My Peace (Beautifully Broken #5) Page 4

  “Again, I’ll show you fragile,” I remind her softly, for our ears only. Zu grabs my legs and holds on and my father pries her off, hefting her onto his back.

  “Show grampy your room,” he tells her, galloping like a horse down the hall. Paul Tate has definitely mellowed since having a grandchild.

  Mila and I stand alone in the foyer and her slender fingers find mine.

  “Are you ok?” she asks softly. I think about that.

  I think about how my grandfather had welcomed us into his life with open arms, and how he had insisted that I work in his family business… not because he needed someone, but because he wanted me to stay clean, and he wanted me to have something positive to focus on.

  I think about the man he was, and how much he had affected me in the few years that I’d known him.

  “Yeah,” I say finally. “I’m happy I had a chance to know him.”

  Mila nods and she smiles, because she likes that answer.

  “What do you think about… what your dad said?” she asks and she’s hesitant. I scan her face. She’s so open, so trusting. She’ll do whatever I want to do. I know that.

  I place my hand on her flat belly, my fingers splayed out.

  “I’m not sure his home is where I want to have a baby,” I tell her, and my voice is husky. Her head snaps up, her eyes meeting mine.

  “How did you know?”

  “You’re already starting to waddle,” I grin. She smacks me.

  “Seriously. How did you know?”

  “I saw the pregnancy test in the trash, babe.”

  I hug her tight, and she sighs into my arm. “Are you happy?”

  “Hell, yeah,” I tell her honestly. “I love putting my babies in you.”

  She giggles at that. “I love that process, too.”

  “You feeling ok?” I ask her. She was radiant with Zuzu. She was barely sick a day… until the very end, when she had almost died from a detached placenta.

  “I feel great,” she says brightly. “I wanted to tell you when I first found out, but then… well, I didn’t want you to remember it as a sad occasion.”

  “I don’t,” I answer. “It’s the circle of life. One dies, another is born. My grandpa would be happy.”

  Mila nods because she knows that’s true. “He was happy. He guessed it that night at dinner. Said it showed on my face. He really loved us, Pax.”

  A knot forms in my throat. “I loved him, too.”

  I move, and flinch. Mila narrows her eyes at me.

  “Have you taken your pain meds?”

  I shake my head. “I forgot.”

  “You’d better do it. You’ve been limping all day.”

  Shit. I’d hoped she hadn’t noticed.

  “Yeah, I noticed.” She raises an eyebrow.

  “Do you read minds now, too?”

  She grins. “Only yours.”

  I shake my head and limp away to the kitchen, to grab my pills. I swallow them down, and within minutes, the pain is dulled.

  I’m a dumbass for forgetting.

  It’s not until later in the evening that I realize that when I’m medicated, I don’t feel my grief as much. It’s less stark, less throbbing. I guess the pain meds dull my thoughts, maybe.

  I reach for the pill bottle again before bedtime.

  7

  Chapter Six

  “Go placidly against the noise and haste.” My wife traces the words on my side, a quote from the poem Desiderata, as she has a hundred times before. And as she has just as many times, she utters the following sentence of the poem, even though it’s not inked onto my body. “And remember what peace there is in silence.”

  I smile and open my eyes, the morning sunlight glinting across Mila’s naked body. Even though her belly is still flat now, it will swell soon with our child. I sort of fucking love it. I palm it, my other hand stroking her back. She’s perfect. Slender, graceful. Mine.

  “You’re my peace,” I tell her honestly.

  “I beg to differ,” she arches an eyebrow. “Your name actually means peace. You’re mine.”

  “Well, I’m yours and you’re mine. How about that?” I offer the compromise, and she snuggles into the crook of my arm.

  “Ok.”

  “Did you get much sleep last night?” I trail my fingers along her arm. She’s sleep sensitive. If she’s upset, sleep eludes her.

  “Nope. But you did. You snored into my ear all night.”

  Even her scowl is cute.

  I nip at her nose.

  “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not. But that’s ok. You shouldn’t have to be miserable too.”

