35. Teysha

35

TEYSHA

My mouth is dry, and my thoughts are lost in a thick fog that won't clear from my head. I kneel on the floor, my thighs pressed together, my knees suffering carpet burn, as I fold the last pair of underwear I have and place it on top.

Just about everything I own lays inside this duffle bag.

All of it packaged and pieced neatly together like a nomadic jigsaw puzzle.

Over the past six months, I've grown used to life this way. Little belongings. Monumental, life-altering events.

I'm not the college girl that once had a room full of pretty things—the tiny porcelain figurines that rested on my desk and the bookshelf crammed with my favorite book series I had read and gone back to numerous times. A stuffed bear sat on my bed among a cascade of pillows, a childhood memento I could never bring myself to get rid of.

That I clung to on difficult days even into early adulthood. Back then my idea of difficult was a lot different. The guy from school I had feelings for dating a new girl or the family dog Cooper passing away .

I didn't have a concept of what the world was really like.

I thought problems could be solved with flowery language and a bowl of Grandma Renae's home-cooked chicken noodle soup. The future seemed bright. The possibilities limitless. I dreamed of the day I'd walk down the aisle and then ride off into the sunset with the love of my life.

Happily ever afters and fairytale endings.

I never conceived of the darker, crueler truth—that life wasn't always so kind and things didn't always work out how you want them to. Sometimes, it was the exact opposite.

Sometimes, those fairytales weren't fairytales at all. They were tragedies.

I've convinced myself I could pretend otherwise. I could keep dreaming because the dream was easier than the reality.

But I'm awake now. I'm aware of what I need to do.

A hollow sigh finds its way out of me as I tug the zipper along the open seam of the duffle bag.

It's been two days since the events at the old church in Boulder, and I'm more torn up now than I was then.

Probably because I've had time to do nothing but obsess over every small detail. I've felt the awkward pauses and uncertain glances Logan and I have shared. He's been in the hospital the past few days, recovering from his motorcycle accident.

When I've visited him, his eyes have lit up. He's held my hand and told me he's glad I came. I shed tears over the sight of him swollen and scraped up with too many bruises to count marring his skin.

Logan Cutler was a Steel King. He was made of steel himself. He was unbreakable and powerful, with taut muscles that flexed and strained and an intensity in his stormy gaze that could turn any enemy to dust. He was resilience and strength and wasn't supposed to be laid up in a bed covered in bandages.

We couldn't bring ourselves to address anything beyond the moment.

Beyond his enjoyment at seeing me and my relief that he was alive and breathing.

It was like a stampede of invisible elephants rushed through the room.

We certainly couldn't talk about us. We couldn't address all the things hanging in the air. Things like the future, where our marriage would be going from here, and what I'd confessed to Abraham.

Surprise! I'm pregnant.

I sniffle lifting the duffle bag off the floor and hauling it over to the space by the door. The note I've written Logan gets left on the kitchen counter for him to find. I've already bought my bus ticket out of town and called Mama up to let her know I'll be arriving by eight. She said Papa will be parked outside waiting for me.

I reached out to the Pulsboro clerk's office again, offered several profuse apologies, and requested they start the annulment process like we'd asked so many weeks ago.

Everything's in order.

Logan won't have to worry about a thing when he returns home. It'll all be taken care of for him. He'll be able to move on from this ordeal. I'll be able to… deal with the aftermath of what returning to Boulder entails.

My family won't be happy I'm pregnant. It'll be just another reminder I'm damaged goods. How will they marry me off to some proper Christian man now?

I can hear their voices in my head, suggesting I hide out for the rest of the year 'til I give birth. Then I can give the baby up for adoption and pretend it never happened.

I spend the next couple minutes wandering the apartment, making sure I've packed up what's mine. The Bible I've kept on my bedside table catches my eye. For a moment my hand hovers over it as an internal debate takes place.

Just months ago, I couldn't imagine ever leaving it behind. Now only dull cynicism passes through me when I consider bringing the beloved book with me.

The bolt on the front door snicks as it's unlocked. Heavy boots clack on the tile.

Oh no!

What's he doing home so early?!

I flee the bedroom to meet him in the hall, my heartbeat accelerating like the criminal I am. I've been caught red-handed and my mind's too foggy to think up a story.

Logan stands before me in a plain charcoal t-shirt that clings to his muscles and worn denim that fits him just right. A few bandages and scrapes remain from his collision. He comes to a stop directly in front of me, his eyes charged like a severe storm at sea.

Any lines, any words I have thought up, vanish.

