Chapter 19

Nineteen

Haden

Istand at the door, banging my fist rapidly against the sturdy wood.

Anger boils deep inside of me like steaming hot lava pouring out viciously. It churns within, hungry for destruction, my target standing right behind this door.

I have suppressed my rage for long enough, and within seconds, the biggest fight of my life begins.

The door opens slowly. Cassandra is dressed in a robe, barely poking her head out. I know she is hiding something from me, her bloodshot eyes a dead giveaway of her intoxicated state.

“Where is she?”

“She’s not here.”

“Don’t fucking mess with me,” I shout, clutching my fists against my thighs. “You’ve done enough.”

Cassandra places her hand against the wall, blocking my entrance. Her robe slips slightly, revealing a black bra. I’m out of my mind, terrified of the truth behind this door because maybe I allowed my stubborn ego to drag this fight out for longer than I should have.

What if I’m too late?

What if I’ve lost her?

“You know what? I don’t care who you are, Haden. Boss or no boss, don’t you go accusing me of anything. Presley deserves better. Are you even surprised she wants to leave you?”

The threat rattles me, words flow from her mouth with a purpose to hurt me. There’s a satisfied gleam in her eyes as she realizes the pain she’s causing me. My hands begin to clench again, then unclench, jumping from one extreme to another.

Violence is not the answer,I chant to myself.

But all I see is her smug face and her joy in destroying my fucking life.

Unable to hold back, I push the door open, and see a body on the bed. Her shoulders peek through the sheets, and when I shove Cassandra out of the way, desperate for answers, I rip off the sheet to see a woman sleeping.

It’s not Presley.

The hair is brown but not the mane of curls that belong to my wife. The arch of the back is not the same contour that my hands have run over a thousand times. My racing heart begins to even out, the rage subsiding but only just.

“You’re a maniac. I told you it wasn’t Presley.”

“Where the fuck is she then?”

“I don’t know… we kinda…” Cassandra trails off. “She left hours ago, okay?”

It takes mere seconds for the rage to spike again, rushing through my body like a wild beast. Her words pound in my ears, I need fucking answers, now.

“We kinda what?” I growl with widened eyes.

“We kinda… never mind.” She stops mid-sentence, followed by a downward gaze. “She loves you. For whatever reason, I have no clue. You win.”

I purse my lips, exasperated. “I win? This isn’t a competition. Do you know what you have done to our family?”

“I was in her life well before you,” she cries back, her emotions catching me off guard.

“Yeah, so explain to me how that ended?”

She shuffles uncomfortably. “I made a mistake, okay?”

I point my finger directly at her face. “You messed with the wrong person.”

“She n-needed me,” she sputters, momentarily beyond words. “You weren’t there for her. I was.”

“And I have to live with that everything fucking day.”

Staring into her eyes, my expression turns bitter. It stems from a never-ending dark void that consumes everything I do. I’m this close to losing my entire reason for living. If this is a competition, and her aim was to break me, then she’s succeeded.

I’m fucking broken without Presley.

I haven’t slept, nor have I eaten. I’m struggling to mask this pain any longer, unable to bury it into the depths of my soul and pretend everything will be fine. The pain has resurfaced, demanding attention. It’s a constant stab into the heart and mind, stinging with every breath I take.

I’m nothing without Presley by my side.

For better or for worse.

We are at our worse.

And somehow, someway, we need to find our way back to better.

I turn my back and walk to the door, stopping just shy of the entrance. “Clear out your desk by Monday,” I order, full of conviction. “Your services are no longer needed at Indie Press.”

I don’t care what it will cost me.

All the money in the world would be worth every cent spent as long as Presley is back in my arms.

* * *

I turn on my phone to see the tracker had been activated, and there she is, sitting in the middle of Times Square on the iconic red steps.

The cab driver can’t drive any slower. Demanding he stop, I throw some money at him and exit quickly. With road work, running toward Times Square will be quicker.