  “I want to be, if you are,” I tell her seriously. She grins at me.

  “You’ve gotten kind of sickening, Pax Tate.”

  “I know,” I agree, and I do. I’m a shell of the man I used to be, but I’m a much better man now. No one would disagree with that.

  “I wanted to go to Angel Bay this week,” I tell her. I’d kept my beach-house there, the loft that overlooks Lake Michigan. It’s where Mila and I met. It’s still our respite from the world. We retreat there whenever our schedules allow.

  “Yeah, me too,” she says. “But there’s no way you can fly in your condition, Crash.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Maybe a mortal man couldn’t, but you forget who you’re speaking to.”

  She’s the one rolling her eyes now.

  “Uh-huh. We’ll have to go later in the year. Right now, we have to think about your grandfather’s will.”

  “Yeah.” I stare out the window, at the white sky. “I don’t want to live in his house,” I tell her honestly. “It’s not a home, it’s a mausoleum. He even still has my mother’s room there, preserved exactly like it was when she left for college. It freaks me out.”

  Mila nods. “Yeah. But hey, he didn’t say we can’t change the house, Pax. We can remodel. We can make it ours.”

  “You want to do this?” I stare at her. She shrugs.

  “Babe, it’s not like that’s a real a question. We kind of have to. And it’s only for five years. What’s five years in the span of a life? Not much. And maybe we’ll end up liking it.”

  I sigh. “I doubt it. I don’t like having staff hanging around. It’s weird.”

  She nods. “I do agree with that. But it is what it is, babe. We’ll figure it out.”

  “You’re the best wife,” I announce. She nods.

  “Yes. I’m glad you know it.”

  “I do.”

  “I’ll call my father,” I sigh as I roll out of bed. My shoulders throb and my ribs contract, but I ignore it.

  “Ok. And I’ll call the doctor for you,” Mila says. I start to open my mouth, but she shuts me down. “No arguments.”

  “Fine.”

  I pick up the phone and call my father, and Mila disappears with her phone down the hall.

  I’m in the shower when Mila comes back. “Are you having trouble breathing?” she shouts over the sound of the water. I shake my head.

  “No. Only when I move.”

  “Ok. Then the doctor says to give it a few more days. He says that the level of pain you’re having is normal for broken ribs.” She turns to leave, then turns back dramatically. “Oh, by the way, you didn’t tell me you have broken ribs.”

  I cringe. “You weren’t supposed to know that part.”

  “Well, I do now. Get dressed, Crash. Eat breakfast, take your medicine.”

  She starts to leave, but I call after her. “Babe?”

  She pauses. “Yeah?”

  “I called my father. You’d better call the movers.”

  Her shoulders clench for just a minute. I know how much she loves this house. But she purposely relaxes her face, and smiles.

  “Great. I’ll do it today.”

  “Great.”

  “Babe?” She looks at me. “Don’t do too much, ok? Make sure you rest.”

  She pauses, then looks away. “That was a freak thing, Pax. There was
something wrong with the embryo. It won’t happen again.”

  I hate reminding her that she miscarried a couple years ago. It had devastated her, and it had crushed me. But I need her to promise that she’ll take care of herself.

  “I know,” I assure her. “There was nothing you could’ve done, babe. I just want you to promise me that you’re not going to overdo it now. The movers will pack. You just point at things for them.”

  She grimaces. “Ok.”

  “I know. It kills you not to be in the mix of things.” I laugh and she swats at me, then remembers that I’m injured. She clasps her hand over her mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” she exclaims.

  “You barely touched me. Don’t worry about it.”

  But it did hurt. I can still feel her fingerprints on my ribcage. Jesus, I’m pathetic.

  I limp into the bedroom to change my clothes, and as I do. My phone rings. The screen tells me that it’s my brother-in-law.

  “Hey, Gabe,” I answer, trying to wiggle into a t-shirt.

  “Hey, bro. How you feeling?”

  As if I’m going to tell the big ex-Ranger the truth, that I’m sore as hell.

  “I’ll make it,” I tell him.

