Molly McAdams - Capturing Peace

She turned on me, and I hated that instead of sadness or anger, I saw pity in her eyes. “ Me shut you out? You ran from us, Coen, what do you expect from me?”

I nodded and let go of her to run my hands roughly over my head. “For a second . I ran for a goddamn second . I love you, Reagan. I love Parker. Don’t take the two of you from me.”

Biting down on her bottom lip, she shook her head slowly as she began turning back around. “You did that all by yourself.”

“Reagan, I am right here, and I am begging you not to do this. Just talk to me about what happened, let me explain, and for Christ’s sake, stop acting like you don’t care.”

“It’s not that I don’t care, I’m protecting him ,” she ground out as she kept walking.

“I thought we were done with that bullshit. I thought we were done with you pushing me away because you’re scared of what could happen in the future.”

She didn’t stop walking, and she didn’t look back at me.

“Reagan, talk to me!”

“You’re right,” she said, and suddenly whirled on me. “We are done with all that bullshit. We were done with it the day you told me you couldn’t promise me a forever.”

“Babe—­”

“You were right about that too, Coen.” Straightening her back, she hardened her hazel eyes at me. “You couldn’t promise me a forever any more than I could promise you one. And I’m not taking us away from you because I’m scared you’ll run. You already fucking ran, Coen. You already ran, and now you’re regretting it because you lost the one thing that could silence your demons.”

My body went rigid and my eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

She huffed a sad laugh, and that look of pity deepened. “I don’t know why it took me so long to figure it out. I was so consumed in everything you are—­and so blinded by the bullshit you fed me—­that I never really noticed why you fought so hard for us. It wasn’t because you loved Parker. It wasn’t because you loved me. It was because I chased away what you can’t escape in here,” she said, and touched my temple with her fingers. “It was because I was a means to forget about all that for a little while.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“You told me—­”

“I know what I fucking said, Ray! And it’s true—­you do silence them. But that is not why I fought for us. You completely captivated me because of what being near you can do to me, but I fought for us because I fucking loved you. I’ve always loved you. I want to marry you, I want to adopt Parker so I can legally be his dad, I want to give you as much of a forever as I have.”

She shook her head sadly and stepped away from me. “And there you go trying to blind me with your words again. You’re an artist, Coen, through and through. What you see of the world through your camera, and the words that come from your mouth. But I’m not buying it anymore. I’m done letting you use us so you can have a few moments of peace from your fucked-­up mind.”

My head jerked back and mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“The demons in there?” she said after taking a ­couple steps away. “They’re ruining you. You’ve allowed them so much freedom that they now control your life. And you may not be able to see it, Coen, but I can. Because of them . . . you’re toxic. I can’t have someone like you in my son’s life.”

I stumbled back a step like she’d hit me, and watched her get in her car and drive away as my legs threatened to give out beneath me.

My entire world was being ripped away from me, and once again, I was the only one to blame.

Coen—­ December 5, 2010

A PAINED GROWL left me as I flew into a sitting position and gripped the sheets below me. Looking around me, I bent forward and dropped my head into my hands as I tried to push the memories from my mind.

“God damn it!” I roared, and launched a pillow across the room.

Jerkily untangling myself from the sheets, I pulled my clothes off and turned the water on as hot as it could go. Waiting until steam billowed out, I stepped into the shower and fisted my hands against the burning sting. I needed it. I needed it to make the smell, pain, noise, and clear-­as-­day memories go away.

Stepping out, I didn’t even bother grabbing a towel to dry myself as I searched for clothes and my running shoes. By the time I had everything on, was out my door, and already running on the path, I still had water dripping down my body. I didn’t care that I was only in shorts and a short-­sleeved shirt, and that it was snowing, I just needed to run. I needed to forget.

That was almost laughable.

I would never forget.

A deep, searing pain pierced my chest as I came closer to the playground in the park, and my footsteps automatically slowed down. Even in the dark gray of the early day, I could see the times Reagan and I had brought Parker here. See the first time I’d accidentally run into her here. And each one made the ache in my body grow as it had every time I made it out this far.

Three and a half weeks since I’d seen Reagan. Almost five since I’d seen Parker, and I hadn’t even told him I loved him that day. I’d been an asshole, and left. That was it, the last memory he had of me.

Lying down on my back in the snow, I stared up at the lightening sky and tried to remember every moment with them.

I hadn’t stopped calling Reagan, and she hadn’t started answering. But I hadn’t shown up at her work or apartment anymore—­to be honest, I was afraid of what I would find out if I did.

That she had moved on. That she had hardened herself to men again. That she had meant her words about me being toxic, about not wanting someone like me in her son’s life. That she still believed I only wanted her so I wouldn’t have to deal with my demons . . . I would wake up the same way I had this morning every day for the rest of my life if it meant getting Reagan and Parker back.

I wish I could say that because of Reagan shutting me out, I’d gone to get help—­well, tried to get help. But I hadn’t. I still believed talking to some random psychiatrist wouldn’t do shit, but every day I wished I would have opened up to Reagan when I’d had the chance. She understood me. She knew just by looking at pictures I’d taken of myself what I was doing, when I hadn’t even realized that I’d been doing it. She didn’t judge me. Hadn’t . . . hadn’t judged me. She would have listened; and my peace—­in the form of the most amazing girl I’d ever met—­would have helped me somehow.

I lay there thinking about words that should have been said long ago . . . back when she’d first looked through all my pictures. But it was too late; I couldn’t turn back time to change what I had kept from her.

Pictures. I sat up from the cold, wet ground and stared blankly in front of me. Not seeing the playground in front of me. Scrambling to my feet, I took off in a dead sprint for my condo, never once slowing down until I was back inside.

Grabbing my laptop, I quickly found the folder with the pictures of me and scrolled through them before opening up another folder, and then another.

I sat there staring at the pictures in front of me for long moments before running around my condo to find my phone, and calling Hudson.

There was a grumbling noise, and it was only then that I realized I didn’t even know what time it was. But I didn’t fucking care.

“Hudson, I need your help,” I said breathlessly.

There was a rustling noise for a few seconds before: “Steele? What happened?”

“I gotta get my family back, and I need your help.”