I'm With You Read online

  I’m With You

  Copyright © 2014 by Taylor Dean

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  www.taylordeanbooks.com

  Cover art by: ©iStockphoto.com/AtnoYdur]

  Cover design by: Jules Isaacs

  Author photo: Jules Isaacs

  Edited by: Jules Isaacs

  Digital edition produced by Maureen Cutajar

  www.gopublished.com

  PRINT ISBN: 978-1493659142

  ASIN: B00JNYQCUQ

  To Jaclyn and Michael—

  who lived it.

  I am forever in awe of you.

  prologue

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  twenty-six

  twenty-seven

  twenty-eight

  twenty-nine

  thirty

  thirty-one

  thirty-two

  thirty-three

  thirty-four

  epilogue

  Dear Reader,

  While this book is a romance novel, it also deals with the sensitive issue of baby loss grief.

  The emotions are real, and sometimes dark.

  If you are sensitive to this issue, this may not be the book for you.

  ~Taylor

  “C’mon, you little hooligans, time for a bedtime story. Then off to dreamland it is for the lot of you,” he said as he tweaked his two-year old daughter’s nose, making her giggle adorably. Her given name was Addison, but they’d called her Addie since the day she was born. It suited her pixie-like nature. Fresh out of the bath, with damp hair and newly washed pajamas, she was cute and cuddly.

  “What will you tell us about tonight, Daddy?” Arielle, his seven-year old “adult” asked quietly. Like her mom, she was sometimes much too serious.

  “Tell us more stories about you and Mommy,” Addie squealed loudly, making Arielle cover her ears. A smile of utter anticipation covered her face from ear to ear, the little minx. Addie jumped up and down on the bed chanting, “Mommy and Daddy, Mommy and Daddy.” Arielle frowned and Luke sat in the corner, notebook in hand, knees nearly to his chest, lazily sketching his latest creation, and pretending his sisters didn’t exist. At nine, he considered himself above bedtime stories—he even rolled his eyes at times. However, his pencil often came to a standstill and his eyes wandered, belying his inattentiveness. The fact that he joined them for family story time at all was amazing in and of itself. He was growing up so fast, not a baby anymore, but not quite a young man as of yet either. He was an amiable child, in spite of his feigned dislike of family time.

  Lately, the usual bedtime ritual of Dr. Suess for Addie, Amelia Bedelia for Arielle, and Harry Potter for Luke, had taken on a new direction.

  The kids liked to hear stories about him and their mother. How they’d fallen in love, all about their first date, and even their first kiss. Their questions were endless and they couldn’t get enough. Each and every story had been properly embellished to fairytale status. However, he was quickly running out of creative ways to tell the same story. Plus, it was getting harder and harder to omit certain details—details that were better left unsaid for now.

  “Mommy!” Addie chimed as Chloe wandered in, seemingly eager to join them for story time, but instead pausing to pick up unseen-to-his-eyes lint from the floor.

  “Mom, the dirt will still be there in the morning,” he chastised. “Fuhgeddaboudit,” he said in his most New York gangster-like voice.

  “Fuhgeddaboudit,” Addie mimicked him perfectly, making the other kids laugh.

  Chloe wandered to the bedside, beginning to waddle ever so slightly at six months pregnant. He loved that waddle and he’d never grow tired of it. “What story shall I share tonight?” he asked his beautiful wife. “Addie wants to hear more about us.” He winked at her and they shared a knowing smile.

  “I think we’ve exhausted that topic,” Chloe remarked. “Unless you want to tell them about the time you left me,” she said under her breath, clearly not meaning for the kids to catch on to her words.

  Luke perked up. “What? You left Mom?”

  He suddenly felt as though he’d been cornered as he shot Chloe the look. He couldn’t believe she’d brought that up in front of the children.

  She froze, raising her eyebrows at him. “Our children have really good hearing.”

  Addie suddenly stopped jumping on the bed. “You left Mommy?” Her lower lip trembled in full drama queen fashion.

  This wasn’t going well. How to redirect?

  Perhaps if he simply made light of it, the children would forget. “See what you’ve done? Opened a can of worms!” he accused Chloe and she grimaced.

  “Mommy, you opened a can of worms? Gross. I hate worms! I don’t wanna hear this story,” Addie sniffed and a few crocodile tears slipped down her rosy cheeks.

  Luke sighed loudly as if disgusted with the entire conversation.

  “That’s not all Mommy did,” he added, glad the kids were distracted. “The first time we met, she slammed the door in my face.” There. That was a harmless little tidbit. And a great diversion.

  “You never mentioned that before,” Luke stated as if the omission was unforgiveable.

  “Mommy, that was so mean. Did it hurt your face, Daddy?” Addie asked innocently, leaning forward and rubbing his stubbly cheeks.

  Chloe gave him that “now look what you’ve done” expression. This was a dangerous game they were playing, the kind of banter not meant for their children’s ears. There were some things in their past that were simply not appropriate for bedtime stories, things their children may not be old enough to hear as of yet.

  “No, Addie, there are no worms and there are no faces being hurt. Pay attention,” Arielle commanded. “Dad, did you really leave Mom?”

