Page 108 of One More Chance
Sloane moved slower now due to the pain of her injuries, both seen and unseen, combined with her growing belly. I saw it in the tightness of her jaw when she had to pause to catch her breath, in the flicker of frustration when she dropped something and hesitated before asking for help.
She hated it.
She’d always been the strong one, the get-it-done-no-matter-what type. Being hampered by pain and pregnancy clawed at something deep within her.
But my woman had grit. Day after day, she logged in for her virtual therapy sessions, sat cross-legged on the couch with her laptop.
Me being home helped her, but it helped me, too. I’d promised to stay present, to carry the burden I’d once abandoned, to help our family find its way forward, one painful step at a time.
The monotony that the Old Me had once hated helped me stay grounded. I helped her up from the bed each morning, fetched her tea, cooked meals the kids could stomach, and listened to their input from the different gluten free recipes I tried.
We talked about many things. I confessed that I'd found her bottle of Alprazolam. She told me she had only started taking that after I left. We cried as we held each other.
There were times that I sat next to her during her virtual therapy sessions, sometimes outside the room, always available to hold her hand if she needed me. I didn’t speak unless invited, but when she let me I listened. Goddamn, I listened to every word she shared with the screen, as if they were secrets not meant for mankind to know.
Sometimes, she cried. Sometimes, she didn’t.
And slowly, like spring creeping past winter, there were better days. Evenings where Liam told me about a project he was proud of, or when Violet begged for ten more minutes of game time with me. I wasn’t on the sidelines anymore. I was there. I was home.
Sloane let me in more; a touch on the shoulder; a look that lingered longer than before; her head resting on my chest after a long day. We didn’t speak of forgiveness anymore. We spoke of rebuilding. It was happening in the quiet; in the way she no longer flinched when I heldher; in the way she let me trace the curve of her stomach and whisper to the little life inside.
It had been an arduous, tense few weeks. The aftermath of Angie’s death, the slow healing of Sloane, and the world still reeling from the chaos of the virus had all left a miasma in the air. It was as if we were all stuck, suspended between what had been and what might come, the knowledge of the future burning behind my eyes.
Early one morning I went to the clinic to pick up some things for Sloane in preparation for her maternity leave. I walked through the front door, an empty bag slung over my shoulder for Sloane's stuff, and therehewas.
Charlie stood alone behind the front desk, flipping through paperwork, looking as composed as ever. He didn’t notice me at first, which gave me a moment to just watch him. His handsome, composed frame felt like a contradiction to my own.
I couldn't explain why, but every time I saw the man a pit opened in my stomach. Maybe it was guilt, knowing he’d lost his chance at a future with Sloane because of the choices I'd made. Or maybe because I knew, ten or eleven years from now, he'd killed himself in my previous life.
Would he commit suicide even sooner without Sloane as his wife? Without her there to bring him joy, without her uplifting him as she uplifted everybody close to her?
Is it my fault if he does?
My own dark thoughts about his possible future aside, there was something else about him that unsettled me. Perhaps it was the effortless way he moved through the world, his overbearing confidence, as if he had already answered questions the rest of us hadn't yet asked.
When he finally saw me, his expression changed. The cool exterior cracked for a second, and there was a flicker of something behind his eyes… a hint of malice, or recognition, or regret.
I didn't know.
“Levi,” he said, his voice even and words clipped. “I did not think I'd be seeing you around here.”
“Had some things to pick up for Sloane.” I shrugged as I walked over to the front desk. I tried to keep the tension out of my voice, but the lobby of the clinic felt much smaller as we stared at one another.
Do I ask him? Do I even want to know?
There had been a question circling my mind for weeks now, itching the dark edges of my brain. I set the bag down, avoiding his gaze for a moment, then I looked him dead in the eye. “Charlie, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
He raised an eyebrow, leaned against the counter, and folded his arms as he casually asked, “Oh, yeah? Well, what’s on your mind?”
God, he has a talent for getting under my skin. Was he this annoying in my previous life?
"Are we alone?" I asked.
"Between Sloane being on maternity leave, Sarah taking time off for mourning, and half the staff being sick at home from the virus?" he asked as he gestured to the empty lobby. "It's just us."
I took a deep, steady breath. “All of your well-timed and lucky investments you've made, the ones that Sloane has told me about… how did you do it?"
"Are you looking for investment advice, Levi?" he asked with a warm and friendly laugh.