I have no idea what to say. I divert my gaze to the floor where I can study our feet. My sandals that show off my painted toes and his that are almost twice my size, covered in the beaten leather boots the same shade as tobacco.

"I didn't think you'd be home yet."

"They released me early."

"You… you should've called," I say, braving a quick glance up at him. "I would've driven your truck to come get you."

"Didn't need you to. Mace gave me a ride. "

"Oh, okay. Excuse me."

I shift to his left to squeeze by him in the narrow hall. He steps to the side to block me. His hand lands on my hip as if to steady me from tipping over. His touch feels so natural, so comforting even now, without him even trying.

I meet his charged gaze and blink to the sudden prick of tears.

Just like that, the emotions I've been bottling up and hoping to hold in 'til I can get out of town threaten to spill out. They're on the precipice of rolling down my cheeks and quivering my lips and making me look like a fool.

I'm not strong enough for any of this.

Why… why, Lord, have you chosen for me to suffer like this? Can't you tell I'm not built for it?

"Teysha," Logan says, his voice husky, "what is it? Did something happen?"

I shake my head, bowing it 'til my chin's tucked to my chest. "Everything's fine. I was just not expecting you."

"Were you going somewhere?"

"Excuse me."

They're the only two words I can warble out as I out-maneuver him this time. I slide past him to the freedom of the open-spaced living room. Plenty of room to roam around and not get caught in the cage Logan seeks to put me in during moments like this.

"Teysha… where do you think you're going?"

"Home," I answer. "I've already got my bus ticket. Papa's going to pick me up. No need to worry."

Logan combs his fingers through his hair as if he can't understand what I've said. I might as well be speaking in a foreign language.

"Is this what you want?" he asks finally. "You want to go back to Boulder? "

"If there's one thing I've figured out over the last six months of my life, it's that I don't get what I want. That couldn't matter less." I cross the room to hoist my duffle bag off the floor and tug it over my shoulder. "Will you give me a ride to the bus terminal?"

"Will you slow the fuck down for a sec and—what's this?"

Logan tears his eyes away from me. His attention travels to the folded up note on the kitchen counter. He walks over to snatch it up. With every clack of his boot, my heart lurches inside my chest.

Panic and dread rolled into one, beating in sync with his grisly curiosity.

"Don't read that right now," I blurt out. "Please wait 'til I've?—"

"Is this some kind of fucking Dear John letter?" he asks after skimming the first line or two. His stormy eyes flick up for a vexed look at me. "You wrote me this, and then what? By the time I'd see it you'd be long gone?"

Yes. That's exactly what I hoped for.

"No," I mutter. "It's just easier if I got it down on paper. I'd never be able to tell you face to face."

He reads the letter out loud, repeating back to me the shame, fear, and pain I've poured into every drop of ink. Ugly truths I'd rather cry myself to sleep to than offer up for the inevitable rejection that's to come.

Logan,

Thank you for providing me a roof over my head these past couple months. You have shown me kindness and cared for me when you could've easily turned me away. I'm sorry for all the times I frustrated you and for ever getting things mixed up. I let what I wanted make an already confusing situation worse, but you still never gave up on me.

You made me feel safe and valued, and you should know I'll never forget it. Or any of the times we've had together.

But you were right when you said we couldn't play house forever. Eventually, reality seeps in and you have to face the truth.

We were never meant to be married. You never wanted to be, and you made that clear. You told me you weren't the marrying type and you weren't planning on settling down with a wife and kids. I was forced on you and I refused to let go.

I've realized I have to do that now. I have a lot of things to figure out, and I'm done saddling you with my baggage. Just know I want nothing but the best for you.

Love, Teysha

My pounding heart becomes the only sound in the room. Logan's finished reading the letter, but he hasn't said a word. His thick brows snap together and the tension in his jaw tightens .

I'm not sure whether I'm about to burst into tears, pass out, or spew the contents of my stomach.

He crumples the sheet of paper in his fist and says, "Why do you think you need to leave?"

"It's for the best. You said it yourself, this was never permanent. The marriage would be dissolved."

"We agreed we'd wait 'til everything was over before we decided."

"Everything is over. Abraham's dead. The Saints have been eliminated. It's a closed chapter."

"I thought it was clear that ‘we decided' meant we'd sit down and talk it out."

I fuss with the strap of the duffle bag and shake my head. "That's alright, I'm done obligating you. I need to go home and heal like you said."

"I'm your home now. We're each other's home now," he snaps. "Isn't that what being married means?"