  “She slammed the door in my face,” he countered, hoping she’d take the bait. It was a story he could share, sans certain details.

  “Did she do it because you were leaving her?” Arielle insisted.

  She was much too smart for her age. His collar suddenly felt too tight. How did they get on this topic? “What if I tell you about the time we went to…”

  “No, I want to know why you left Mom,” Arielle demanded.

  “Oops,” Chloe whispered apologetically. Realizing the error of her ways, she also attempted to redirect the children’s attention. “Tell them about the way you proposed to me over a table full of dirty dishes.”

  Luke scoffed. “That’s disgusting. I thought you were supposed to be the romantic type, Dad.”

  “Yeah, Dad, like a prince in a Disney movie,” Arielle commented as if she’d been betrayed.

  “Daddy’s a pwince!” Addie chimed, resuming her jumping and chanting. “Pwince Daddy. Pwince Daddy.”

  At least Addie was on his side. He glanced at Chloe. Her suggestion, while meant to hel
p, had only dug the hole a little deeper.

  “It was romantic,” Chloe stated, plopping down on the bed and pulling Addie onto her disappearing lap. “The most romantic moment of my life.”

  “It sounds nasty,” Arielle grumbled, shaking her head with distaste. She’d inherited her mother’s obsessive cleaning tendencies.

  “Tell us why you left Mom,” Luke demanded. “I thought you fell in love with her the moment you saw her. That’s what you’ve always told us.”

  “I did, son,” he told him directly.

  “But you left her?” Luke asked point blank, waiting for a satisfactory response.

  “Why’d you leave, Dad?” Arielle queried, her eyebrows furrowed.

  “Don’t ever leave Mommy,” Addie cried as she hugged her mother tightly, eyes squished shut.

  He sighed. Chloe mouthed the word, “sorry.”

  “It’s complicated,” he said, knowing he was in the hot seat. “The important thing is that Mom and I are together now and that I love your mother very, very much.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart,” Chloe returned.

  Luke moaned loudly and Arielle scoffed with disdain. They knew their parents were dancing around the issue.

  “I think maybe we’d better explain,” Chloe said gently, reaching one hand towards him. Their hands clasped and he noticed each one of their children stare at the firm, solid grip between mother and father which bespoke security.

  Chloe was right. Perhaps it was time for their children to know the parts of their story that weren’t so idyllic. Maybe glossing things over with happily-ever-afters left them with an idealized concept of life.

  They deserved to know the truth; well, a watered down version, of course.

  “Once upon a time your Mom slammed the door in my face…” he began.

  “Dad!” Luke objected, but Chloe laughed and his heart soared.

  Knowing she was happy and content with their life meant everything to him. Their beginning hadn’t been easy. In fact, it had been downright tough at times. Contrary to popular belief, time doesn’t heal all wounds, but it does put a band-aid on them. That’s about it, though. Some things in life are always raw and painful. Delving into those memories had the ability to bring it all back as fresh as the day they happened.

  “All right, all right, I’m just kidding.” It was time to settle down and help the children understand the gravity of the story he was about to impart. “Sometimes life doesn’t go as planned. Sometimes life is happy, fun, and filled with laughter. But sometimes life is hard and filled with trials. Sometimes life knocks us down and it’s really hard to get back up again. That’s what happened to your Mom and me…”

  “Chloe, I’m leaving.”

  The three little words pulled her from deep within her innermost thoughts. Chloe slowly looked up at the doorway, taking a minute to allow her husband’s words to register. The Room was her favorite place in the house, the place where she spent most of her time. Mark hated The Room. With a passion. He rarely ever spoke to her while she was in it.

  “Oh, all right. Where are you going?”

  “No, I mean I’m leaving,” Mark stated with a determined look. “Really leaving. For good.”

  “Leaving?” Chloe repeated. “When will you be back? I’ll have dinner ready.”

  “Chloe, would you please listen to what I’m saying? I am leaving you. I am leaving our marriage. Right now. This minute. This is goodbye.”

  Chloe sat very, very still. Not even a muscle twitched. What was he talking about?

  “Did you hear me?” With his black hair, long eyelashes, and baby blue eyes, it was almost impossible for Mark to look angry. Between his looks and his velvety voice, he could read the phone book and it would sound like poetry. It was his voice that had caught her attention when she’d first met Mark Brennan. He’d come to the door of her college dorm room…

  “Hi, I’m Mark. Is Colette hanging around?”

  Chloe suddenly felt as if she were encased in a warm fleece blanket, sitting next to a roaring fire, sipping hot chocolate. All that from the sound of a man’s voice. She shook her head, brushing aside silly daydreams. He was here to see her roommate, Colette, and she’d been looking forward to this date for several days.

  “Colette, your date’s here,” Chloe hollered.

  “I’ll be right out,” Colette answered. She was probably changing her clothes one more time.

  It was then that Chloe noticed the other couple standing next to the silky-voiced Mark. Colette had mentioned they were double dating.

  “Hey sweetheart,” the guy said, looking her up and down. His date looked really uncomfortable. Wonder why? “Why don’t you come along too?”

