Chapter Twelve: With Or Without You
After a week of the interrogation sessions that Nicholas had been forced to be a part of, he finally returned home late Sunday night, looking terrible. I'd already put the kids to bed, and was up and waiting for him to return home, and, as he walked in, I immediately got to my feet and hesitated for a moment before I ran to him, yanking him into my arms, doing my best not to come undone completely in front of him. I knew I had to be strong, and allowing myself to lose control now would be ill-advised.
"Why the fuck are they doing this?" I whispered, keeping a good grip upon him, and feeling even more secure when his arms came tightly around me. "Why are they doing this to us? You served your time, and got on with your life. Why can't they?"
"They interrogated me for seven days straight, Murph," he replied, his hands running up and down my back. "They're fucking killing me with this shit..."
"Any stipulations to your release?" I asked him.
He sighed. "I can't leave town, but it's total bullshit," he replied.
"They must have something significant then," I muttered. "Fuckers..."
Nicholas pulled away from me then, trudging across the living room and into the kitchen. He dragged his hand over his face as I moved to follow him; his eyes were red-rimmed, with deep purple circles beneath them. He moved over to the freezer, getting out a bottle of vodka, cleverly hidden beneath a massive bag of ice, and unscrewed the cap effortlessly, tipping it towards his lips and chugging it for a moment. "Sorry," he said quietly, lowering it at long last, and allowing it to merely hang from his fingertips. "Just feeling really fucked up right now..."
I leaned upon the kitchen island a few feet away from him, biting on my lower lip. "I know," I said quietly, nodding at him. "But alcohol's not the way, Nicholas..."
My husband smirked, bringing the bottle back towards his lips and drinking deeply from it. "Hell of a thing for an alcoholic to say."
I sighed, my shoulders falling then as I struggled to keep my cool. "I don't want to fight with you, Nicholas. I'm tired of fighting."
"Then, why do you provoke me?"
My eyes snapped to his. "I can't help if you're negatively impacted by my own decisions," I tell him, trying my best not to yell. "Sure, I could evaluate my life better—fuck, everyone I know could do that. But I can't make myself responsible for you, too. You're a fucking man! I have to keep myself in check, and our kids. I can't have someone else to worry about, but I fucking do, because I'm afraid you're going to fucking leave me..."
"Why would I leave you, Murphy?" Nicholas asked, staring into the bottle of vodka. "I can't ever see myself doing that, no matter how fucked this all is..."
I scoffed. "Get a clue, Nicholas."
His eyes locked onto mine then. "What?" he asked. "What did you do?"
"Which part?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
My husband looked shocked. "There's more than one part?! Jesus, Murphy. What could you have done this time?!"
"One thing I did, one thing I didn't do," I replied, "but neither thing did I have control over. I lost control of the first situation, and in the second..." I shrugged. "I got caught off-guard, but I may have encouraged it..."
"What did you do?" he asked me, his voice deathly quiet.
"I went to The Alibi after work," I replied, my voice trembling then. "I'd had a really stressful day and we were fighting all the time, and I just wanted to see Kev and V and to clear my head a little bit..."
Nicholas stiffened. "What happened?"
"Fucking Frank happened," I whispered. "Kev, V, and I got to talking about Monica, and it got me all depressed, because I'm more like her than I ever realized. And then Frank showed up and told me to loosen up, and he dumped whiskey down my throat," I said, my voice trembling. "I just lost control..."
"That fucker did what?!" Nicholas demanded.
I shrugged. "I could've walked out right then," I said quietly. "Called Lip, gone to a meeting, and then come home and begged forgiveness. But, I didn't..."
"What'd you do?"
I felt my body shaking then, unknowing what to expect. "I kept slinging back the drinks," I replied, my voice trembling. "Like there was no tomorrow, and all that. Then, I went to the ladies' room and was so... I couldn't walk, and I could hardly stand. I called Lip, drunk-dialing him, before I passed out..."
"Murphy..."
"...woke up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning," I said, my voice quiet. "That was the day I said I fell asleep at work and didn't come home. I just... I felt like I wasn't me anymore and I needed to get away from myself for a period. Lip lectured me, and then promised to keep this from you, because I begged him to do it, but he told Ian..."
