If this is love, p.17
If This Is Love, page 17
My gaze slides to her grip on my wrist, and I jerk my arm out of her grasp, grab the bags, and carry them to the other bedroom.
23
FREE
INDIE
“Were you trying to harm yourself?” the psychiatrist asks.
I stare at her. “No.”
“Have you had thoughts about harming yourself before?”
“Before?” I narrow my eyes.
“Before last night.”
“You’re implying I was trying to hurt myself last night when I just told you I wasn’t.”
“Tell me about yesterday and the events that led you to turn to alcohol.”
“For someone with what I assume is a degree that took many years to acquire, you are a terrible listener and incredibly shortsighted. Are we done here?” I slide off the edge of the hospital bed and shove my feet into the sneakers that aren’t mine but seem to be here for me. They’re brand new. Fletcher must have sent someone to get them for me.
“Indiana, I recommend you see me once a week. We can meet at my office from now on.”
“See you for what?” I crane my neck, looking for Fletcher, Pauline, or better yet, Faye or Grandma Hill.
“The depression will hit again, Indiana. And your outcome might not be so lucky. I should admit you, but I know your family, and I’m comfortable discharging you into their care with the condition that you come to see me every week.”
When I don’t see anyone I know, I return to the gray-haired woman sitting in the chair with her legs crossed and a notepad on her lap. “It was a wedding. I celebrated by drinking too much. Today, I have a killer headache and feel like shit, which is the definition of a hangover. Did I drink too much?” I shrug. “Probably. Doesn’t mean I was trying to end my life. It just means I lost track of how much I’d had to drink. Lesson learned. No need to follow up.”
“But you weren’t at the wedding reception. You were by yourself at home. Excessively drinking alone. And you’re eighteen. I’m also going to recommend you attend AA meetings.”
“Super. Maybe Fletcher can attend them with me. He drinks himself into a stupor most nights. He drinks until he has no control over backhanding me for asking simple questions.”
She frowns.
“Sorry. Does knowing that make you uncomfortable? You know … since you’re a ‘family friend.’ Or does Fletcher pay you to harass me and ignore his years of indiscretions?”
The good doctor continues to study me, tongue idle, hands fiddling with the pen and pad of paper.
I laugh. “It sucks, doesn’t it? Being owned by such a rich man. You can’t be yourself. You can’t make your own decisions. Like right now, you’re conflicted. On the one hand, you know you should report what I’ve told you. I’m eighteen, but was he abusing me before I turned eighteen? Can you safely recommend releasing me into his care? Could you lose your license if anything happened to me, and you knew the risk? We know the answer is no because that would require a board to hear your case and decide to revoke your license, but Fletcher would pay off the board before he’d lose one of his pawns.”
“Are you ready to go home?”
I turn toward the devil himself.
“Where’s Faye or Grandma Hill?”
He nods toward the psychiatrist, and she leaves the room.
Wow. Should one man hold so much power?
Will this be Milo someday after Pauline and Fletcher die?
“Let’s go.” He turns his cold shoulder and expects me to follow.
I do, this time. But when I get home, I’m leaving and never coming back.
When we reach his truck, Pauline eyes me from the front seat. It’s pretty Cruella de Vil of her. “Are you going to live?” she asks when I climb in the back.
“Sadly for you, yes.”
“Indiana, that’s not fair. No one in the family has ever wished anything bad upon you. But your timing yesterday wasn’t the best. I’m glad you chose to act out at home alone instead of at Jolene’s wedding, but still … it’s not what we wanted to come home to last night.”
Fletcher pulls onto the main road, and I stare out the window, trying to keep from laughing. It’s not funny. It’s sad. She’s happy I chose to drink, pass out, and get alcohol poisoning alone. I could have died alone. No wonder Jolene is such a piece of work.
When we pull into the driveway, Pauline twists her head to glance back at me. “I’ll have Micah bring you something to eat in your room.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat and continue to hydrate, so he’ll bring you something, and I’ll check on you later.”
“I can eat in the kitchen.”
“I think it’s best if you stay in your room. Jolene and Milo are having a small gathering to open their wedding gifts tonight.”
“And this is all happening in the kitchen?”
“Indiana …” Fletcher glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Go inside. Go to your room. I don’t want to hear another word out of you today.”
I climb out of the truck and make my way to the front door, ripping off the taped gauze from my arm where they placed my IV. Opening the front door, I’m met with a moment of déjà vu, only this time I’m at the door and Milo’s standing at the top of the stairs.
He doesn’t hesitate before descending them.
“Oh, Indiana, you’re home.” Jolene appears just behind him. “We were just heading out to—” Her words die harder than shooting a horse between the eyes.
Milo hugs me.
I don’t move. I’m not sure this is happening. It might be a dream.
“Indie …” he whispers.
“Indiana, you need to rest. Go,” Fletcher says behind me as he and Pauline walk in to see what’s happening.
I’d go to my room, but Milo’s holding me too tightly. I couldn’t break free if I wanted to. And I don’t want to.
A thick silence settles in the foyer. Our onlookers are at a loss for words.
