13. Felix

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

felix

Don’t do it.

Don’t do it.

Do. Not. Do. It.

“Tell me about Maggie. What happened?”

Goddammit. I really am stupid sometimes.

Surprisingly, Henry doesn’t look that startled by my question. He’s lying on his side on his bed, facing me, with Hazel between our bodies. It was a long day at work, and I convinced him to go swimming afterward.

I used their shower and changed into some shorts and a shirt I swiped from downstairs, then gave Hazel a bottle on the bed while Henry took his shower. I guess I was more tired than I let on because I ended up lying down when Hazel did, and to my utter shock, Henry did the same, on her other side, when he came out.

This feels intimate but so damn right, I could cry.

She passed out a few moments ago, and instead of getting up, we just stayed here. And then I had to open my stupid mouth.

Because I have so many questions for him. They’re endless. I want to know everything about this man who’s become a slight obsession over the past month.

“Her death . . .” I start, my voice quiet.

He looks surprised as he looks from Hazel to me and then shakes his head. “No. She’s not . . .” He clears his throat, then takes a deep breath. He stands up, scooping his baby girl into his arms. I sit up, ready to listen when he inevitably tells me to leave.

He lays her down in the crib he bought a week ago. He was worried it wasn’t fancy enough, but I told him that was crazy. Hazel doesn’t care, and she won’t be using it for years and years. It seemed nuts to buy a fancier one.

He shocks the hell out of me again when he sits back down on the bed, bending one leg at the knee and sitting comfortably. “She’s not dead.”

“She’s not?” I look at his dark expression. “You said she was gone . . .” I try to piece things together. “And then you showed up at the trauma support group . . . I thought . . .”

He shakes his head, his shoulders slumping. “I was there for more of the support part. Not the trauma from losing someone part, at least, not because Maggie died.”

“I’m sorry. I assumed she was . . .” I can’t even seem to say the word.

“Maggie is an addict. She tried to get clean, and I tried like hell to help her. But it never took. She’d take off for months at a time, and I’d try to move on.”

“Date?” I ask quietly.

“No,” he rasps, and then he lies down on his side again, facing me like before. I take the hint, lying down with him, a Hazel-size space still between our bodies. “I didn’t want to go through that pain again. Hookups. Random people.”

I don’t miss how he refers to his hookups as people—not women—but don’t say a word.

“But she’d come back. She’d crash into my life and beg me to take her back, which I did the first two times. But after that, it was too much. It hurt too damn bad when she left, so I told her no. She’d still stick around for a while, saying we were friends. And I kept her at a distance.”

My heart cracks open, thinking about Henry going through this. And Maggie, too, because I’m sure she did try. I’m sure she wanted Henry, but the drugs were just too damn much.

“But then . . .” He looks so damn broken as he recounts his life. “She was sober for months. The longest I think she’d ever been sober. No alcohol. No drugs. She was trying. She went to meetings. She went to work. Paid her half of the rent, and one night she just . . .” He stops for a moment and then clears his throat. “She told me how much she loved me. How much she missed me. That she wanted to try again.”

I notice him chewing on his bottom lip, deep in thought, and I wish like hell I could offer any kind of comfort.

“It was just one night. One night, I let go and didn’t worry about what it would be like if I woke up in the morning and she was gone. Or using again. I just let myself go. One. Night.”

I can’t resist the urge to touch him, taking his hand in mine, and he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he threads his fingers through mine.

“She didn’t leave the next day. Or the one after that. She tried to kiss me a few days later, but I told her I couldn’t do it. That it was a one-time thing. And I thought for damn sure she’d leave after that, but she didn’t. She stayed. She kept going to meetings.” My heart breaks as he squeezes my hand a little tighter, and closes his eyes, pain written all over his face. “Then she told me she was pregnant.”

My eyes instinctively go to where Hazel sleeps in her crib and then back to Henry, who still has his eyes closed.

“At first, I thought maybe she got pregnant on purpose.” His eyes open, and they meet mine, his so full of shame. “I didn’t even care if she did. I was excited. But then I saw how scared she was. How badly she didn’t want a baby.”

I suck in a surprised gasp because I can’t imagine anyone not wanting Hazel.

