Finding Fate Page 4

  He picks the small pill up from where it landed on the floor. “You have one more chance to take it.”

  I’m crying so hard it’s becoming difficult to breathe. “Why can’t you let us be together? I love him.”

  He holds out his hand with the pill in his palm. “He’s not good enough for you. Your grandfather would have been far worse than me. Consider yourself lucky.”

  My heart constricts in my chest and I cry harder. I take it. “If it had been with someone else, someone you approved of, would things have been different? Would you have changed your mind?”

  “You were fifteen. We did what was right.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I can’t.”

  Him not being able to say no says everything. I get off the bed and walk to the footboard of my sleigh bed, tears soaking my face and shirt, chest heaving and shortened breaths coming in quick bursts one behind the other. I place the pill in my mouth and position both hands on the footboard, before getting in the correct position. Then I bite down hard on the pill until it’s crushed into tiny pieces and look at him, blowing the powder-like slivers out in his direction. “I’m not going to love who I’m told. Look at where an arranged marriage got you. You can beat me ‘til I’m black and blue, but I’m going to love who I want to.”

  Within seconds the first lick comes, tearing a wail from my throat, but I don’t move. I refuse to, even though I’m wearing shorts. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of me trying to run. They come one after the other, hard, a new lick against every part of my legs, my butt, and my back. I can feel the power behind the strike as the leather cuts into me. I can hear the wind off the belt as he swings it against me like a tennis racket swinging at a ball. Every inch of my backside feels like it’s on fire. I will no doubt have stripes and whelps. I scream with another hit, spit flying out of my mouth, and when I fall forward from my knees buckling, my abdomen striking against the rounding of the wood, he stops.

  Humiliation and pain wash over me. Every muscle spasms like a domino effect. “Face me,” he says, sounding out of breath. He doesn’t spare me because I’m a girl. If anything, he’s harder on me. He comes from a very old school traditional upbringing where the females were virgins to the men that won their hand. Arranged marriages were normal and preferred. Choose which families merge, plan for the best fits to reproduce to keep the lineage going.

  My great grandparents were immigrants to this country. They fought for a high level of success and kept passing it down. My grandfather was a very hard man. I wasn’t close to him even when he lived here. Their methods of parenting are long outdated. Physical discipline is always required to make someone fall back in line. But it was said Dad was softer than the rest. It makes sense. My grandfather lived here most of his life and my father was born here. He was taught the ways of his upbringing and adopted others, but he got worse when Mom took off, becoming more like his dad, and I hate her for it.

  I place my trembling hand over my mouth, trying to smother my cries, already turning toward him despite the throbbing of my limbs. “Why did I whip you?”

  I close my eyes, constant new tears draining from my eyes. I open them. Looking at him is a requirement. His angular jaw and chiseled chin make him look more masculine, and definitely packs more punch in times like these. “Because I disobeyed you.”

  “Do you think I want to do this to you? It causes me pain. I’ve let you make a mockery of me for too long. I’m done. No important man wants a girl that runs around spreading her legs. I love you, Gabrielle, but you’re going to fall in line with this family. You’re getting older. Your grandfather has been on my ass for a while about suitors for you. They’re already being discussed, and if it’s someone from back home he’ll gain citizenship as soon as you marry. Two worlds collide once again.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I never joke about important matters, especially when it involves my only daughter. You’ve had plenty of time to give me options to consider, or at least show me you’re heading in the right direction, yet you’re stalling. You forfeited that right. Maybe you should have moved on and stayed your ass away from him, because now you’re going to do it my way. You’re going to start by fixing your appearance like getting rid of that godawful dye job and scrubbing that orange shit off your skin to reveal the olive complexion you inherited from me. You’re going to go back to driving the car that’s been sitting in the garage for too long. I’ve already sold that piece of shit you’ve been driving. You’re going to get your act together and start college in the spring. Your credit cards are in the desk drawer. You’ll earn back your freedom, like a cell phone. I’m being more than fair. The next time I’m going to take your grandfather up on his offer and ship you overseas for him to straighten out.”

  I can’t even see in front of me. I suppose it doesn’t matter, because he turns around and walks out, slamming the door behind him, the lock quickly sliding back in place. The second his feet leave my door all of the cries I was trying to silence push out at the same time, because something that most people take for granted, I want desperately—to love who I want.

  I walk to my bed and crawl on it, before laying back on my stomach again, this time for completely different reasons, like my raw flesh and belt burns that will keep me from sitting or lying on my back for a while. The familiar memory is already playing before my lids are closed and darkness takes over. A dream for most was a nightmare for me.

  Five

  Gabby

  Five years ago . . .

  I stare at the round belly in front of me that’s strapped in monitors and covered with a hospital gown. The screen next to me swooshing in my ear has been my lifeline since I got here. Forty weeks and a day. I’ve put it off as long as I could, drawn it out, plead with any higher being up there. There is nothing else I can do at this point but hope for a miracle. It’s time. Had it not occurred naturally they were going to force it.

  The nurse removes a section of the bed as I press my heels into the stirrups and then positions my bottom at the edge. I grow nervous. Too many people are flitting around the room in different colored scrubs—none of which are my doctor. I want my doctor. I’m so exposed.

