Wethering the Storm

Chapter ELEVEN

I’m pregnant.”
Tru’s pregnant. With my baby.
But she’s on the pill. How can she be pregnant?
Jesus f*cking Christ. She’s pregnant. With my baby.
I can’t be a dad. I’m not dad material.
I get a smoke out of the pack and realise my hands are shaking.
I clench my hands into fists, trying to ease the tremors. I put a cigarette between my lips, light it, and take a long, slow drag.
Lowering the window, I blow the smoke out into the night, and stare out at LA.
The last time I was parked here, I was seeing to Tru on the hood of my car, and now I’m here after finding out I’m going to be a dad.
F*ck.
I know without a doubt that Tru will want the baby. An abortion won’t be an option for her.
Now I feel like the worst kind of bastard for even thinking it. Thinking of getting rid of a part of myself and Tru.
But what the f*ck do I know about being a dad? Nothing. I know absolutely nothing. I didn’t exactly have the best teacher growing up. I may have had Dale for the last part, and sure, he’s a good guy, but the damage was done by that point. I was well beyond repair by the time Paul was gone.
He f*cked me up. And I can’t screw a kid up like he did me. Not my own flesh and blood. I’d never forgive myself.
Taking another drag, I rest my elbows on the wheel and put my head in my hands.

“You’re a f*ckin’ waste of space, Jake…Can’t you ever get anything right?…Take after your mother, you do, f*ckin’ useless…I wish you’d never been born, I never wanted saddling with a kid—especially not a whiney little shit like you…You’ll never amount to anything…What the f*ck are you crying for? If you don’t stop crying, boy, I’ll give you a f*ckin’ reason to cry…”
I bang my palms against my forehead, trying to get the sound of his goddamn voice out of my head.
He’s dead, and he’s still here, f*cking with me. Still taunting me.
I need to drown the dead motherf*cker out.
I turn the music on, quickly search through to Linkin Park, and press Play on “Numb.” I crank it up loud, until the song bleeds through every sense.
I always listen to this song when I need to clear my mind. My drug counsellor said to find something to focus on when I feel like everything is slipping away from me. Music is my life, aside from Tru, so I took to this song.
I know this might seem an odd song to calm me, but it works. “Numb” is my comedown song.
I can feel my anger and frustrations already beginning to ebb.
Numb is exactly how I need to feel right now. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel. Because if I do, I’ll be turning this car around and heading in the wrong direction, straight to a dealer.
Resting back in my seat, I take another long pull on my smoke, flicking the ash out the window.
I’m going to be a dad.
I don’t know how to be a dad. I want to be…for Tru. I want to be everything right for her. But I don’t know if I can. I’ll f*ck it up. I f*ck everything up.
The thought of screwing up something as important as having a kid terrifies me beyond words.
I can’t be him. I can’t be Paul. And I have been, for a very long time.
I would never raise my hand to a woman or a child. Never. But what if we had a kid and something just snapped inside of me and changed me into the bastard he was? It doesn’t take just fists to hurt and break a kid. Words do some serious f*cking damage too.
I know that all too well.
And I’m like him in so many ways. Too many ways. What’s to say that I won’t morph into the full shithole of a package that was Paul Wethers once my kid is born?
I might be successful professionally, but behind that fa?ade, I’m a whole lot of f*cked up and broken. Tru is the glue that holds me together, and look what I just did to her. She is my whole world. She told me she was pregnant and I just walked away from her. I left her all alone.
What type of man does that? A f*cking coward, that’s what.
God, when she told me she was pregnant, she sounded so scared. I could hear it in her voice. Almost like she knew what I’d do. That I’d run away. That I’d f*ck up.
Didn’t I do that so very f*cking spectacularly?
It’s no excuse, but I panicked. When she said she was pregnant, it was like a fuse went in my head and I couldn’t think straight. For the whole ride home, I felt robotic.
I couldn’t think or focus on anything.