  Without thinking, Chloe slammed the door in their faces. Any young man who flirted with another woman while on a date was not okay in her book. She hoped his date dumped him and fast.

  Colette rushed into the room. “Where’s Mark?”

  “He’s waiting on the doorstep.” Chloe didn’t explain.

  Mark had apologized profusely for his friend’s behavior—and asked Chloe out one month later. Colette had already moved on to another young man and couldn’t care less when Chloe and Mark began to date exclusively.

  It had been the beginning of their relationship—a relationship that had flowered almost immediately. She missed those carefree days.

  Mark had always joked about the awkward door-slamming moment, saying it was most definitely love at first sight.

  Where had that love gone?

  “Chloe, did you hear me?” Mark repeated.

  Regardless of Mark’s pleasant features, he was indeed angry; she could feel his anger as if it were tangible. She understood his anger. It was simmering inside of her too.

  “I heard,” she whispered. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me, an inner voice chanted with raw emotion. Slowly, Chloe rose to her full stature, facing Mark. “Please don’t leave me,” she pleaded, the request immediately sounding flat. It sounded better in her head. The angst swelling within her was non-evident in her tone or demeanor. It was then she noticed the luggage sitting behind him, waiting patiently like a faithful puppy ready to leave on a walk.

  “Is that all you have to say? I announce that I’m leaving our marriage and all you can do is whisper, ‘please don’t leave me,’ as if you’re asking the time of day? Is that all four years of marriage merits?” Mark scoffed. “At least you could muster a little more emotion.”

  Emotion was inside of her. It swelled within her breast, swirling with every breath she took. Painfully. Excruciatingly.

  But it never escaped; held prisoner deep inside the depths of her body, a captive. Her body was simply the capsule that kept her from bursting.

  “Don’t give up on me.” It was all she could give him, all she had to offer.

  “I’ve met someone, Chloe.”

  “What?” Her eyebrows furrowed.

  “Ah, a flicker of life. It’s there and then it’s gone. Did I really see it? Probably not,” Mark said, his tone laced with bitter sarcasm, uncommon to him.

  Bitterness. Such an ugly word. They were both filled with it—and it hurt as if acid were being poured on their bare skin.

  “I’ve met someone and I’m taking this chance at happiness while I have it. I don’t want to live like this anymore. Our marriage has been over for more than a year. You and I both know it. Some couples make it. Some don’t. We didn’t. It’s time for both of us to move on.”

  There was that phrase again. Move on. What exactly did that mean? The raging emotion inside of her made no appearance, only the heavy blink of her eyes indicated she was even alive. “I don’t want you to leave,” she said. Even so, she knew why he was leaving and was surprised he’d stuck it out this long.

  “That’s it? That’s all I get? How about a tear or two? Maybe even a little histrionics. Something. Anything.” Mark sneered with disdain. “Throw something. Rage at me. Tell me I’m a lowlife jerk. I feel like one.”<
br />
  Suddenly, he seemed to deflate, his anger dissipating. “Please.”

  Chloe didn’t move. He’d never understood her sadness, her overwhelming grief. It had smothered her and stolen her spirit, her essence, long ago. She was an empty shell with nothing left to give.

  Nothing. She was nothing.

  “Chloe, I’ll always love you. Always. Please know that. But I have to move on and so do you. Please get help, I beg of you. You need help. You can’t sit in this room forever. At some point you have to go on with your life.” His voice had returned to the usual soft whisper he was known for, like silk against her skin.

  He shifted his feet and her eyes wandered to his shoes. He was wearing shoes in the house. How could he? He knew how much it bothered her. The dirt. The mess. The germs. Now she’d have to vacuum again.

  He followed the path of her eyes and purposefully rubbed his shoes on the carpet.

  “Look, there’s dirt in the house, Chloe. You’re not in control anymore, are you? Things happen in life, it’s just the way it is. And no matter how much you clean this mausoleum of a house, it won’t make one iota of difference. You can’t control life. Cleaning your house doesn’t change anything, and it certainly doesn’t mean you’re in control,” he told her as if he was a disapproving parent.

  Chloe resisted the urge to run towards the vacuum. The need was so strong her hands turned into clenched fists. She told herself his chastising words had nothing to do with her reaction. Nothing.

  Mark leaned his hand against the doorjamb, an action he knew she despised. In an effort to get a rise out of her he said, “The unseen dirt on my hands is making invisible smudges on the trim, Chloe. Will you repaint the molding when I leave?” he challenged.

  The thought just might have crossed her mind.

  Understandably, Mark was angry. Chloe knew he had every right to be. But then, so did she. Still his taunt came off as slightly cruel, especially under the circumstances.

  “Let it go, Chloe. Just let it go. Please,” he whispered.

  When she didn’t respond with recriminations about his thoughtless actions, Mark ran a tired hand through his hair and glanced at his watch, clearly saddened. Mark was not an unkind man. She knew he wanted her to express some kind of emotion, even if it was anger, he would’ve been pleased. But her emotions were capped and bottled and she rarely let them go. And it drove him crazy.