Shattered and Shaken Read online

  Dressed in short white shorts, a pink tank, and Soph's pink cowgirl boots, I look like a true southern belle. “Damn, girl, you trying to keep me cooped in this room all afternoon?” Blake examines, his eyes ogling me.

  I laugh at his outburst. “I mean, I wouldn't object to it,” I tease, biting my lip and wiggling my brows.

  He laughs. “As tempting as you are, Miss Anderson, we're going to be late”. He pauses and looks at me a moment. “Oh to hell with it, Brody can wait.” I can’t help but laugh as he strides over to pick me up, and twirls us around. He quickly places me on the floor and scurries over to his stereo, attaching his iPod. Making his way back to me, he extends his hand and bows slightly. “Dance with me, please,” he requests.

  My ginormous smile pushes my cheeks high, causing my eyes to squint. “Why thank you, Dr. Andrews, I'd love to,” I reply, accepting his hand. I allow him to lead, you know, since it makes him feel manly and all. He pulls my arms up, placing my hands around his neck. His arms encircle my waist and he pulls us close, closing the space between us. Our embrace is so tight, you couldn't force a toothpick between us. “Listen to the words, take them in, and know that no other woman can ever compare to you. I’ll love you for the rest of my life, Allie,” he whispers beneath my ear.

  As soon as he's finished speaking, the room fills with the acoustic version of Jason Mraz's “The Woman I Love”. Warmth spreads through my veins and butterflies claim my stomach; it's the perfect song choice for this moment. We rock from side-to-side, turning in a complete circle, and he dips me as the song ends. “Got that?” he asks, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip.

  God, that drives me crazy! “Got it,” I mimic. After the mind-blowing orgasms, hot shower, and comforting dance, the events from earlier are nonexistent to my mind. I can't believe I've made it back to this place; a place of love and happiness. Emotionally, I've been lonely for so long, believing I was unfixable, unlovable, and incapable to love, intimately. Four years later, I realize Blake's been reconstructing me the entire time. Not once, since I've known him, has he had a girlfriend, a booty call, nothing. He's stood by my side since we've met. My drunken night, vomiting on his favorite Ed-Hardy shirt, he didn't display anger; instead, he held my hair back and spoke soothing words into my ear. When I used sex as a coping mechanism, he never once judged me. He's the first person I run to when life becomes too much to bear, and he drops whatever he's doing to come to me; unless he's delivering a baby - probably not a great idea to drop one of those... that'd be one hell of a lawsuit.

  Words can't begin to explain how much I want to call my mother and tell her how happy I am; it seems hypocritical of me to do so, you know, with me being livid about how she's moving on. Now, it hits me; I should be ashamed of the way I treated her. I didn't take her feelings into consideration as I blew up at Betty's. If her heart ached in the slightest the way mine did, I hope she truly is happy. What the fuck was I thinking? Of course her heart ached, dumbass! The only men she ever loved left her, permanently. I saw what she went through, her inability to cope. I'm an idiot. Before I fall asleep tonight, I'll call her. I'm going to apologize for being an inconsiderate bitch of a daughter. Plus, I'm going back home. I love Sophie and Blake, but traveling between places is exhausting. There's nothing like your own bed... and closet- I'm sick of being confined to duffle bags, dressers, and suitcases.

  Blake and I arrive to Maggiano's Little Italy, thirty minutes late. It's a cute, modern Italian two-story white-bricked building. Black tinted windows, and white lights stream around the tunneled entry; I feel underdressed. Here I am in my country girl attire, and apparently, I should've worn a little black dress, heels, and carried my Louis Vuitton clutch. “Don't you think you should've told me to dress, um, I don't know, appropriately?”

  He chuckles. “Babe, you could hit the town wearing a holey granny gown, and still rock it. You're beautiful, baby,” he says matter-of-factly. Why does he find my being agitated humorous? It's annoying, sometimes - okay never, it's adorable. I'll do anything to make him happy, see him smile, and watch his abdominals contract as he laughs. Not now, Allie, not now! The thought of seeing his abs flex sets my panties on fire. I can't take him here.

  We enter Maggiano's hand-in-hand. Clair spots us and waves us over to the round candle-lit table covered in white cloth and surrounded by at least eight dark wooden chairs. Lying on top of the table are white plates with silverware lying on either side, and crystal-clear wine glasses that have white cloth napkins stuffed inside of them. “Evening, darlings, have a seat,” Clair smiles.

