with a sigh and then reply to Brenna
’
s text.

Me:
Hey Bren
—
this is Gray. Listen, Ave isn
’
t feeling well. Wanted to let you know she
’
s going to be out of commission for a couple weeks. If you have any gigs lined up, you should look for a stand in.

Before I can even set her phone down, it beeps with a new message.

Brenna:
Oh no! Is everything okay?