Page 57 of The Jilted Lovers Club
“You see that, Lottie? See the baby?” Ashton is all smiles, and Lottie is pointing, her words coming out in bell-like babbles.
But I’m fighting to catch my breath, trying to hold back the sob that is trapped in my throat.
I will not ruin this for them. I can’t. They’re so fucking happy, but I’m consumed by death. For a moment, that calf was Violet, my lost child. When the calf came to life, it reminded me that my baby never would, that she’s bones and ash in the cold ground, invisible to everyone but the mother who dared to wish she never existed—and then got her wish.
“I can’t believe I missed it,” Bec says, walking up beside me.
Every part of me is shaking, to the point I’m not even sure I can keep standing. I can’t let them see me this way, let them know that I’m falling apart while they celebrate this fucking miracle.
“Dear, are you okay?” Bec’s voice is soft and low, and my sob is involuntary. Once it escapes my lips, I’m on my knees, holdingmy head in my hands, and losing the fight against my tears. I crumble in the middle of everyone. I ruin everything, just like I always do. I fall into the darkness, and I can’t bring myself out.
I feel arms around me, but I’m too far gone. Then we’re moving, my eyes closed, my head against a broad, warm chest. I’m barely there. My screams are the only thing I can hear, my panic the only thing I can feel. The whole world caves in on me, and all I can do is hope I’ll die before it rips me apart.
Triggered
Ashton
She’s hysterical. I hold her tight, forgetting anything but her as I carry her back to the house and away from everyone. Jordy’s breath comes out in gasps as she cries uncontrollably, her hands clutching my shirt as if she needs an anchor to keep from floating away. I reach the porch and set her down on the bench, her legs draped over mine as she clings to me.
“Breathe, baby,” I murmur, and she tries to pull in a shaky breath. Her eyes are wild, frantically looking around without focusing on any one thing. I realize she’s having a panic attack, the way she doesn’t seem rooted in reality. “You’re safe,” I whisper. “Take a breath.”
She tries again, this time quieting as her forehead presses against mine, her body still shaking as she struggles to breathe. I take her hands in mine, and she squeezes them hard.
“You’re here with me,” I whisper. I keep telling her she’s safe, that I’m not leaving her. I remind her to breathe.
Eventually she stills.
“Breathe in,” I coax, then take a deep breath at the same time she does. We hold at the top, her eyes finding mine. They appear larger than life, brimming in tears, her face streaked with dirt. She looks so fragile, so unlike the Jordy I’ve gotten to know these past few weeks.
We release our breath together.
I coach her through another few breaths until her grasp on my hands loosens and her body relaxes. She falls into me, resting her head on my chest as I softly stroke her braided hair.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I ignore it as I continue to hold her. We stay that way for a little while, until she finally sits up, pushing against my chest gently until she’s sitting beside me. I see her mask shift into place, and I shake my head.
“Don’t stuff this,” I warn her. “It’s okay to be vulnerable.” She inhales with hitched breath, looking away quickly, but not before I see her eyes fill with tears again.
“I have no idea where that came from,” she says, offering a shaky laugh.
Liar.
It could have been the shock of seeing a cow give birth. Maybe it’s exhaustion from watching my kid. All I know is that her reaction came from somewhere deep.
And she’s not talking.
A part of me says to leave it alone. It’s not my business, whatever happened out there. But that’s what I did with Sasha. She didn’t talk, I didn’t press—look where it left us.
“I think you do,” I say softly. She doesn’t look at me as she stands, wiping at her face. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She nods, then stops. Then shakes her head.
“Can I go take a shower?” she asks, still not looking at me.
I’m at a loss. She’s pushing me away, trying to lock up anything she hasn’t released yet. I feel desperate to keep her here, to make her feel whatever she’s repressing.
“You don’t have to…” I start, but then stop myself. She needs space. I can see it in every cell of her body. As much as I want to barrel my way in, to make her talk so I can fix it for her, I realize I can’t. Even with Sasha in mind, how we just brushed everything under the damn carpet, I know I can’t push Jordy.
