Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2)(69)

She writhed against me, shifting her hips to push me inside of her. Her sobs came in sweet, soft pants against my cheek. With a rough gasp, I shoved in to the hilt.

I was dying, and in my death throes, I let myself have her one last time.

Every stroke was sweet agony. Every cry I drew from her held as much pain as it did pleasure.

I rutted out my pleasure inside of her sweet, perfect body, and a torrent of self-loathing tainted every rough stroke.

My skin should have been crawling in shame when I was done. I should have never been able to rest again, for the guilt.

But should haves meant nothing. I came, buried deep inside of her, and still buried deep, I fell asleep.

When I woke again, fourteen hours later, she was gone.

DANIKA

He lay on top of me, buried deep, and fell asleep.

He slept all night like that, and I did not move him, did not want to. I gasped breath in and out and closed my eyes and thought that I would never forget this feeling, of him on me and in me, of him consuming my soul and letting me go.

He was too callous, too far gone to realize that I’d never be free of him, and all he’d really done was set me adrift.

I never left that bed.

That feeling of helpless abandonment and unendurable longing stayed inside of me, for hours, for months, for minutes, for weeks.

For years.

I went through my life, through tragedy and pain, through hardship and life, and my heart, my very soul, stayed in that bed.

I felt broken after that last encounter.

Was broken.

Pieces of me had been shattered on that bed, important, essential pieces, and they would not, could not, ever find their way back together.

But I kept going. Life is cruel like that.

The facts revealed themselves all too clearly, when I could look at it through the numb filter of fresh, untested grief. That brief moment between the denial and the agony.

I had two distinct paths to choose from in front of me.

One was painfully bright, and paved with brutal certainties. I could move on. It would hurt, it would kill some parts of me, but I could still have a future. It was not the path I desired, but life was not about getting what you wanted, it was about living with what you needed.

Tristan started me calling me exactly one week later, apologizing, trying to take it back, but I didn’t take his calls. Couldn’t.

He had too many weapons that he used against me with no effort at all. I was defenseless against those weapons. The only way to survive was to avoid them completely.

I sent Jerry to Tristan with the divorce papers and a very long letter explaining everything that was in my heart, explaining every action. And I’d given him a choice.

Rehab or divorce. He had to decide.

I could not take seeing him again. I could not physically hold myself together and see again the evidence of how he was tearing himself apart. I had some little bit of myself left to save, and in a last ditch effort, I needed to at least attempt to save that little, damaged bit.

I could not spare even one more tiny, wounded, piece of myself, or I would lose any shot of making it out alive.

The papers came back promptly. They were signed.

He didn’t call me again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

DANIKA

It was over a month later when I began to feel a familiar nausea that I associated with only one thing, as I’d only experienced it when I was in a condition I’d only been in one other time.

I couldn’t quite believe it when I first had the thought.

But why not? That last brutal, heartbreaking, soul-crushing time we’d had together had held such weight, contained such substance, that it should have been no wonder that it’d had such life-changing results.

I was pregnant. Again.

I was terrified, but excited, no, exalted, and it changed everything between one instant and the next. Having that life growing inside of me made what had seemed so insurmountable before seem like a possibility again. The divorce was suddenly unnecessary, this unbearable, permanent separation from Tristan had an abrupt, merciful end.

With one little plus sign, I went from believing that our breakup was the only way for me to survive intact, to realizing, with gasping, desperate relief, that I didn’t have to torture myself anymore.

I’d cut off all contact with Tristan with determined resolve, and I had managed to maintain that resolve, thus far. It hadn’t been easy. As though our hearts had been severed from each other, I felt an aching, twitchy pain, and I’d gotten through each day without caving through sheer force of will. But now I didn’t have to suffer anymore.

I felt like I’d been let out on parole.

My heart felt free again.

I’d tell him about the baby, and we’d find a way to work things out.

I told myself that the news would help to get him clean. It hadn’t before, but this was different. We had even more to lose this time. There was no more room for mistakes. I had to make him see that.

I didn’t call him, but I did call Kenny to find out where he was. I lucked out; Tristan was in town for the weekend.

I went through my day, floating on a cloud.

Everything would be okay now. I was just sure of it.

It was a Friday.

I remember everything from that day, down to the weather. It was a beautiful day in early spring, with the sun shining, and the lightest breeze played through my hair as I walked to my classes, an unassailable smile on my face.