It’s just after six in the morning, the sunrise peeking over the tall buildings. There are people walking around, few and far between the normally over-populated area. I’ve lost track of all time, having been awake since the moment she told me she needed time to think.

In front of me are the infamous red steps and sitting in the middle is Presley.

My breath is caught in my throat.

I desperately want to touch her, make sure warm blood pumps through her veins, and her presence is real, not a fixation of my imagination.

I take my time walking toward her, watching the way she stares blankly at the space in front of her. She’s dressed in a denim jacket, a pair of sweats and sneakers, her hair loose against her back.

As I sit beside her, she doesn’t even flinch.

Perhaps I’m too late.

I follow her gaze, staring straight ahead into the slow-building crowd. These minutes feel like hours, the silence between us greater than the words needing to be said.

I don’t know how to start, how to beg for her to come back to me.

“A wise man once said that New York has so much noise it forces you to drown out the noise in your head,” she says in a placid tone.

“Presley…” I stumble on my words, unsure how to get through this.

“I blamed myself for the miscarriage. I was so lost that I blamed myself for everything that happened,” she says, faintly.

I place my hand on hers, the touch shooting to every inch of my body like a shot of morphine. It kills me, tears my heart to pieces, how inside her mind she feels worthless.

Her big brown eyes glimmer with watery tears, and I know she feels as if her whole world has crumbled.

She lowers her head, quiet sobs beating against her chest. “I feel like a failure… career-wise, as a mother, and a woman.”

“But you didn’t fail,” I remind her, gently. “Your career is soaring. Masen adores you, and the doctor said miscarriage is common.”

“But I failed.”

Her tears are more than just crying. It’s the kind of desolate sobbing which comes from a person drained of all hope. The sound is heartbreaking, and beside her, I feel completely helpless.

Through my own glassy eyes, I place my arms around her, allowing her to sob into my chest. The grief surges with every expelled breath, tearing the both of us to pieces in a way we never imagined experiencing together.

People around us look, but I don’t give a goddamn shit what they think. My wife is in pain, and everything she feels transfers to me.

“Look at me,” I beg of her. Her eyes meet mine, glazed and full of guilt. “I felt like I failed, too, in so many ways. But here we are, feeling like we failed, yet we both know it wasn’t us. The emotions consumed us, neither one of us have grieved. I failed you.”

“I’m sorry,” she cries, hiccupping in between. “You pushed me to take time off, you tried to get me to grieve, but I just bottled it up. I never wanted the baby because I was too caught up being selfish. I blamed you for making me pregnant. But when we lost the baby, I thought it was all my fault. Karma came back two-fold.”

I trace her cheek with the tip of my finger, wiping away her falling tears. “And I shouldn’t have pushed you to have another baby. It’s driven us apart,” I admit, my voice croaking from the raw admission.

“I want more kids, but I miss me. I miss who I used to be.”

“And Masen and me?”

“My life doesn’t exist without both of you. I just don’t know how to balance it all.”

I place her cheeks in my hands, caressing her warm skin. “I’m not perfect, but whatever you need, I’m here. For better or for worse.”

Presley rests her forehead against mine, our noses scraping against each other. We close our eyes, simultaneously, our breaths shaking as we stay in this position.

“I love you, Haden,” she says in barely more than a whisper.

“You don’t know how much I need to hear that.” I grin, squeezing her hands. “I fucking love you, Presley Cooper… sorry Malone Cooper.”

She smiles. “Just Cooper… it has a better ring to it.”

My lips brush against hers, and instantly, the world falls away. It is slow and soft, comforting in ways that words will never be. I rest my hand below her ear, caressing her cheek with my thumb as our breaths mingle. She runs her fingers up my chest, pulling me closer with her other hand until there is no space left between us.

“Let’s go,” she says, pulling me up, then lacing her hand in mine.

“Where do you want to go?”

“I have an idea.”