  Blake pulls the chair out for me, and just as I begin to sit, I hear a deep familiar voice speak out from across the restaurant. “Yo, bro!” It’s Brody. Blake walks over and meets Brody halfway, and they embrace each other in a bear hug. Not the one-arm slap across the back dude hug, but a bear hug. I swear I see Blake's feet come off the floor; I'm pullin' his man card. I stare at them in admiration as they show their brotherly love, in the middle of a restaurant full of people.

  Letting out a fake and over-exaggerated cough, I attract Blake's attention. I do this as an attempt to break up their not-so-manly hug; they’re attracting too much attention- looking more like a couple than siblings. As he makes his way back to the table, I begin to sit, but I'm forced to stand when an unfamiliar hand encircles my arm. “Allie, right? You don't think I'm going to let you sit your perdy self down without a proper introduction, do you?” he questions seriously. Well to me, a proper introduction is a hand shake, but to him, it's a full-on bear hug, squeezing me like a python. If he doesn't release me soon, my skeleton's going to pop out of my skin.

  Finally, after what seems like hours, he releases me and I'm able to breathe again. “Of course not, Brody,” I reply with a smile, secretly thanking God for helping me escape Brody's grasp unharmed. We take our seats and our food's already laid upon the table. In the middle of the table is some sort of rigatoni and leafy salad. Our glasses are filled with a light orange liquid. I bring the glass to my nose and sniff it before tasting it. I bring the glass to my lips, preparing to take a sip when Clair stops me.

  “Sip it slowly, dear; it's delicious and the taste will linger longer the slower you drink it. It's an Italian Sangria,” she explains, holding her glass up to toast. We all stretch our glasses to the center of the table, clinking them together. “Here's to new beginnings, family, and unconditional love,” Aken declares. We sit down and fill our plates with the mouthwatering pasta.

  Bringing the sangria to my mouth, all eyes are on me. “Mmm, it's-it's delectable,” I moan in appreciation. The sangria is crisp, leaving behind a taste of lemon mixed with orange. I don't know what it is about the Andrews and their obsession with wines, but they're like wine whispers; everything they pick out is appetizing. I've always hated the taste of wine. Every kind I've ever tasted has been either bitter or tart; guess that's what you get when you purchase boxed wine.

  I eat in silence while Clair, Aken, Blake, and Brody catch up. I don't feel left out or out of place, nothing like that; it's just I don't want to impose on their conversations; it'd be rude. Brody speaks of himself being a ‘free spirit’, banging chicks left and right, mostly women he does shoots with. I'm not comfortable joining in on this particular conversation. His having his way with women and leaving them behind as if they're trash, is a little too close to home. And my mother taught me that if you can't say something nice, you shouldn't say anything at all. Not that I obey her instructions often, but I really like being a part of this family and I prefer to avoid confrontation with them.

  What I really want to do is jump over the table, punch Brody in the nose, then kick is balls so hard they get lodged into his throat, but I won't. I convince myself that some women like to be used, but in all honesty, they don't. I was one of those women, seeking intimacy to fill the emptiness inside, when all we need is someone to show us they care, and to treat us like the jewels we are.

  As I jab my fork at my salad I hear the word pregnan
t and immediately blurt out, “I'm not pregnant!” The table goes silent and jaws drop to the table, all except for Clair, who has spewed sangria and is laughing uncontrollably. Every eye in Maggiano's is on me, waiting for an explanation. “I'm sorry. I missed most of the conversation and assumed you were talking about me,” I explain, hanging my head in embarrassment. Damn me and my nonexistent brain-to-mouth filter.

  Blake rubs his hand up and down my spine in attempt to comfort me. “What would make you think we were talking about you?” he questions. Great, now I have to explain.

  “Elana insinuated Allie was pregnant because you brought her home to meet us. She overheard us talking and it's bugging her,” Clair answers nonchalantly. Yes, that's exactly it. Those rich bitches have me second-guessing my body. I stood in the mirror for over thirty minutes viewing myself at different angles, seeing if I had signs of a belly pooch. As I expected, there's nothing.

  Again, Blake laughs. “Happy I amuse you,” I bite out, glaring at him. He inhales trying to control his laughter. I don't get what in the hell's so amusing. Bewildered, I continue to glare holes into him. If looks could kill, he'd be dead right now.