"I'm pregnant."

"Yeah, I heard you in the church. What's that got to do with what I'm asking? Why are you leaving?"

The question feels so ridiculous, I can't resist laughing. It sputters out of me as a solitary tear leaks out and slips down my cheek. Logan comes out from behind the kitchen counter with the letter still clenched inside his hand.

"Can you stop beating around the bush and tell me what the fuck is going on?" he asks. "You're pregnant so that's why you're leaving? Where'd you get the idea you've got to leave 'cuz you're pregnant?"

"Because I don't know who the father is!" I scream. I explode , erupting into the tears that I've fought so hard against. They're hot streaking down my cheeks and salty on my lips. I'm like a hummingbird no longer able to stand still, throwing my arms up, pacing back and forth. Desperate to be heard, the ugly truths claw their way out of me. "I don't know whose baby this is, and I didn't expect for it to happen, and I don't want to put this on you. You can't raise another man's baby—that wouldn't be fair!

"I won't trap you like that, and I won't wait for you to grow bitter. You'll resent me and hate me for it. But I can't handle the rejection. I can't deal with you not wanting me anymore. But I can't get an abortion and just get rid of it. I can't do that either. So I'm leaving before all of that," I ramble in a mess of tears and gasping breaths. "I'm sparing us all the heartbreak and drama, so just let me go!"

"Slow down. You're talking too fast. You're jumping to conclusions. You don't know it's Abraham's?—"

"He wasn't the only one!" I sob, my hands covering my mouth in hopes I'll hold in what's spilling out. It's no use. It can't be stopped. "He wasn't the only one who did that to me. The guards… Xavier… a-and Brody… they… oh, god. I'm going to be sick."

"Teysha!"

I scramble through the other half of the apartment in a mad dash for the bathroom. The lid of the toilet's barely flipped up before I'm bent over it, heaving and retching. Like most days when nausea hits, there's little to spit up.

But I have no choice except to ride it out. Let the nausea play out like it demands.

More tears murk my vision, and I curl closer to the ceramic toilet as if I'll be able to hide myself. As if I can shrink somehow so that Logan won't be able to find me. Unfortunately, he's already followed me into the bathroom. He's kneeling at my side, his large palm a comfort on my shivery, feverish skin.

"Hey, it's alright," he rasps. He rubs my back in soft circles. "Just breathe. Baby, just breathe. "

Baby.

How is it that one gentle word can bring such warmth to my insides when the rest of me feels so much turmoil?

I cough and drown in tears, fighting my way out of it. Fighting my way back to the moment rather than wallowing in what's taken over.

Sheer grief and devastation at my circumstances.

"I'm sorry," I croak, my throat aching. "I've made a mess…"

"Fuck the mess. C'mere." Logan's arms envelop me in a cocoon of warm comfort and safety. His hand cups the back of my head, stroking my messy hair as I find a nook between his neck and shoulder. "Fuck what some DNA says. I don't give a damn. Don't you get it? I'm in love with you, baby."

"But… but…" Hiccups deter me from finishing my sentence.

"But nothing. I fucking love you, and there's nothing that's gonna keep us apart. We're bound by the vows we took. Vows that meant nothing then but everything now. You said it yourself. Marriage means never quitting on each other."

Any walls left standing come crashing down.

My cries deepen. My body quakes. All the trauma and fear and bad emotions I've shoved down floods out of me 'til I have no more to give.

Logan's there to catch every teardrop that falls. He breathes me in, absorbs my pain 'til it's his. 'Til we're healing together in each other's arms.

Minutes must go by of us huddled on the bathroom floor like this. Neither of us are keeping track.

I'm achy and exhausted by the time it's over.

He helps me off the floor, and we clean up. I chug water hoping it'll settle my stomach. Logan notices my phone vibrating on the kitchen counter.

"Baby, somebody's calling you."

I look over and frown at the local number. It's only after it goes to voicemail that I decide to answer and listen to the message left for me.

"Hello, Ms. Baxter, I am calling from the lab at Pulsboro General. Your test results for your blood work have come in earlier than expected. You may stop by the lab any time between noon and five p.m. on weekdays and noon and three p.m. on weekends. Thank you."

I'm speechless as the line beeps and I lower the phone from my ear.

Logan turns his head half to the side. "Everything alright?"

"I'm not sure," I whisper, then I meet his concerned gaze with my own puffy eyes. "I… I asked for a blood test the other day when you were admitted to the hospital. It was to determine the paternity. The results have come in early."