“She was afraid our baby would end up just like us. I assured her that wouldn’t happen.” His head lowers, and his eyes are aimed at my chest. “I convinced her to keep the baby. She wanted to have an abortion. She was terrified. I told her we could do this together. That we’d be together, and I meant it. But I should have known.”

“You didn’t lie though.” I try to offer, and his eyes meet mine, so tired for his young age. So worn out and broken. “You did want that with her.”

He gives me a quick nod but doesn’t look convinced. “I knew she didn’t want this. But she did so well when she was pregnant. She ate right. She went to work. Her doctor’s appointments. She didn’t drink or do any drugs whatsoever. She was incredible, and I tricked myself into believing it would be okay.”

“What happened?” I ask softly, his hand still in mine.

“She gave birth to Hazel.” A beautiful smile falls over his lips. “God, she was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Her big eyes looked up at me, and I felt like everything was just right, for the first time in my whole life.”

I give him a nod of encouragement because I can see that on his face.

“It was like she knew she belonged to me. And I belonged to her. She didn’t cry when I held her. She just looked up at me.” He swallows hard, and then his expression changes to something so much sadder. “But it wasn’t the same with Maggie. I told myself her body had just gone through an insane change. That she was tired and in pain. But she wouldn’t look at Hazel. She wouldn’t hold her.”

I want to cry for the sweet man in front of me and the beautiful baby. But also for Maggie. “Postpartum depression?”

He nods slowly. “The doctors thought so. They set her up with a counselor and told me it could take some time. I didn’t care how much time it took, as long as she was getting help. I thought it would pass, like they said, with the help of meds and counseling. But then, a month later . . .”

I squeeze his hand and hear the pain in his voice, telling him in my mind that he can stop but not actually getting the words out.

“It was still bad. She didn’t want anything to do with Hazel, and I knew deep, deep down she was using again, even though she was trying to hide it. She was trying to keep it together, but it was too damn hard.”

“Henry,” I breathe out and brush the fingers of my free hand over his cheek. “It’s okay.

“It’s not.” He shakes his head. “I still had to work, but I couldn’t leave Hazel with Maggie when she refused to pick her up and I knew she was using. So there was this sweet older lady who lived in our building. She watched Hazel for me.” A tear slides down his cheek, and I brush it away. “I hated leaving her there. Because . . . God, I don’t trust anyone. But I needed to work, and I’d already missed a lot. We had no money.”

Again, I want to tell him to stop, but he continues before I can try to give him an out.

“I came home after picking Hazel up from Judy’s, and there was a red sign on the door. An eviction notice.” He takes a deep breath. “Maggie was supposed to have paid the rent the last two months. She told me she would, but turns out, it was all going into her arm instead. I knew better.” His voice is harsh and full of disappointment. “I knew better than to trust her with money, but I was tired and had so much to do, and she said she’d take care of it. I tried to talk to the landlord, but he was over it. Said he didn’t want junkies living in his place anymore.”

“I’m so sorry,” I say, but I also wonder where Maggie was at this time.

He answers my unspoken question. “He let me grab our stuff, what little I could carry with me. I was hoping Maggie was around, but I found her note instead. She’d cleaned out what little cash we had—money I was going to buy formula and diapers with that night. She said she wasn’t coming back.”

“She left.”

He nods, “She left. With everything we had. Without a real goodbye. And we had no apartment. Nothing.”

“I’m so damn sorry, Henry.” I scoot closer, wrapping my arms around him because I can’t take it anymore. The pain he’s feeling, I swear I feel it swirling through every bit of my body, and I just want to take it all away.

“She didn’t want her.” He lifts his eyes to meet mine. “She didn’t want me.”

I do something impossibly stupid then, something I know deep down I shouldn’t, but give myself just one brief moment, ghosting my lips over his, hoping like hell to provide some sort of reprieve from what he’s feeling.

His lips press gently against mine, but that’s as far as it goes. A brief, chaste kiss that lights my entire being on fire, and sparks fly from that tiny bit of contact.

I should move. Climb off the bed and just be his friend because that’s what he needs right now.

But instead, I wrap him in my arms and hold onto him with everything I have.