Amanda Maddox

CHAPTER ONE AMANDA. There is nothing more beautiful than seeing millions of lights shining and blinking across New York City. I'm standing on the rooftop of my twenty-five-story building on this chilly night, but I didn't come up here to admire the view. Or enjoy the weather. I came here because I'm contemplating jumping off and ending my life. It's a thought that has crossed my mind more than once over the past two weeks. More than eleven years have passed since the first time I tried to end my life, and somehow, here I am again — except this time, I'm not a devastated teenager. I'm a grown woman. Back then, I did it because I couldn't handle the realization that I would never make it to the Olympics. One f*****g injury to my hand crushed the dream I'd worked almost my entire childhood to achieve. At the time, I thought nothing could ever hurt that badly again. I was wrong. Today, I'm being destroyed by love. If there really is some mighty power in heaven, maybe He's making me pay for every transgression I've ever committed. And tonight? I surrender. My parents always took us to church on holidays, especially Easter and Christmas. My nanny mentioned God in practically everything she did. Thank God for this. Ask God for that. God has a plan, Amanda. Well, where the f**k is He now? Because tonight, I'm questioning whether He exists at all. And if He does, I want to know why He let this happen. I can't handle this pain. I fought so damn hard for the love Daniel and I shared. I fought him. I fought myself. I kept our love hidden when loving him openly would've cost us too much. And when the truth finally came out, I lost people I once believed would always be part of my life. All because I loved him. And just when I thought Daniel and I had finally earned our chance at a normal, happy life... I lost our baby. No. I killed our baby. I couldn't protect him. My body was supposed to be the safest place in the world for my son, and somehow, he died inside of me. And now I'm broken. So f*****g broken. I'm not even sure I'm worth keeping alive. My dream of becoming Daniel's wife finally came true. After everything we'd been through, we got married, and we decided almost immediately that we wanted a baby. We'd been together long enough to know exactly where we wanted our lives to go. And honestly? I had baby fever. Bad. My best friend's life was overflowing with happiness after the birth of her little boy, Timothée. Every time I held him, smelled his little head, or watched his tiny fingers wrap around mine, something inside me ached for one of my own. I wanted that life too. Daniel. Me. And a baby created from this impossible love we'd fought so hard to keep. A few months after settling into our new home, I got pregnant. For once, everything in my life seemed to fall perfectly into place. I had landed the job I'd always wanted. I had married the man I loved. And we were waiting for our first baby. A boy. Our beautiful little boy. He was ridiculously active. He kicked me from the moment I woke up until the moment I rested my head against the pillow at night. That kid rocked my abdomen like a freaking accordion. Sleeping became nearly impossible. I needed a gazillion pillows just to get comfortable, and even then, he would decide two in the morning was the perfect time to practice martial arts against my ribs. I used to complain about it. God, I wish I could feel it now. Just once. One kick. I'd give anything for one more f*****g kick. Daniel read books to him. He played country music for him almost every day, convinced our son could already appreciate his questionable taste. We even had a name. Luke Bryan. Our sweet boy was going to be named after one of his father's favorite artists. I used to tease Daniel that our next child would be named by me before he decided to build an entire country-music band with our children. There was supposed to be a next child. There was supposed to be a first birthday. First steps. First words. Preschool. Christmas mornings. A driver's license. Graduation. A wedding. There was supposed to be an entire lifetime. But two weeks ago, I stopped feeling him move. I knew immediately that something wasn't right. He normally woke me every morning, kicking my bladder like it was a freaking soccer ball. But that morning? Nothing. I moved around. Nothing. I drank something cold. Nothing. I pressed my hands against my belly and begged him to move. Come on, baby. Nothing. I was already thirty-three weeks pregnant and seeing my doctor every two weeks. We only had a few more weeks before our son was supposed to enter this world. Instead, our world shattered. Our baby was dead. The umbilical cord had wrapped around his neck, taking our little boy from us before we ever had the chance to bring him home. I was induced with a high dose of Pitocin. Almost five hours of labor. Five hours knowing there wouldn't be a