War And Peace: This Is Me, Baby Part 3

Not ever.

Bile rises in my throat, and it once again reminds me that I'll be forced to be happy at some point. I scramble out of the bed and make it to the toilet in time to vomit. This little gift from Duvan has made me so sick.

I close my eyes and wallow in the misery of losing him. Had Daddy arrived ten minutes sooner, he could have saved Duvan too. Life is just unf.u.c.kingfair.

My hands shake as I clutch the toilet seat. I glance down at my wedding ring. Yesterday, I found the strength to go through the bag my dad had packed for me. Inside, I'd found my laptop, some pictures of Duvan and I, my clothes, a T-shirt of Duvan's, and his wedding ring.

Now that, I will be thankful for.

My father may have abandoned me but he always understood love. And in a tense, hasty moment, he had the foresight to grab something that was important to me. Now, Duvan's giant ring hangs on the chain around my neck, which Ren gave me. Safe, just above my heart, where he'll always be.

Just the thought of Duvan's body decomposing in the same room as Heath's corpse has me throwing up again. Tears roll out and my throat stings. If I were to call out, Luciana or Daddy would be here in an instant to take care of me.

But I don't want them.

I want to deal with this alone.

It's mine.

The hurt. The pain. The loss. It's all I have left of him.

Finally, I manage to feel okay and stand on shaky legs. The shower is hot and does something to soothe my soul into a numb state. If I think too hard about it all, I feel overwhelmed. The crushing weight of reality is too much. I crave to cut my wrists open and find my husband out there in the afterlife.

But each time those dark thoughts enter my mind, I think about our baby. It's enough to snuff out those dark ideations.

I tie a towel around my still wet body and shakily make my way into my bedroom. I've been going through every nook of the house finding items that remind me of Duvan. Collecting them. Sorting through his paperwork. Looking through old pictures. Anything to feel closer to him.

I wish I had someone I could talk to. Sure, Luciana has tried via text. Daddy has held me through a couple of soul-crushing cries. But it's not enough. Climbing onto the bed, I grab my laptop and open it up. The Skype app tells me that one of my friends is on. When I open it, I'm oddly satisfied to notice that it's Ren who's on.

Is he waiting for me to log on?

Does he want to talk to me?

I know from overhearing my dad that his family knows what happened. Ren was a witness to the horror. It makes me wonder if he was secretly happy to watch my husband die. The thought makes me sick and rage has me dialing him.

The program makes a chiming sound as it rings and then Ren's face is on my screen. I didn't think through my actions. I'm now sitting here, gaping at his haggard face like I'm a deer caught in a pair of headlights. His once navy blue eyes are hardened into a darker color. Almost black. The hair on his face has grown into a stubble. Dark circles ring his eyes from what looks like stress or lack of sleep. If I thought he'd be happy for my loss, I was mistaken.

Ren's my friend.

At one time he was my lover.

He doesn't want my pain.

"Brie," he murmurs. "Jesus Christ."

Emotion chokes my throat but I swallow it down and blink away the tears forming in my eyes. He doesn't ask me how I am. He doesn't blurt out how horrific it was watching two men die just a few days ago. He does nothing but stare at me with his jaw clenching and unclenching.

I don't reply to him. My heart aches too f.u.c.king badly to find words. Instead, I let out a ragged breath and stare back. Eventually, I grab Duvan's ring hanging from my necklace and grip it in my fist. Hot tears streak down my face, but again, no words come out.

We remain silent for quite sometime. Me crying quietly and him sending me a thousand words with just one simple expression.

The two of us are different.

Two new people.

Two people scarred and ruined by our pasts.

I don't even know who he is anymore.

And I certainly don't know myself.

After what feels like hours, but based on the clock on my screen, has only been a minute or two, I let out a ragged sigh.

"Have you heard from Ozzy?" My question is a tiny whisper-one I barely push out of my throat.

His eyes close and he nods. When they reopen, his gaze pins me. "He left that day. Said he had to go see his dad." His gaze lowers until it's no longer locked with mine. "He said they had to dispose of the bodies."

Guilt surges through me. I left my dead husband's body in that beach rental and hopped in a ride with my dad. We drove thirty-one hours to my home in Colombia without a backward glance.

Had I been a better wife and not so shaken to my core, I'd have begged my father to call the police. For us to give Duvan a proper burial. But I didn't. I wallowed in my despair. Until I snapped out of it today. Until anger took over. Until clarity began to set in.

Unfortunately, it's too late.

"If you speak to him, will you tell him to call me?" I ask. Just the thought of seeing Oscar broken over the loss of his brother has me nearly in tears again.

"I will," he vows, his voice raw. "Promise me you'll call me if things get too rough. I'll be out there in a second. Just say the words, Brie."

I force a smile but I don't think it even reaches my lips. It feels as though my lips simply twitch instead. "I'm fine."

"Brie..." His brows furl together. "Be careful."

The tone of his warning has a chill shivering through me. "Take care of yourself, Ren."

As soon as I end our call, despair crashes back down around me. I clutch Duvan's T-shirt to my heart and curl up on the bed. My stomach growls after having emptied it, but I don't move to get up.

I never want to get up.

One week is all it took to dry up. I went from crying at every turn to walking around like a zombie. Luciana is barely able to get me to eat when she tries. Which is often. My dad tries to get me to speak. But I have nothing to say. I'm a sh.e.l.l. Simply going through the motions.

That is...

Until Ren calls me.

Our Skype conversations aren't really conversations at all.

They're more like staring contests. I listen to him bounce a tennis ball off the wall while Nine Inch Nails blares in the background. He watches me as I thumb through photo alb.u.ms of when Duvan was a kid. Ren occasionally barks out at Calder. I, at times, yell at my dad to leave me alone. We're both sort of existing on the same plane but never intersecting.