In Milo’s time, not anyone else’s, he releases me. Concern lines his face, but he remains quiet.
Jolene steps between us. “So glad you’re okay, Indie.” She hugs me, but it’s not the same. “I certainly hope you get the help you need.”
I push away from her. “For what?”
Jolene eyes Pauline and Fletcher before returning her attention to me. “Indie, you tried to take your own life. You need help.”
“I had too much to drink. I didn’t—”
“Too much to drink involves a little vomiting and a headache. You had alcohol poisoning. You tried to drink yourself to death,” Jolene frowns; it’s condescending.
I look past her to Milo, but I can’t read his expression. Does he think I tried to kill myself? Is that why he hugged me the way he did despite our audience?
“Let’s go, Milo.” Jolene sidesteps me and takes his hand, pulling him toward the doorway.
“Everyone will be here in two hours; don’t be late, you two,” Pauline says with a much cheerier tone than she uses with me.
“We won’t. We just need a little alone time. We’ll be in the barn.”
I head toward the stairs. I’m done listening to Jolene. She doesn’t want alone time with Milo; she wants revenge. And I did this. Maybe she never had any intention of having sex with him, but after the things I said to her yesterday, I’m sure she will do whatever it takes to claim what she thinks is hers.
Micah brings me food. I don’t eat it. And nobody checks on me.
Hours later, I hear laughter from the main level, so I sneak down the stairs and listen.
“It’s perfect,” Jolene gushes. “Not that I plan on cooking. We’ll hire that out, but it’s a lovely Dutch oven.”
“Maybe Milo knows how to cook,” someone else says. I don’t recognize the voice.
“I’ve never asked. Do you cook, Milo?” Jolene asks.
She doesn’t know if her husband can cook. She knows nothing about him.
“Depends what you call cooking,” he says, and it draws a round of laughter.
I can’t see his face, but he doesn’t sound miserable or excited. Milo is adaptable. He’s a survivor.
Leaning against the railing, I sit sideways and pull my knees to my chest, listening to people I don’t know and people I wish I’d never met. Milo doesn’t say much … until now.
“I’m going to grab a water from the kitchen. Can I get anyone else anything?” he asks.
“Milo, honey … we have people to do that,” Jolene says.
“I need to stretch my legs.”
“I’ll take more champagne,” Pauline says. “Thanks, Milo.”
Down the wide hallway, Milo crosses from the living room toward the kitchen. At the last second, his head turns in my direction.
My heart wakes up, beating harder, as it always does when he looks at me.
Milo glances over his shoulder toward the roomful of guests and then back to me. He jerks his head once before continuing to the kitchen.
I tiptoe toward the back entrance to the kitchen, a small hallway with a half bath on one side and Ruthie’s sewing room on the opposite side. Milo converses with some of the staff. Then … he turns the corner, and it’s just us.
My out-of-control heart makes it hard to hear past its thundering beat. Milo eyes the bathroom; then his gaze slides to the sewing room. Again he jerks his head. I step inside, and he follows me, quietly closing the door behind us.
“What the fuck, Indie …” he whispers while his eyes redden and his fingers dive into my hair, holding me captive. “What did you do? You don’t get to leave this fucking world while I’m still in it. Do you understand?”
Tears burn my eyes. “I-I didn’t. I was just so angry and hurt and …” I try to shake my head despite his hold on me. “I didn’t try to kill myself.”
Milo swallows hard, slowly shaking his head. He doesn’t believe me.
“It was…” I fight to get the words past the lump in my throat “…too much. The dress. The makeup. She had them cut m-my hair.” I swallow my tears. “And you said ‘I-I d-do.’” I sniffle while my lower lip quivers. “And you k-kissed her. And it was too much.”
“No, Indie girl …” His thumb brushes along my bottom lip. “It’s not too much. You are the strongest person I know. The brightest person.” He smiles. “The best person. We find a way.”
“A way to what?”
His posture slumps. “I don’t know yet, just … a way.”
I’m not strong. He’s the strong one. I don’t know how to hold on to hope when everything feels impossible.
“I can’t stay.”
His brows slide together. “I know.” He kisses me.
My fingers curl into fists, clenching his shirt. I don’t ever want to let go.
“I have…” he pulls away, breathless “…to get back.”
I rub my lips together, staring at his while nodding. Then I crash my mouth to his again. My hands tug at his belt. It’s so quick, I don’t even try to think, and neither does Milo while his hands shove my sweatpants and underwear past my butt. His foot lifts to the crotch and rips them down my legs. I step out of them while releasing him from his briefs.
It’s too quick.
I can’t think.
I can’t speak.
I can only feel.
And what I feel is need as strong as the demand for my next breath. Milo lifts me, pressing my back to the wall next to the sewing table. My legs encircle his waist, and he drives into me.
The world has fucked us over and over. It’s time to fuck the world and everyone who won’t let us be together.
I tug his hair while one of his hands skates up my shirt. He rocks into me over and over. It’s not enough. Not close enough. Not fast enough. Not deep enough. This moment will never be long enough. The need eats me alive. I want him … all of him. Always.