  “Babe, chill! Elana and her posse like to stir shit up, don't let 'em get to you.” He continues to stroke my back in what I assume is intended to be comforting. I’m just a little miffed that he thinks the whole damn thing’s funny. Perhaps if he walked in and overheard someone questioning the size of his penis, or something like that, then he wouldn’t be finding it funny and rising above it. No, he’d be going all caveman and whipping out the tape measure.

  “Babe, if you were pregnant, all of Nashville would know; they wouldn't have to ask you. I'd have that shit painted on a billboard over the interstate,” he announces, his smile reaching from ear-to-ear. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me “Well, I’m pretty sure if I were pregnant, Nashville would be able to see my lard ass without a billboard,” I assure him.

  “Dude, cool it with the baby talk. Slow down,” Brody intrudes, agitated.

  Blake turns in his chair to face his brother. “Bro, shut your hole. I was just letting her know that if she was having my baby, it's nothing to hide or be ashamed of. It's something amazing,” Blake insists. Sweet, he wants to be a daddy, but it ain't happenin' now. The whole idea of growing another human inside of me makes me uneasy.

  “We wouldn't object to being grandparents, but you would have to move here to Nashville. It's non-negotiable,” Clair says. Oh give me a break, please. Baby steps people, remember; first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby carriage...

  Chapter Fifteen

  AS MUCH AS I’VE enjoyed my stay in Nashville and falling in love with the Andrews', I'm excited to head home. Believe it or not, I'm not a very affectionate person. Tears may fall from my eyes, frequently, but I'm not good at comforting others as they cry; it's awkward. I'm all for honesty and don't believe in lying to someone in order to comfort them. The whole hugging and telling them everything will be okay is bullshit. Life's not a fucking fairy tale; people die, lie, and betray you. It's just a part of life that can't be avoided, and sometimes people never recover. So when the time comes and Clair has a death grip on me with tears streaming down her face, I stand dumbfounded.

  Clair is a snotty babbling mess. “You take care of my baby boy, okay?” she mutters, sniffing her crying-induced nasal drainage. Yes, it is disgusting, but I can’t push her away.

  “There, there,” I mumble, patting her head gently as if she is a puppy. “I'll take care of him,” I promise. Thankfully, our separation from Aken and Brody is more tolerable, less awkward. I don’t have to deal with all the crying and affectionate shit like I did with Clair. They're humongous manly men, and most men are oblivious to affection, except for Brody. Don't let his wrestler-like stature, tattoos, and lip ring fool you; he's a softy.

  Brody gets a little misty-eyed saying farewell to his baby brother. As I watch them, I realize that I need to return their man cards, because it takes one hell of a man to tear up and show affection, especially toward a sibling. Their love for one another makes me smile and frown at the same time. I smile because it's nice to see Blake interact with his family, but frown because I miss that feeling I had with Kyle. I begin to wonder what persuaded Blake to attend college in North Carolina; he and his family are extremely close. I can’t imagine being states away from home. Staying on campus in Raleigh was two hours too far. Blake could've attended med school in Tennessee; there are several well-known colleges here.

  Our flight is delayed due to the weather. Storms have been rolling through the eastside since yesterday. We finally touch down around midnight, and even though we haven't crossed time zones, I feel jet lagged. The airport is a little over an hour away from Jacksonville, and the sandman has invaded my eyelids; they're as heavy as steel, and as much as I fight to stay awake, the vibrations from the truck cause me to doze off.

  My eyes snap open at the sound of screeching tires and Blake's arm pressing across my abdomen, keeping my head from colliding with the dashboard as he slams on the brakes and stops behind a car stranded on the side of the interstate. Before I can ask him what in the hell he's thinking, he unfastens his seat belt, throws the door open, and exits the cars as if his ass is on fire. Reluctantly, I open my door and follow behind him, keeping a safe distance from the cars traveling along the interstate. As I near the silver sedan, I hear a woman scream out in pain. Her scream is so loud it causes my ear drums to ring. I can't see her or Blake.

  Forcing my feet to move faster, I scurry to the front of the car, where I see a heavily pregnant woman crouched down clinging to her stomach. “Oh God, help me,” she cries, tears falling from her face like raindrops.