I don't understand what's going on inside his head. But I sense the fury just below the surface. I like that he's angry for me. The heat from his wrath warms me like rays from the sun on a warm California summer day. I'm curious about the anger rolling from him. Ren was always so gentle and sweet. I've never really seen him get mad about anything.

I crave to scratch my fingernails along his flesh until the irritation seeps out. To see exactly why it exists. To prod until it becomes infected and spreads. I want to see more of it.

His anger feeds mine.

My inner animal craves to devour it.

"Where do you want them to put the couches?" I hear Calder question him.

My brows furrow together and I sit up to listen better.

"Don't know. Don't care. You're a big boy," Ren grunts. "Figure it out."

When Calder leaves, Ren goes back to bouncing his ball off the wall.

"Couches?"

His head snaps over to the screen and he frowns. "Moved out."

"Of the dorms?"

"And house," he grumbles.

He's angry and this time it doesn't seem to be about me. I'm dying to know what's upsetting him. I feel like he's holding back from me.

"Why?" I murmur.

He yanks off his baseball cap and tosses it away. His dark brown hair is messy. Longer than I remember. A lock of it falls into his eye for a brief moment before he rakes his fingers through his hair, pushing it back. Dark eyebrows furl together and his blue eyes darken. "Hannah. I can't stay there while..." he trails off. His eyes flicker with rage and it ignites something within me.

He can't stay there because of what she did to my family.

I'm not sure why that makes me happy, but it does.

I feel as though I won some battle I didn't know I was fighting.

"How can you afford it?"

He shrugs. "Dad let me into my trust fund. Calder's rooming with me because he doesn't like our f.u.c.kwit sister either. Plus, I don't think he's keen on being the backup babysitter at every turn."

I fight a smile imagining big 'ol Calder with a baby in his lap watching Terminator and eating greasy pizza. He'd be a terrible babysitter. Calder would probably give the baby Mountain Dew in its bottle or something.

My hand automatically splays out over my own belly. Would Duvan have been like that? Would he have been a laid back father or would he have been overprotective?

I guess I'll never know.

"You going to stay there forever?" he questions. "I mean, it's your house now, right?"

I swallow before dragging my gaze over to a pile on the bed. I've gone through all of his paperwork. When I'd been here before, Duvan would bring things for me to sign. I didn't pay much attention because I didn't care. Only cared about being with him-not his a.s.sets. But now...

I realize I have a lot to deal with.

For one, I have to figure out what to do with this house. I'm not sure I'll stay here but if I don't, I'll need to sell it. And his building where he manufactured his c.o.ke, I'll need to figure out what to do with that. If I could get a hold of Ozzy, he could help me. But according to Ren, he's gone AWOL.

So has Vee.

I haven't tried to call her, but Ren said he's called many times and even went by her apartment a few times. She's just gone. I know my best friend. Despite Heath being a lunatic, she loved her father. Watching him die had to have been hard on her. She's probably holed up at her parents' house in mourning.

I miss her.

"Brie..."

I blink away my thoughts and look at Ren. His face is scruffy from not having shaved for several days. That, coupled with the fierce gleam in his eyes, makes him look rougher. So different than the boy I remember.

"I guess one day I'll come back. There's just so much to deal with here first. Have you been able to get ahold of Oscar?"

He shakes his head. "Nope."

I'm about to say something else when my door cracks open. Daddy's watchful eyes find me. I wonder if he ever regrets leaving me. We haven't even spoken about it. Simply gone through the motions.

"I need to go," I tell Ren.

"I guess I need to as well. Calder isn't the brightest crayon in the box. Those couches will probably end up in his room," he complains and stretches his arm forward to end the call. His shirt slides up his arm and reveals some black from a new tattoo hiding beneath.

"New tat?"

"Yeah. It's still in progress."

"Can I see?"

He gives me a half smile that warms me and nods. Then, he grabs the bottom of his black T-shirt, peeling it off his body and up over his head. The first thing I notice on the gritty Skype image is how big he's gotten. When we were lovers for that brief stint, he was built but lean. Now, he's ma.s.sive. Every surface of his chest is hardened and defined. His tribal wave tattoo has been added to and covers the entire upper half of his chest, whereas before it was small and only covered his pectoral muscle.

But what has me curious are what appears to be black tendrils or something creeping around his rib cage and collar bone. Like some creature is behind him and is about to drag him away. It's spooky but looks good on him.

"It's a back tattoo. I'm still having it worked on," he tells me as he turns.

When his back comes into view, I lean forward to get a better look. Even with the pixilation from our spotty connection, I can tell it's really well done. From the base of his skull to nearly his a.s.s is a giant tree. No leaves. Just gnarly branches and roots that seem to reach around the sides of his body toward the front.

"Wow..."

He lets me stare at it for a few minutes. From behind, he hardly looks like Ren anymore. His shoulders are broader, his neck a little thicker, and his back is rippled with newly defined muscles.

"Do you just work out all the time? To h.e.l.l with school," I tease. Or at least it's meant to come out in a teasing way. But lately, I'm not me and as soon as the words leave my mouth I realize they seem more condescending and borderline rude.

He turns back around and glares. I'm not used to his hardened gazes. A shiver ripples through me.

"I'm only taking a couple of cla.s.ses this semester. I needed a break. Both are online courses. So, yeah," he grunts. "I've been using my extra time to lift."

I chew on my bottom lip as I stare at him. "Will you be on later?"

He grabs his T-shirt and starts to put it back on. "I'll find you, Brie." His head pops back through the shirt and his steely blue eyes are on mine. They make promises I don't understand. Promises I don't want to understand. His words, although simple, are thick with double meaning.