  I clench the handrails at each side of me, the tape holding the IV in stretching as my skin tightens. One hand on my knee, the nurse places a glove-covered hand between my legs to check me. “We’re ready.”

  “I’m scared. I want Maddox.”

  Or a friend, I’d add at this point. I haven’t seen anyone from school since before summer. Instead of starting back in August, my dad pulled me out to ‘study abroad’ in Greece, where my family lives, when really, I’ve been stuck at home with private tutors to hide what I’ve done. I have to erase the evidence before I’m allowed back at school.

  The nurse softens her gaze. She’s probably in her forties. “It’s okay, honey. I’ll coach you through it. Grab the back of your legs and pull back.” I do as she says as she continues. “When I tell you to, I’m going to count, and on three I want you to put your chin into your chest, bear down, and push like you’re trying to poop.”

  My heart is racing. “Okay.”

  She looks at the monitor. “Here we go. One, two, and push.”

  I follow instructions as best as I can, teeth clenched, tired, and ready to breathe by the time she tells me to relax. “Good job. We’re going to do that every time until I can see the head and then the doctor will step in.” She looks at the screen again. “One, two, and push.”

  For thirty minutes this is a repetitive cycle. My head hits the pillow each time I relax, fatigue setting in and wearing me down. Sweat is layering my forehead. I feel so alone. I have no one. Because of the circumstances my dad didn’t come in. After this I’ll have nothing left to lose. Every part of Maddox will be gone. Part of me just wants it over with so I can figure out how to pick up the pieces of my heart and try to make the best of it.

  The doctor finally walks in, quickly dressin
g in protective clothing, and takes the nurse’s place. “Give me a couple good ones, sweetie, and you’ll be done.” When prompted at the beginning of a contraction, I push, and on the second one, all I feel is relief, like a wedged cork finally pulling free. “Head is out. Give me one more.”

  Before I realize what’s happening a tiny being is in her arm as she sucks stuff out of the nose and mouth and wipes whatever that white stuff is all over it. Seconds later the baby starts to cry and is on my chest. Despite it still looking kind of gross, I hug my arms around it to protect it. I can feel my heart growing rapidly with every second I hold the very thing I’ve felt move inside me for months.

  I run my fingers through its wet hair, wondering if it’ll be dark blond or light brown when dry. It’s so tiny against me. We’re sharing warmth. Tears spill. I kiss its forehead. “I want to keep you.” Someone comes over to take the baby off of me. I clench tighter. “No, please. Give me more time.”

  Her badge says she’s a nursery tech. She looks at me with pity. “We have to clean the baby and wrap it up.” She lowers her voice. “But I can bring it back for a few minutes after before I take it.”

  I loosen my hold, letting her take my baby, but my eyes never leave the entire time he’s being cleaned, his feet printed, body measured, and dressed. Within fifteen minutes she brings him back over bundled in a blanket and hat and puts him cradled in my arms. He stares up at me from tiny gray eyes coated in some type of jelly. “Madden Leroy. You may not can have your daddy’s last name, but I made sure you got his middle and part of his first before I’d agree to any damn thing.”

  I burst into tears. He’s not even crying. He’s just looking up at me as if hearing me talk is enough. I’m his mother. That should be enough. I look down at him. “I love you so much. I know you won’t remember, but I do. I want you with my whole heart.”

  The door swings open and Dad walks in, already coming toward me. “That’s enough. I told you not to hold him. He has to go.”

  I blink away tears. I need more time. I’m not ready. “No, Daddy, please. Let me keep him. I’ll do anything you want me to. I just want to keep him.”

  “No. It’s done. You don’t have that luxury at fifteen. Give him to me. His parents are here.”

  He reaches down for him, but I twist my body away. “I’m his parent! Maddox is his parent! No one else. I’m begging you to let me keep him. You sent Maddox away. I’ll keep him a secret. Just let him stay.”

  “Gabrielle!” he snaps. “I warned you about getting attached. Hand him here or that Burns boy goes to jail. Test me if you think I won’t file the charges. I have plenty of proof.”

  With one threat I’m a blubbering mess. Regardless of what I do he’s not going to let me keep my baby. That was the deal. I could carry it to term and deliver it instead of the first option he gave me, but I had to give it to a family that couldn’t have children. I have nowhere else to go and no way to give him a good life otherwise. My father wouldn’t allow it anyway, even if I tried. But if I don’t cooperate, he’ll hurt Maddox more; do more damage. I love him. Both of them. The only peace I have in giving away my son is that he won’t remember it. He will never have to live with the knowledge that his mother didn’t want him. Or that he was abandoned. He will know unconditional love. He will know a mom and a dad. He will have the life he deserves. He won’t even know I exist.

  But I’ll remember everything.

  I look at my son one more time, memorizing everything about him, and then I plant a goodbye kiss on his tiny little cheek. “Please,” I beg in a whisper, one more time, still hoping for a miracle, before he shoves his hands around the baby I’m holding and pries him out of my arms. I hold on, screaming and crying, until finally, he’s gone, handing my son to the tech halfway across the room to put him under the warming light and roll out of the room, making sure she leaves first by holding the door open. “I hate you! I’ll never forgive you for this.”