  Blake takes her hands and helps her to stand, placing her hands on the hood of the car. "Keep your hands flat on the car, and try to relax. Lift your head and inhale through your nose; release it slowly from your mouth,” he instructs. Making his way behind the woman, who's clearly in labor, his hands circle the tops of her hips and his thumbs press deep into her lumbar region, massaging circles into her tissue as she experiences another contraction. Her shoulders still as she holds her breath. “Just breathe, you have to breathe,” Blake urges. Blake glances to me, worry etched across his face. “Al, I need you to call for an ambulance.” He's a doctor; I don't understand his uneasiness. “Go,” he screams. His tone of voice makes me flinch.

  Running to the truck, I'm determined to call for help, but I can't. Blake's ridiculously jacked-up truck is too high and I can't make it inside. It's raining, mud lies under my feet, and each time I try to push myself up, I loose traction and slip. Taking my shoes off, I run back to Blake. “Blake, I can't get in the truck.”

  He glances at me in frustration. “What? What do you mean you can't?” he huffs. It's obvious, but I assume nerves have clouded his brain.

  “Seriously? A blind man could see that I could walk right under your truck without ducking! It's ridiculous to have a truck that fucking high!” I yell. I understand he's nervous, but I'm doing the best I can to help him. He asked me to call for help, and dammit, I tried.

  He nods his head, motioning me to join his side. "I know, babe. I'm sorry.” Damn right, he better be. He grabs my hands and replaces them where his were on the pregnant woman’s back. “Keep your hands here. When her breathing becomes labored, use your thumbs, pressing them deeply into this spot, and rotate them in a circular motion. Can you do that for me, please?”

  I look at the woman in front of me. “Yes,” I nod. He runs to the truck, climbs in effortlessly, and calls for help.

  When he returns, he's calm. He speaks to the woman after her last contraction ends. “Ma'am, my name's Dr. Andrews, I'm a resident at Onslow Memorial Hospital; I'm an obstetrician,” Blake announces. The woman begins to experience another contraction, but this time, she falls to her knees, blood dripping down her leg. What the fuck! I feel myself panic and look around wildly, but stop when I see Blake’s relaxed face. “I need you t
o answer a few questions for me. Can you try your best to answer them?” Blake asks, his voice calm.

  As the woman opens her mouth to answer, she lets out an ear-splitting scream that I’m convinced can be heard for miles. She hunches over, encircling her swollen stomach tightly.

  “Just. Kill. Me.... Please,” she pants, hyperventilating. Oh shit!

  “I don't have protective gear in my car, no gloves, towels, nothing... but I have to examine her,” Blake explains, looking at me.

  I look at him in concern. “But you know nothing about her, Blake,” I say, scared that this poor woman could transfer something incurable to him... HIV comes to mind. Blake goes to the woman and helps her to the backseat of her car, instructing her to lie on her back across the bench seat. The more movement she makes, the more she screams. “Allie, don't you think I know this? But this is what I do; this is who I am!” He looks to the ground where he stands in a pool of blood. “You see this? She's hemorrhaging, Allie,” he informs, pulling the pregnant woman's blood-soaked spandex shorts down her legs.

  My knees begin to buckle at the sight of the bloody mess before me, but I close my eyes and will myself to be strong. It's only blood, right? Wrong. There's a black patch of what I assume is hair, protruding from her vagina. I fight the rain and lift my eyes to the sky. “Oh shit!” I mutter.

  “Where's the fucking ambulance?” Blake yells, enraged. He's covered in blood from his hands to his elbows. “Baby, I need you to try your hardest to climb into the back of the truck to see if we may have left a beach towel in there somewhere,” he asks, his eyes remaining on the woman panting and screaming in agony. I do as he ask.

  Running as fast as I can, I jump up and grip the tailgate, pulling myself up. Tossing my leg over the gate, I fall into the bed of the truck, knocking my breath away. Lying on my side, my eyes search the bed, and land on the blanket Blake and I used at the beach. I roll myself to the back of the bed of the truck, grab hold of the blanket and jump to the ground. On my way down, I lose my balance and fall to the asphalt. Gravel punctures my knees and blood drips from the wounds. My adrenaline’s at an all-time high and I don't feel the pain. Holding the blanket, I run to Blake. “No towel, but there's this,” I say, handing him the blanket.