  “Good. Maddy wants me to take you out tonight so that she can hang with the girls… do manicures and shit, I guess.”

  I know Mila would like it. I know she surely can’t wait to tell Maddy the baby news.

  “Ok,” I agree. “What do you have in mind?”

  “How about the Crow’s Nest? Seven o’clock?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  My body screams at me, and I decide I’d better take a fucking nap to rest up. I medicate myself first, then sleep for three peaceful hours.

  * * *

  “Don’t do it,” Gabe warns, his dark eyebrow raised. I examine the full shot glass of whiskey in front of me. “You haven’t had anything to drink in forever. Plus, you’re on pain meds. You’re gonna regret it in the morning.”

  He’s probably right, but I’m sure as hell not going to admit it.

  “I am not one to shirk from a challenge,” I announce, and the room is only slightly wobbly. My leg slips off the bar-stool and I put it back, hoping Gabe doesn’t notice.

  He does.

  And he smirks.

  “Whatever, Tate,” he drawls, knocking back his own shot. “It’s eight to eight. Are we going to make it to ten?”

  “What are we celebrating, again?” I ask, shooting the tequila, then wiping my mouth. The bitter taste slides down my throat, and it’s almost foreign. I don’t drink much nowadays.

  Gabe grins. “Your upcoming new baby.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I pretend to remember. “My baby.”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “Mila is going to kill me for bringing you home drunk,” he says. “I can’t remember the last time we did this.”

  “It’s been too long,” I agree. “It’s good. We needed it.” Plus, being drunk, it makes my body hurt less. I can barely feel it right now. That’s got to be a plus.

  Gabe is hesitant though, and glances at my empty glass. “You good, though?”

  I know what he is asking. A few years ago, I slid deep into the hole of using alcohol and drugs as a way of dealing with life. But I’m not in that place now. I dealt with my shit, and while I don’t usually drink anymore, I’m ok to celebrate once in a while.

  “I’m good,” I assure him. “Trust me.”

  “Okay.” His answer is simple and immediate. He and I hadn’t gotten off on the best of terms when he started dating my wife’s sister, mainly because Gabe had his own demons to fight. But he’d fought them and won, and he’s as good a man as I’ve ever known.

  “Pool?” I gesture toward the empty table, and we slide off our barstools.

  Gabe cocks an eyebrow. “You up for that, dude?” He’s doubtful, and I know if I were sober, it would hurt too damn much to play. But I’m not sober.

  “Bite me.”

  “Twenty bucks?” Gabe glances at me, his giant bicep flexing as he moves. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to intimidate me.

  “Sure.” We grab sticks and chalk, and Gabe racks the balls. “And winner buys the next round.”

  “I hope you brought your wallet.”

  We chuckle together and I break, and the game is on.

  He goes, then I go, and we’re neck in neck.

  “You summa bitch,” Gabe mutters as I knock another into the back pocket. I laugh.

  “You should know by now never to challenge me, dude.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I shit bigger than you.”

  “Charming.”

  I’m thinking of something else to say when a disturbance catches my eye.

  In the back, next to the bathroom hallway, a man and a woman argue. It’s heated and they are both pissed. She waves her arms in the air, and he grabs her wrist.

  I pause. Gabe pauses.

  The guy gets into her face, and then shoves her against the wall.

  Gabe and I move at the same time, dropping our sticks on the pool table.

  Striding across the room, we are step-in-step with each other. Gabe deftly grabs the guy from behind and hauls him away from the girl.

  I step in his face.

  “Pick on someone your own size,” I tell him firmly.

  He scowls, and he’s got a scar on earlobe. “This isn’t your business.” He wrenches away from Gabe. “Get off me.”

  He backs up a step, but Gabe is a solid wall and catches him. He struggles, and his girlfriend pleads with him.

  “Seth, just stop. Let’s go.”

  I glance at her. “I wouldn’t suggest going anywhere with him.”

  But she glares at me, and grabs his arm.

  “You should mind your own business.”

  They stalk away, and Seth sends me a death stare over his shoulder as they go.