"Hold on," Nicholas interrupted. "Why would you want to keep this from me?"
"Because I didn't want you to fucking leave and take the kids!" I cried out, wanting more than anything to circle the island and go to him, but I found I was rooted to the spot. "I can't lose any of you, Nicholas. I can't..."
He sighed, running his index finger up and down the bottle of vodka. "And the other thing that you kept from me?"
I gritted my teeth, knowing full well that Nicholas had kept the biggest secret of all from me—his potentially returning to prison—and had allowed me to believe that he was cheating on me for weeks before coming clean, the morning he was due to go in for questioning... "Tommy kissed me," I said, knowing I had to get this off my chest.
Nicholas slowly raised his eyes to mine. "What?"
It shook me that he seemed so calm about this—the unthinkable, really, for I knew full well I hadn't done anything of the kind with anyone since I'd been with Josh, although, let's be real, Josh was incomparable to Nicholas... "That's all you've got to say?"
He shrugged, taking another drink of vodka. "What do you want me to say?"
"Goddammit, Nicholas, stop it!" I cried out then, crossing over to him and yanking the glass bottle out of his hand, so much so that his eyes flashed, and I felt a sense of danger between us as I held the bottle away from him. "Why are you doing this?!"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, it matters!" I shouted, uncomprehending. "For fuck's sake, you're my husband! Why the fuck wouldn't it matter?!"
"Do you love me?"
I felt the gasp threatening to escape my throat then. "What?"
"Do you love me?" he asked again.
I lowered my eyes. "Don't do this," I said quietly.
"Dammit, Murphy," he said, grabbing ahold of my shoulders then with so much force that my neck snapped back, forcing me to look up at him. "Do you love me?"
I felt myself trembling in his grasp. "Nicholas..."
"It's a simple 'yes' or 'no' question, Murph."
I struggled to break away from him, not wanting to have the inability of an escape route. I detested being confined—it truly frightened me, and reminded me of the days when Dr. Normal would... "Stop!" I cried out then, pulling at full force away from him, the bottle flying from my hands, which I automatically dove for, before it shattered, a piece of glass flying upwards and slicing my palm. "Fuck!" I screamed, the blood dripping down my fingertips and splashing onto the floor, mingling with the vodka.
Nicholas stared down at me in shock. "Murph..."
"Don't," I said, sucking in air through my teeth as the air hit the slice on my palm. It was a clean slice, and no glass was in it, and although I would benefit from stitches, I didn't want to drive to the hospital so late. I grabbed a dishtowel and held it there, and moved away from his evading hands as I stumbled backwards. "I'm heading out," I said, not wanting to hear him speak again as I stepped through the living room and outside into the lukewarm May evening, and across the street, where the door opened as soon as I passed through the gate.
"Murph?" Ian asked, his tone stricken with concern. "Jesus Christ, is that blood?!"
I nodded. "Yeah," I replied.
"What the fuck happened?!" he demanded, dashing down the stairs as I stepped forward, and placed an arm around my shoulders, before leading me into the house.
"Nicholas is back."
"Did he do this?!" Ian's voice was somewhere between devastation and rage as he kicked the door shut behind him, and led me through the living room, where Liam was still up watching something on T.V. "Hey, you," Ian said to him, "bed. Ten minutes."
"Whatever," Liam replied as Ian and I headed into the kitchen.
Ian tentatively drew back the dish towel, which I had crushed in my hand, and I hissed as the open air hit the slash again. "Shit, sorry," Ian said, going under the sink for the first-aid kit, and retrieving sanitary wipes, cleaning my wound quickly and efficiently. "So, are you going to tell me if Nicholas did this or not?"
I sighed. "He didn't do this."
"Okay," Ian replied, not wholly convinced that I was telling the truth as he made a grab for some cotton and gauze, which he used to tie up my hand to make a war-time bandage. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"
I rolled my shoulders. "The interrogators just released him."
"He's been gone a week," Ian put in quietly. "How's he holding up?"
"I told him about breaking sobriety, and about Tommy kissing me, and he turned it around and demanded to know if I loved him or not..."
Ian locked eyes with mine. "What'd you say?"
I shook my head. "I couldn't answer him."
"Why?"
I shook my head again. "I don't know."
"And how did your hand get like this?"
