Page 156 of Tangled Up In You

“Your Ma says you blame yourself. Please don’t do that. Please, I’m begging you not to do that.”

“It’s all you asked of me, that I take care of?—”

He squeezed his eyes shut as she cut herself off, his heart aching at her guilt. At the guilt he’d brought on.

“No,” he said firmly. “Don’t do that. You are not to blame for this. I have absolutely no doubt about that.”

“I need you, Gavin. I need you to give us another chance.”

Though he nodded, his eyes watery, he was glad she couldn’t see him. Because he wouldn’t go to her. He couldn’t. Not like this. Not when he knew that doing so right now would only tear open the wound that was their marriage.

“I, em,” he started, “I can’t. Not yet.”

Again, another long silence, followed by the sound of her trying to hold back tears.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, but you understand that we’re not in a place to just?—“

“Okay, sure. Um, I have to go now.” She said the words in between gulping deep breaths, racking sobs barely staved off.

“Wait—“

The call was disconnected. He tried her again and it was clear she’d shut off her mobile once more. He spent the next several hours calling her over and over, never getting through and never really knowing what he would say.

It wasn’t fair to let her go through this on her own. But at the same time, he knew that her insistence that him being there would be a return to their marriage wasn’t right either. Was he just supposed to forget about Conor? What was he supposed to do with all of those unresolved feelings?

When the sun rose, he was still in bed, still dialing Sophie with no response. He only stopped when his mobile died. Rather than plug it in to recharge, he took it as a sign that he should give up. For now. Just until he could sort out his heart.

It wasn’tuntil later in the day when he charged his phone and received a slew of voicemails and texts that he realized the extent of Sophie’s miscarriage. Yes, he knew she’d lost the baby, but he hadn’t realized it was so serious. News reports detailed the story of her having felt unwell for a day, collapsing in the street, and being rushed to the hospital. The pregnancy was ectopic, causing internal bleeding and requiring surgery.

He took a beating in the tabloids once news got out that she’d been in the hospital and he hadn’t been at her side.

Why hadn’t she told him she’d had surgery? Maybe she suspected that would have been the thing to bring him running? And maybe she held off because she also knew that reconciling this way wasn’t healthy?

The only thing he knew for sure was that she still wasn’t answering his calls.

He took the easy way out after that, letting her dictate their continued separation, all the while knowing he should have been a stronger man than he was.

Instead, he kept quiet, kept out of sight, and stewed in his own grief, ignoring all phone calls, texts, and emails.

One day, Julia showed up at his house, leaning on the intercom at the gate for an obnoxiously long time while he willed her to go away. Though he knew Sophie had harbored suspicions, he hadn’t crossed any lines with Julia. He hadn’t thought of her as anything other than a friend since before he and Sophie were engaged. But her continued presence after all that had happened with the breakup of his marriage seemed wrong. He wanted to move on from the chaos he’d wrought with his bad choices—the cocaine, the running away from his problems, hurting the ones he loved.

Moving on meant cutting ties with Julia, too. If he was honest with himself, he could see that she had ached for them to slip into their old intimacy for years now. His current situation provided just the opening she’d want to exploit. That was the last complication he needed. He texted her to say their friendship wasn’t a good idea anymore.

She replied with “selfish poncy southside bastard” as a confirmation that they were done. And he was relieved.

For weeks after that, he merely existed, numb and disconnected. It was the only way he could get through the days without falling back on the cocaine habit that he’d used before to keep from feeling.

At last, he started to emerge from this state. It came slowly at first, and then with urgency, as if he had sunk down to the deepest part of the pool and held his breath longer than he should, only to rise to the surface, desperately seeking the light, seeking oxygen.

It was the instinct to survive. To try to make something meaningful out of his life.

Seeing through the tabloids that Sophie was photographed taking long, solitary walks on the beach near her parents’ Malibu home was bittersweet. She, too, was surviving, moving on. But it was without him.

He tried to write, to find the kind of catharsis in the act of exposing his tortured heart just as he had for years, but words failed him.

Instead of writing, he focused on the things he felt capable of doing, like running and weight lifting to sweat out the demons. Once he got into a consistent routine with that physical exertion, he reached out to a respected voice coach to help him build up his long-neglected vocals. This eventually gave him both the confidence and inspiration to start writing again.

It wasn’t everything, but it was a start.

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