crying baby at the end of it. Five hours knowing Daniel wouldn't get to cut the cord and hold his son for the first time. Five hours knowing the nursery we'd spent months preparing would remain empty. I refused pain medication. Everyone kept asking me if I was sure. I was. Because nothing they could give me would touch the pain that was actually killing me. Then I had to push my lifeless little boy out of my body. Nothing will ever compare to that. Nothing. A part of me died with him that day. A woman loses her husband, and she becomes a widow. A man loses his wife, and he becomes a widower. A child loses their parents, and they become an orphan. But what does a mother become when she loses her child? There isn't a word powerful enough for it. So I'll choose my own. Broken. That's what I am. Broken. Nothing in this life can fill the space my son left behind. Nothing can answer all the questions that will follow me for the rest of my life. Would he have looked like his handsome father? Would he have laughed hysterically like me? Would he have been calm and peaceful like Daniel? Would he have loved country music because his father played it for him before he was even born? Would he have called me Mommy? Would he have reached for me when he was scared? I will never know. I'll never hear his laugh. I'll never watch him take his first step. I'll never know the person he was supposed to become. And standing here, twenty-five stories above the city, staring at millions of lights belonging to millions of people who somehow managed to keep living while my entire world stopped... I don't know how I'm supposed to keep living either. I will cry for him on Mother's Day every year for the rest of my life. I will miss him during the holidays. On his birthday. On the day he was supposed to be born. And probably on random Tuesdays when something reminds me that I should have a little boy running around my house. This pain is too much to carry. That's why looking down at the cold, dreary sidewalk from up here feels like the only option I have left. "Ahem! Would you please step away from the ledge?" Olivia's voice echoed through the darkness. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Did Daniel ask you to come?" "Yes, he did. You've been shutting him out, and he's worried sick about you." Her voice softened. "He's scared, Maddox." "This hurts too much, Liv." "I know." She didn't come any closer. "And I know there's nothing I can say that's going to take that pain away. But have you thought about Daniel? He's not only grieving the loss of his baby boy. He's watching the woman he loves disappear right in front of him." I looked down at the semi-dark concrete below. "Maybe this is a sign that we're not meant to be together." My voice cracked. "He needs a wife who can give him children. Not kill them." "Stop." I looked at her. "You did not kill your baby." "My body—" "Your body carried and loved Luke for eight months. You didn't do this to him." My eyes burned. "And Daniel chose you," she continued. "Not your uterus. Not the children you might give him someday. You. And I'm pretty damn confident that if he had to choose again, he would choose you over and over." "But our baby is dead." "I know." Her voice broke this time. "And I'm so f*****g sorry, Maddox." I covered my mouth as another sob escaped me. "But what are you going to do?" she continued. "Leave Daniel here to carry all of this by himself? Leave me? Amelia? Everyone who loves you?" She shook her head. "Hell no. I'm not bringing flowers to your grave because you decided we were all better off without you. We're not. And if you jump off this building, I swear to God I'll find a way to go to hell, drag your ass back up here, and kill you myself for breaking all our hearts." A strangled laugh escaped through my tears. "And what about Timothée?" she added. "You think I'm going to explain to my son someday why his Aunt Maddox isn't here?" My head snapped in her direction. "You brought the baby?" "Of course I did. It's his bedtime, and he won't sleep unless he's in my arms with my tit in his mouth." "Shit." "Yep." She nodded toward the patio furniture beneath the gazebo. "Now, come sit with me. We can talk. We can cry. You can tell me to f**k off if it'll make you feel better. Just come away from there." I stared at her. Then at the ledge. Then back at my best friend. "Can I hold my godson?" Her shoulders visibly relaxed. "Absolutely. He's getting heavy anyway. I could use the help." I stepped away from the ledge. One step. Then another. Until I finally reached her. We walked toward the patio set beneath the gazebo. Olivia carefully removed Timothée from the wrap carrier where he'd been safely nestled against his mother's body and placed him in my arms. I covered him with his cozy blanket. His little face looked so peaceful. So innocent. I smiled. "When is this kid going to get some hair?" Olivia