  “That’s fucked up, dude,” Gabe says as we watch them walk out the door.

  “You can’t save some people,” I agree. “She’ll have to decide when she’s ready to stop being abused.”

  Gabe shakes his head, and we finish our game. When I knock the eight-ball into the back pocket at the end, he rolls his eyes, and holds out a twenty.

  “I always pay up.”

  I grin and snatch it up. “And you owe this round.”

  “Rub it in,” he mutters as he heads to the bar. He comes back a few minutes later with our last shots.

  “This makes ten,” he announces. “We’re going to feel this tomorrow.”

  We slam the shots, thunking our glasses on the table at the same time.

  I squint my eyes as I swallow, then shake my head, like I’m shaking the bad taste away.

  “Damn,” I mutter. “This is gonna leave a mark.”

  My head feels thick and heavy, and I remember why I laid off drinking. I don’t much like the numbing effect. Not anymore.

  “We’d better not drive,” Gabe says wisely. I agree.

  “Yeah.”

  “You call Mila,” he suggests.

  I scoff. “Fuck that. You call Maddy.”

  “Hell no, she’ll kick my ass.”

  “Well, Mila will kick mine,” I answer. “Besides, Zu’s already in bed asleep. Mila can’t leave.”

  “Well, Eli’s sleeping too,” Gabe replies. “And the baby. Maddy can’t come.”

  “We’re both p-whipped and scared of our wives,” I point out.

  “No, we’re smart,” Gabe argues. “I’ll call Brand.”

  He pulls out his phone, dials, and soon, he’s talking to Brand Killien, his boyhood best friend and brother-in-law.

  “I know it’s late,” he sighs. “I’m sorry, dude. Please tell Nora we’re sorry for bothering you guys.”

  He hangs up. “He’ll be here in twenty.”

  I nod, because I knew he would, because Brand is the kind of guy is always there when you need him. He always has been, and always will be. Gabe served with him in the Army and the
y are both decorated soldiers.

  They don’t leave another in the field, even if tonight, the ‘field’ is a dive bar.

  We wait out in the cool air, breathing deeply, as we wait for Brand to arrive. Soon enough, his big pick-up pulls in the lot, and his eyes are red.

  “You guys look like shit,” he says sleepily, and his blond hair is mussed.

  “Gabe tried to kill me,” I tell him as I climb into the front seat. Gabe guffaws from the back.

  “Whatever, Tate. It was your idea.”

  “You’re both dumbasses,” Brand decides as he pulls out of the parking lot. “And may God have mercy on your souls when your wives see you.”

  That honestly shuts us both up. Mila will kill me… mainly because I skipped my evening dose of pain meds just so I could have a drink with Gabe.

  The truck is quiet, and then after a while, Brand speaks.

  “I’m so sorry about your grandfather, dude. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Thank you,” I answer, my forehead resting on the cool window. God, the cold feels good on my face. “No, there’s nothing anyone can do. But thank you for offering.”

  “Anytime,” he answers. “Anything. You know that.”

  “I do,” I agree. “You’re a good man, Brand.”

  I don’t hear his reply because I pass out slumped against the door. The next thing I know, Brand is carefully hefting me out of the truck.

  “Careful with his ribs,” Gabe calls from the backseat. He’s splayed on the seat, his arm thrown over his eyes. It gives me satisfaction to know that he’s not in any better condition than I am.

  “I can’t feel them right now,” I assure Brand.

  “I bet you can’t,” he grins. He walks with me to the back door. “You good from here?”

  “Of coursh,” I slur. He cocks an eyebrow. I try again. “Of coursh.”

  He shakes his head. “Night, dude. Sleep it off.”

  I creep through the house, but I realize I’m not creeping when I slam my foot into an ottoman in the living room.

  “Summabitch,” I curse at it.

  “Pax?” Mila stands in the doorway in one of my t-shirts. “Are you ok?”

  “Yeah, babe,” I assure her. “I’m sorry to wake you up.”

  She eyes me. “Oh lord. You and Gabe did a number on yourselves.”