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“No fucking way.” I shake my head, dropping my pen on my desk. “Besides, you need to focus on your sobriety. You haven’t even gone to therapy, which you’re supposed to do.” Declan promised he’d start seeing a therapist, and I even found him several that specialize in addiction recovery counseling.
“He was my son too, and the songs are good. They’re about loss, and I know someone out there will be able to relate.” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t need therapy. I’m fine!”
“You do! And you’re not going to use the death of our son to get a fucking paycheck. This isn’t even up for discussion. You know our fucking deal. Luca stays out of the media!” I snap, turning my attention back toward my laptop.
“He’s gone, Camille! His memory will be out there, and this is a way to honor him.” I see red. How fucking dare he!
“I know he’s gone! I live with his loss every single fucking day! I dealt with his loss while I was saving you from yourself so you wouldn’t fucking overdose. You were too high to function. Meanwhile, I was the one who was mourning our son alone!” I yell, standing to my feet quickly, my chair slamming into the wall behind me. The shock of seeing Dean again brought me away from my grief for just a moment, but being near Declan is bringing up too many emotions for me.
His eyes narrow at me, but I don’t let him speak. “You left me alone! You chose to get high while I was alone, unable to properly mourn because I was too worried about you. I carried him inside my body for nine months. I felt his kicks. He heard my heartbeat from the inside of my body. I birthed him, he got nourishment from my breasts, and I got four perfect years with him. Every time you went on tour, we stayed behind, and I took care of him. I lost my baby! I lost my baby because you were too fucked up and didn’t see that goddamn car! It’s your fault he's gone!" I scream, my body shaking with anger. Ever since the night of our accident, I've bottled up my anger and resentment toward Declan, and it's finally coming out. I can't hold it in any longer. He's triggered me, and now I've reached my breaking point. I can no longer ignore the elephant in the room. "While I was here dying inside because my heart was ripped out of my chest, you checked out! You chose drugs, and I lost you too. You don’t fucking know shit about mourning.” I yell every word to him until my voice is hoarse, and I can barely see through my tears. “It’s your fault he’s gone. You should’ve been watching the road.” It’s a low blow, but I need to hit him where it hurts. “You killed my son, and I will never fucking forgive you. It should've been you.” Misery loves company, and I need him to hurt just as much as I’m hurting.
His eyes harden, and his brows pull together in a scowl. I succeeded in hurting him. The evidence is clear on his face. “You are a cold-hearted bitch, and I don’t know if you always have been or if this is a new thing. You think you’re so fucking much better than me. Why? Because I went to rehab?! Perfect Camille doesn’t know what it’s fucking like to struggle because she’s always had a silver spoon up shoved up her fucking tight ass. Fuck you, Camille.” He spits at my feet. His words were pure venom. Before I know what I'm doing, my hand flies up and slaps him across the face. His head snaps to the side, and I see my handprint on his bright red cheek.
Declan slaps me right fucking back. My cheek stings, and I know I have a matching handprint on my cheek. Over the years, we’ve had our fights, our struggles, but they were never physical. Never once have we put our hands on each other until now.
“You want to hit? Then, babe, let’s fucking hit. Nothing you do or say to me will ever hurt me worse than I already feel.” He grabs the back of my head, tangles his fingers in my hair, and yanks my head back so that I'm staring up at him, our chests brushing against each other. "Do you think that you're the only one who is hurting? Do you think I don't miss our son every goddamn day? Do you think I don't blame myself for his death every fucking day? That day when you found me passed out with a needle? It wasn't a fucking accident, Camille; I was trying to overdose! Why do I get to live when our little boy doesn't? You can't possibly blame me more than I blame myself!" His face is red as he screams in my face, saliva landing on my cheeks from his screaming.
We stand toe to toe, staring at each other. “I want a fucking divorce!” I scream the words that we’ve both been too afraid to say.
Hot tears stream down both of our faces. I open my mouth to speak, but Declan shuts me up by yanking on my hair tighter. "I'm so fucking angry right now it's best you shut the fuck up."
Without another word, Declan leans down and kisses the cheek he had smacked, then turns and walks out of my office, leaving me standing there.
I stay staring at the door long after he leaves.
Even when I hear the front door slam, I stay standing.
I’m not sure how long I stand there staring at the doorway, but eventually, my feet move, and I rush out of our apartment.
Declan and I are broken. So fucking broken and beyond the point of redemption.
Right now, I want to be selfish and do something for myself. I’m so tired of doing what everyone wants and being who everyone expects me to be.
A wise man once said to take life by the balls and make it my bitch, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I’m doing something I want, something that’ll make me forget and make me feel good.
Before long, I’m handing my keys over to the valet, and standing in front of a door. The only person I want to see is just on the other side.
One knock is all it will take to feel better.
So, I take a deep breath in and knock.
TWENTY-FIVE
NOW
Dean
It’s been two weeks since I kissed Camille and her taste still lingers on my lips. I’ve texted her multiple times but only received a handful of replies. I’ve noticed that unless it’s business related, she doesn’t respond. I can see that she reads my texts, but she doesn’t reply.
Things with Karina are the same. She acts as if we’re perfect and there’s nothing wrong, but we’re far from okay. She’s a robot, and I fucking hate it. The only time she seems to show emotion is when we fight, and we seem to be doing a lot of that lately. We fight, she storms out of the room, and minutes later, her mask is back in place, and she acts as if nothing ever happened.
I checked out of the hotel and returned home the day after kissing Cam. When I woke up, she was gone and ignored my calls, so I went home. I’d been home for two weeks when Karina and I had another fight that led me to sleep on the couch. Our guest room isn’t put together yet, so I have nowhere else to sleep but our ridiculously uncomfortable couch.
Who the fuck buys an uncomfortable couch? They’re made for sitting and should be comfortable, but ours is anything but.
Last night after dinner, Karina started with her shit again about having a baby. She was drinking heavily and being denied a baby led to her crying and bitching about how I once promised to give her everything, but I’m breaking that promise by not wanting a baby.