laughed. "I don't know. Ethan was bald until he was almost two, and apparently, I barely had any hair either. The poor child didn't stand a chance." I gently caressed his chubby cheek. "What the hell are you feeding him?" "I'm still breastfeeding. During the day, he eats fruit and vegetable purées too." "Clearly, he's not missing any meals." "Nope." Olivia leaned over and kissed my forehead. "It's hard being a mom, you know." I looked down at Timothée. "But it's also the most amazing thing I've ever experienced." She paused. "And I know you're hurting. I know you're blaming yourself." My smile disappeared. "There isn't a pill I can give you to make this go away. I wish there were. But you're not alone, Maddox. You have Daniel. You have me. You have all of us." I swallowed. "And you didn't kill Luke." My eyes filled again. "You loved that little boy every second he was inside you. You're his mother, and you'll always be his mother." A tear slipped down my cheek and landed on the blanket. "And if someday you and Daniel decide to try again, loving another baby won't mean you stopped loving Luke. No one will ever replace him." "Is Ethan here too?" I asked, unable to respond to anything else she'd said. Daniel had told me something similar the night we held our son. I'd refused to let the nurses take Luke from my arms for almost three hours. Eventually, they had to give me a sedative because I couldn't let him go. "Yes, Ethan's here," Olivia answered. "Amelia and James are on their way too. Daniel needs the guys." Daniel. For the first time in days, I allowed myself to think about what he must be feeling. He had been beside me through all of it. And I'd shut him out. I'd been so consumed by my own grief that I hadn't allowed myself to see his. But I knew he was hurting. Of course he was. Luke was his son too. "Can I spend a little more time with Timmy?" "Absolutely. He needs all the love and attention he can get." She rolled her eyes. "The little monster almost bit my n****e off with those sharp teeth." A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. "I was breastfeeding him, and Ethan decided it would be a great idea to mess with him." "What the hell did Ethan do to make Timmy bite your n****e?" "Timothée likes to nurse on one breast while playing with the other one. Ethan was lying beside us and apparently decided it would be hilarious to latch onto the other n****e and tell his son that breast belonged to him." My mouth dropped open. "No!" "Yes! Timothée got pissed because his father was threatening to steal his other breast, so he chomped down on me with those little shark teeth." I burst out laughing. Actually laughing. "I was bleeding, Maddox! It's not funny. It hurt like hell." "What did Ethan do?" I snickered. "Panicked. Apologized about twenty times and snatched Timothée out of my arms while I screamed bloody murder." Another laugh escaped me. For a moment, I almost felt guilty for it. My son was dead. How could I possibly laugh? But Timothée stirred in my arms, and I looked down at his peaceful little face. Maybe laughing didn't mean I'd forgotten Luke. Maybe breathing didn't either. "We should probably go inside," I said. "It's getting windy." Olivia nodded. I held Timothée securely against my chest and followed her toward the door. Our apartment was on the fifteenth floor, but neither of us suggested taking the elevator. We walked down the stairs together. One floor at a time. "Thanks for always showing up for me, Liv." She glanced at me. "Always, Maddox." I stopped at the entrance and carefully handed Olivia her baby. Before I walked into that apartment, I needed to figure out what the hell I was going to say to Daniel. For the first time in two weeks, I recognized how consumed I'd been by my own grief. I had barely seen anything beyond it. Now my heart hurt for him too. Daniel didn't say a word when I stepped inside. He simply crossed the living room and pulled me tightly against his chest. I froze for half a second. Then I felt the hot tears streaming down his face. My husband was crying. "I love you, Mandy." His voice broke against my hair. "I don't know how long this pain is going to last. I don't know when we're going to wake up and finally feel like we can breathe again. But I promise you, somehow, things will get better for us." His arms tightened around me. "Please don't leave me, baby. Please. I don't want to imagine my life without you." My composure shattered. "I'm so sorry, Daniel. I'm so f*****g sorry." He kissed the side of my head. "We'll get through this, baby." I buried my face against his chest. "I know we will." I cried harder. "I love you, too." For several minutes, the room remained quiet. Ethan and Olivia didn't interrupt us. They gave Daniel and me the space to hold each other and cry through a pain neither one of us knew how to fix. Then the doorbell rang. "I'll get it. I think it's James