  “One day you’ll understand,” is all he says, before exiting out of the room behind her, and I break, more than I ever have in my life to date. Didn’t cry this hard when my mom left, or even when Maddox was ripped away from me. This feels different, like someone cut a piece of my heart out of my chest with a dull blade and left just enough to keep it beating—alive but barely surviving. A part of me is missing, and now that it’s gone, I have no idea where to find it. He made sure of that. He chose the family that is going to raise my son. The only thing he gave me was the name—made it legal and everything so they can’t change it without voiding other parts too, like me signing away my rights. It’s a private adoption, which means my dad and his attorney can do whatever they want as long as a judge will sign off on it. All the couple wanted was the baby, so they agreed to let me name him. They got the better end of the deal, after all.

  Me—I’ll never be the same.

  Six

  Konnor

  Present . . .

  My phone vibrates in my pocket as we pull into the garage at home. It’s only dusk, but the girls are acting tired, so we’ll probably just chill out tonight. Maddox wastes no time before barreling out of the Tahoe saying, “Don’t wait up. I’m going out with Kaysen,” before slamming the door shut and storming through the garage door.

  “He’s really not okay, is he?” Presley asks. “He hasn’t spoken since we picked him up at his house. And he keeps wandering off to be alone. I’m getting a little worried. I’ve never seen Maddox even remotely close to this.”

  “That’s because you’ve never seen the broken Maddox,” Riggan says. “Who is a drunk. And not playful in the least. Living with him isn’t going to be fun for a while. I give him shit about his jokes because I have the opposite personality, but I’d rather deal with them than this version.”

  “So, she told him she’d move in with him and then took off in the middle of the night and didn’t come back?” Sayler asks, confirming what Riggan told us when Maddox took off by himself while we waited on our flight. My guess is he wants to be nowhere near couples at the moment. Can’t say that I blame him. Been there once in my life; though it seems like a lifetime ago.

  I pull my phone out of my pocket, not looking to see Riggan’s response.

  “That’s so messed up. Poor Maddox.” Again, Sayler, making it sound like he’s a lost puppy.

  “Has anyone tried to call her again to see if she’s picking up? That doesn’t sound right. Why show up and sleep with him at all if you’re going to string him along and then ditch him? Maddox is an attractive guy. And even if it was just sex for her, she could have at least said she needed time to think about it if she didn’t really want to answer. There are ways out of a sticky situation without being a straight-up bitch. That behavior doesn’t sound like personal character Konnor would risk pissing me off to be friends with,” Presley adds, but I can’t really concentrate on adding my piece, which is that it doesn’t sound like Gabby at all. I’ve thought about it most of the way home. Gabby is one of the coolest girls I’ve ever met in a platonic way. She’s fun and easy to talk to. One thing I know is that she’s definitely not a conniving bitch. She doesn’t give a shit about what anyone thinks of her. I stayed with her and Autumn for a while last summer before I decided to get serious about Presley and move to Miami for school.

  Autumn’s name is lit up on the lock screen, reminding me that after all of this is over, I should probably clean up my contacts in my phone, removing any and all past hook-ups. At this very moment, I’m glad I haven’t yet. I pull up the message box.

  Autumn: I came home early because you had me worried. Her phone is disconnected now. It’s a different automated message than when you first called. Her car is gone. She’s not here. But she left her packed bags on the bed? I’m freaking out. Should I call the police?

  A photo comes through following the text. Packed luggage sitting neatly on her bed—one rolling suitcase and a duffel bag. No one takes the time to pack and then leaves it behind. “Something is wrong,” I say out loud.r />
  I turn around in my seat to look at Riggan behind Presley and shove my phone at him. “She packed bags, bro. She was planning to come back. Now no one can find her? That’s sketchy as fuck.”

  Riggan rubs his hands down his face. When he looks back at the screen, it vibrates again. “What the fuck is that?”

  I pull it back to me to see what he’s looking at. Autumn sent another photo. A four by six photo print of a baby bundled in a hat and blanket on top of a zipper pouch similar to a binder pencil case. A text comes through.

  Autumn: Do you know anything about this? I found it in the front pocket of her suitcase trying to see if she left a note or plane ticket or something.

  I glance back at Riggan. “She said it was in the front compartment of the suitcase. Does she have any siblings?”

  Riggan’s brows bend like he’s thinking. “No, I don’t think so. Is there anything on the back?”

  Me: Is there anything written on the back?

  I wait impatiently for her to respond, but she sends another photo. “A date, but I don’t know what it would be,” I answer, and then show it to Riggan.

  A few seconds pass of him staring at the handwriting before his lips start moving as he holds up one finger at a time, counting. “Jesus Christ. That was about nine and a half months after he left, give or take.” His eyes slowly widen and my jaw falls as we let that sink in. “Motherfucker.”

  “Wait! So what you’re saying is she’s been hiding his kid, this whole time?!” Presley grabs my phone to get a closer look. “That was years ago!”