“I love you,” I whisper in his ear after I orgasm.
Milo pistons into me several more times, and I know it’s the last time we will be together like this. The unfairness of life has never felt as unbearable as it does now.
I love him.
He loves me.
Why isn’t that enough?
“Fuuuck … I love … you … Indie girl.” He lifts his head and stares at me while our hot breaths mingle.
He doesn’t move.
I didn’t have sex with Jolene’s husband. I had sex with my Milo. There will never be a day that it’s wrong for him to be inside me. He’s mine as much as that beating organ behind my chest is mine … an integral part of who I am. The reason I’m alive.
“Milo?” Jolene calls.
“He might have gone upstairs, ma’am,” one of the catering crew says.
Silently, Milo eases me to my feet. It’s an instant, excruciatingly painful loss. He pulls up his jeans while I step back into my sweatpants.
Milo reaches for the waist of my pants and pulls them the rest of the way up my legs, taking his time to tie the drawstring. Even now, when we are out of time, he steals extra seconds to dress me. Care for me. Love me.
There is no pretending that everything is okay or ever will be okay. I don’t even try to keep the tears from running down my face. I don’t try to steady my hands while they rest on his forearms. The most I can do is bite my lips together to silence the sobs.
This is a death. My heart feels just as devastated and lost as it did the day Ruthie died. I love Milo with my whole heart. What’s its purpose if he’s not with me? When all it wants to do is love him?
After he runs his hands through his hair, he frames my face again and ducks his head, lips at my ear. “Be free. I know this hurts, baby. It hurts so much. Be everything you were meant to be.” His lips drag along my cheek to my mouth.
He blots my tears, and my hands rest over his while I shake and choke on a sob before whispering, “Yours. I’m meant to b-be y-yours.”
Milo’s face scrunches, jaw clenched, and he nods several times. With one last kiss, he turns and cracks open the door. When it’s clear, he steps out and shuts it.
PART 2
24
THE SPERM DONOR
Four years later …
MILO
The last time I saw Indiana Ellington was in Ruthie’s sewing room. I told Jolene I was using the restroom. Then, one of the servers said they saw me come out of the sewing room, and a few minutes later, they saw Indie leave the same room.
Jolene had a breakdown as soon as the guests left, believable only to Fletcher and Pauline, the only two people who mattered. Fletcher had Ty take me to the back of the barn. One day, he was standing at the altar with me as a witness to my marriage; the next day, he held a gun to my head all the way to the barn and pistol-whipped me until I passed out. When I awoke, my hands were tied behind my back, and Fletcher kicked the living shit out of me with his steel-toed boots. I coughed up blood for the first half of my honeymoon, and Jolene shook her head, silently scolding.
Indie?
No one’s seen or heard from her since the server snitched on us.
She hasn’t touched her bank account, and her phone was left on her bed next to a note that read: Nobody owns me. And she signed it, Million Dollar Indigo.
That day, I felt like Archer, taking it all, bearing the most significant burden, and choosing someone else’s life over my own. Three months later, my brother died by lethal injection. Fletcher forced me to go with him to watch.
“You fucking own your fate, your place in life, and bear witness to the sacrifices made so that you could live.” He put Archer right up there with Jesus.
That day hardened me in ways I never imagined possible.
“Two more weeks. Are you ready?” Jolene asks when I walk into the bedroom a little after nine at night.
She eyes my holstered gun and frowns. “I don’t want that in the house.”
“Then you don’t want me in the house because it goes where I go.”
“Maybe if you didn’t make so many enemies, you wouldn’t have to look over your shoulder all the time.”
I shake my head and grunt while making my way to the bathroom.
“Fletcher doesn’t carry a gun,” she chirps.
“You’re correct.” I unbutton my shirt. “The three-hundred-pound man always at his side is the one packing.” I roll my eyes. Some days I can’t deal with her. Most days.
“Did you hear me say two more weeks? You’re going to be a dad.”
“Sperm donor,” I mumble to myself. “I’m a sperm donor.”
Barely two minutes into my steam-filled shower, Jolene steps into my space, wearing a grin. “I won my case today. A forty-two-million-dollar payout. I think that calls for a celebration.”
“Not tonight.” I squirt shampoo into my hair, massaging my aching head with crimped fingers that ache just as much. If I ignore her … will she disappear?
“You need a trim, baby.” She presses her front to my backside and slides her hand through the back of my hair. That same hand glides along my shoulder to my abdomen and down to my dick.
I grab her wrist, drawing in a deep breath to control the repulsion I feel when she touches me. If I’m not highly intoxicated, I can’t stomach it. Right now, I’m sober. “Not. Tonight.”
She rips her arm away from me with a huff and stomps out of the shower. “I hope you’re a better father than a husband because you’re an asshole husband.”
After a long shower, I drag my tired ass to bed.
Jolene is perched at the foot, wrapped in a black satin robe, hair pulled into a bun. The room reeks of her godawful perfume. “If you’re fucking someone on the side, it ends now. We will be a family when we bring our child into this house. You will step up and be a real husband and father. Do you understand me?”
