Page 83 of Aced (Driven 4)
But I do feel it with Andy.
I look over to him. Our eyes hold, grey to green, father to son, superhero to saved, man to man, and I answer without a single fucking ounce of hesitation.
“No. Y
ou are.”
“ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE ALL right and don’t need any help?”
No. Yes.
Silence fills the space where my answers should be. “Yes. We’re all fine, Mom. I’m just . . . I’m just trying to get him on a schedule and want to do that before people start coming over.”
I grit my teeth. The lie sounds so foreign coming from my mouth. Like an echo down a tunnel that I recognize but can’t place as my own voice when it comes back to me.
“Because it would be perfectly normal for you to need help, sweetheart. There is no shame in needing your mom when you become a mom.”
“I know.” My voice is barely above a whisper. The only response I can give her.
“You know I’m here for you. Any time. Day or night. To be there with you to help or just to sit on the other end of the phone line.”
“I know.” The emotion in her voice—the swell of love in it as she searches if I’m being truthful—almost undoes me.
Almost.
“Okay, then. I’ll let you get back to my handsome grandson now.”
Silence.
“Mom?” Fear. Hope. Worry. All three crash into each other and manifest in the desperate break in my voice.
Tell her something’s wrong with you. That you don’t feel right.
“Ry?” Searching. Asking. Wanting to know.
No. You’re perfectly fine. You can handle this. Your hormones are just out of whack. This is normal.
“You still there, Rylee? Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m fine.” A quick response to mask the unease I feel. “I was going to . . . I forgot what I was going to ask. Bye, Mom. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Silence again.
The music from the baby swing where Ace sits floats in from the family room. He begins to cry and yet I sit and stare out to the beach beyond, lost in thought. Convincing myself that I’m fine. Telling myself that empty void I suddenly feel is normal. Wondering if I’m not hardwired correctly to be a mother.
That maybe, just maybe, there was a bigger reason as to why I lost my other two babies.
That’s crap and you know it.
But maybe . . .
“Ry?” Colton calls out to me as the front door slams.
Ace’s cries pick up a pitch at the sound of his dad’s voice, and all I can do is close my eyes from where I’m still sitting, lost in staring at the clouds out the window. I open my mouth to tell him I’m in the living room but nothing comes out.
“Rylee?” Colton’s voice is a little more insistent this time, concern lacing the edges, and it’s just enough to break through the fog that seems to have a hold over me. I put my hands on the arm of the chair to stand but can’t seem to get up.