and Amelia," said the billionaire. We always teased Ethan about being the billionaire who changed all our lives the day he came to Virginia and fell in love with Olivia. And sure enough, it was them. Daniel kissed me before wrapping his arms around me one more time. "Let me make you some tea." He brushed my hair away from my face. "Do you guys want to order noodles? Amanda hasn't eaten a decent meal in days." "Daniel, I'm really not that hungry. Tea is fine." "I don't want noodles. I want pizza," Olivia announced. Amelia's eyebrows shot up. "Wow! Olivia LouBennett wants pizza this late at night?" She laughed. "I thought you didn't eat carbs after six." "I deserve pizza after almost losing my nipple." Amelia stared at her. "You almost lost your what?" "To Ethan?" James asked. He immediately smacked Ethan on the shoulder. "What the f**k, man?" Ethan glared at him. "It wasn't me." "Oh, let me tell you," I volunteered. Everyone looked at me. And for the first time in what felt like forever, I actually wanted to tell a funny story. My mood had shifted the moment Olivia appeared on that rooftop with my godson. I wasn't stupid enough to believe the pain was gone. It wasn't. It was still there, buried beneath the laughter, waiting for some memory to bring it rushing back. Maybe tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning. Maybe a month from now. I didn't know. But right now, I wanted to sit with my friends. These people had been with Daniel and me through thick and thin. They had loved us through some of the best and worst moments of our lives. And tonight, when I couldn't find my own way out of the darkness, they came looking for me. Daniel and I were blessed to have friends we could call family. "Okay, pizza has officially been ordered," my husband announced. "I need to change Timothée's zippy," Olivia said. "Let's go to my room." Amelia followed us. "Baby, let us know when the pizza gets here," I called to Daniel. "I will." The three of us went into my bedroom and climbed onto the bed. Olivia laid Timothée between us and started changing his zippy while Amelia and I sank against the ridiculous number of decorative pillows covering my bed. For a moment, I watched Olivia with her son. It hurt. Of course it hurt. But I didn't want to run away from that feeling anymore. "Can you guys help me pack Luke's nursery away?" Both of them stopped. I swallowed. "I think I want to donate everything to the hospital. Or maybe a local foundation. Somewhere the things can help another baby." Olivia reached for my hand. "Say no more. We'll come back this weekend and do it together." Amelia nodded immediately. "You don't have to touch a single thing until you're ready." My eyes filled again. "Thank you." Silence settled between us for a few seconds. Then I looked at Olivia. "Liv?" "Hmm?" "Do you think your therapist could help me?" Her expression softened. "I don't want to feel dead inside anymore." My voice trembled. "But I don't know how to stop feeling this way." Olivia knew what it was like to have something terrible happen and discover that surviving the event didn't mean your mind simply moved past it. After someone tried to kill her, nightmares followed her for months. Ethan eventually connected her with Isaac, one of New York's best therapists—and one of his close friends. "I'm more than certain Isaac can help you," Olivia said. "I'll text him tonight." She squeezed my hand. "And I'll personally take you to see him." I nodded. "Okay." One tiny word. But saying it felt bigger than it should have. Okay. I would go. I would talk. I would get help. Amelia and Olivia kept me talking until the smell of pizza eventually drifted down the hallway. The grief hadn't disappeared. Luke was still gone. Tomorrow, I might wake up and cry until I couldn't breathe. There would probably be days when seeing another little boy his age would rip the wound wide open all over again. But maybe healing wasn't about forgetting that pain. Maybe it was learning how to carry it without allowing it to carry me away. I thought about Daniel. My husband had fought for us too. He had stood beside me through every decision, every argument, every consequence that came from choosing each other. And for the past two weeks, while I drowned in my grief, he'd been standing beside me grieving our son too. I loved that man far too much to disappear without fighting for myself first. If I'd once found the strength to stand against my own family for the love Daniel and I shared, then I could find the strength to fight for that love again. And this time, I wasn't fighting them. I was fighting for me. For Daniel. For the life we still had waiting for us. And for Luke. Because no matter how many years passed, no matter how many children Daniel and I might someday have, our beautiful little boy would always be our first son. He would always matter. And I would always be his mother.