It was just…Drive the car, Jake.
Get home, Jake.
I couldn’t get any farther than that. When she got out of the car, I knew she was angry and hurting, but I was frozen to my seat.
I was telling myself to get out of the car, to follow her, to talk to her, but I literally couldn’t make my body move.
The next thing I knew, the car was in reverse, and I was spinning it around, driving out of there.
I was just so f*cking terrified. I’m still terrified.
Tru is carrying my baby inside of her, and I left them both behind.
I walked away.
I am him.
I’m the legacy he left behind. He got exactly what he wanted. He wanted me just as screwed up—no, more screwed up—than he was.
Well, cheers, Dad. You did a top-notch f*cking job.
Taking one last drag of my smoke, I flick my cigarette butt out the window.
I’ll never be good enough for Tru or the baby. But I want to be.
I know the baby will be perfect and beautiful, because Tru is. It’ll take after her, because it has to. I don’t want an ounce of my f*cked-up-ness in our baby.
Our baby.
We’re having a baby. It’s growing inside of her right now. A tiny baby, made from me and Tru. It’ll be so small…so tiny, with a little heart beating in its chest.
It’ll need protecting, keeping safe for its whole life.
And it’s mine to protect.
I’m going to be a dad.
Out of nowhere, I feel a tiny lift in my heart at the thought. A tiny flicker of hope buried deep inside my fractured, f*cked-up soul.
Then the realisation slaps me across the face.
I’ve so completely f*cked up. She’s never going to forgive me for this.
F*ck.
I need to go back. I need to talk to her. Beg her to forgive me. Tell her I’ll make it work somehow. I’ll figure something out. I’ll figure out how to be a dad to our baby. I want to be the man she believes I can be. I will do anything for her.
I can’t lose Tru. She’s my reason for being. She’s my everything.
And I want to be the same for our baby.
I’m just about to fire up the car when my cell starts to ring.
I glance at the screen and see it’s home security.
Tru.
F*ck, no.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mr. Wethers. It’s Jackson. I, um, I just thought you might want to know that Ms. Bennett just left in a cab. She had luggage, and she, um, left her house keys with me to give to you.”
My heart drops through my stomach.
God, no.
“You just let her leave?” I say through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry, sir. I tried to talk to her, offered to drive her wherever she was going, but she wouldn’t have it.”
That’s Tru. Stubborn to a fault.
“Do you know where she was going?” I ask through my dry mouth.
“No, sir.”
“Find out.”
“How?”
“Did you see which cab company it was that picked her up?”
“Yes.”
“Then f*ckin’ call them and find out where the driver is taking her! How long ago did she leave?” I drive my hand through my hair.
“The cab pulled away less than a minute ago.”
“Call them now. Then call me straight back.”
I hang up.
She left. I have no one to blame but myself. I have so totally and monumentally screwed everything up.
F*cking idiot, I’m such a complete and total f*cking idiot.
I have to make this right. I have to bring her home. Bring them both home.
I speed-dial Tru’s cell.
It’s ringing.
Pick up, baby, please.
After three rings, it diverts to voice mail.
She cut me off.
F*ck.
I press redial.
Voice mail.
F*ck. F*ck. F*ck.
I wait for the tone to leave a message. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I screwed up, I know, but don’t leave. Call me back, please. We can talk and sort this out. I shouldn’t have left when I did. I shouldn’t have left you like that. I just panicked. I’m not strong like you, baby. It’s no excuse, I know, but please don’t leave.” I exhale. “I just…I love you so f*ckin’ much.”
I can feel my throat tightening, so I hang the call up before I start crying.
I get out another smoke and light it up and sit and stare at my cell.
Call me back, baby, please.
A minute later, my cell starts to ring, but it’s not her. It’s security.
“Where is she going?” I ask in a clipped voice.
“LAX, sir.”
F*ck.
I slam the car into drive and, spinning it around, I put the pedal to the floor, desperate to get to LAX and stop the only woman I’ve ever loved from leaving me and taking my baby with her.