"Vodka bottle," I said quietly.
"Who was drinking?"
"He was."
"Did you take the bottle away from him?" he asked.
I sighed. "Yeah. But then he grabbed me and wanted to know if I loved him, and then I dropped the bottle, and when I went to grab it, a piece of glass got into my palm... Then, I left and came over here."
"Murph?"
I looked up at him. "Yeah?"
"Why didn't you tell him if you loved him?"
I bit my lip. "Because I don't know what to feel anymore," I admitted.
. . .
"Well, I'm glad everyone came out to celebrate Iana's big day," Nicholas said, nearly two weeks later after the celebrations had died down for Iana's fourth birthday.
I sighed, doing my best to wash the dishes from the food we'd served; I'd managed to get a waterproof bandage in the last couple of weeks, so certain tasks were easier, although it still hurt to put pressure on the wound. "Yeah, well, I guess when you're four-years-old, you don't have to constantly worry about the ways of the world, and shit hitting the fan," I replied, trying to keep my voice nonchalant as I got some more soap onto the plate I was washing.
Nicholas shifted then and, from the corner of my eye, I saw him lower the trash bag he'd been carrying towards the kitchen door onto a chair of the dining room table. "What's that supposed to mean, Murphy?"
I sighed, rolling my shoulders then as I continued washing the plate—my last piece of dishware—and placed it into the drying rack. I pulled off my gloves then, tossing them beneath the sink and leaning up on the counter. "Shit," I whispered, realizing that I was putting pressure upon my hand. "Nothing," I said.
Nicholas sighed. "You're unbelievable," he said, crossing behind me towards the kitchen door and letting himself out. He left the door open, and I could hear him opening up the trash in the backyard, and slamming it shut again once he'd shoved the bag in there. As he came inside, I moved away from the sink, watching him as he washed his hands, before drying them. Only then did he turn around and stare at me. "What are you hiding now?"
"Other than the fact that I'm scared shitless for you, not much," I replied, crossing my arms. "I don't think you understand how fucked this all is, Nicholas. That, or you just don't want to. I mean, clearly, someone didn't expunge your records, or they managed to obtain a copy of them while you were still a minor. I don't understand how you can be so calm about this, when you have a family who needs you with them..."
Nicholas stared at me for a moment, clearly torn, but it was replaced by a hardened looked just a moment later. "You barely spoke to my parents today," he said, and I immediately looked away from him. "Why is that? They were confused as hell, considering that your relationship with them used to be great..."
I shook my head. "Doesn't matter."
"Murph...please..."
"Don't you fucking 'please' me!" I cried out then, my voice hinging on the unbreakable point as I turned to look at him. "This is all fucked, Nicholas! It's fucked!"
"This being?"
"That our marriage is built solely on lies! We seem to get off on lying to each other, and that's no way to live! I know you know that..."
"Murph..."
"A foundation for a good marriage is honesty, loyalty, compassion, understanding... We don't seem to have any of that, Nicholas, and it scares the shit out of me..."
Nicholas's eyebrows knit together then. "And what does all that have to do with you avoiding my parents all day, Murph?"
I sighed, dragging my hands through my hair, not knowing how to tell him. "Look, I'm just going to say it, but I can't have you freaking out on me..."
"What are you talking about?"
I bit my lip, leaning back against the dining room table and trying to count to ten in my head to be as calm as possible. "When it was the twins' birthday, I got that call from Fiona," I said quietly to him. "I left the party and took the call in the study, and a file fell from the file area and I found out what it was, something that you've been hiding from me, and it got me so fucking pissed that I harbored resentment against your father for it..."
"Murph?"
I raised my eyes to his then, unsure of why he was acting so innocent about it. "I found the paperwork of the private investigator that your father had follow me," I replied, my voice calm as I mentioned another note of mutual deception. "I couldn't understand why he felt the need to just interfere in our marriage like that, unless you asked him to do it, so that I wouldn't get suspicious about our bank account and money potentially going missing..."
"I didn't ask him to do that, Murph," Nicholas replied, and something in his tone of voice rang true for me.
I blinked. "You didn't ask him?"
Nicholas shook his head. "No. I didn't. Sure, I mean, I talked to them about our problems and how I was affected by them, but never in a million years would I ask either of them to have you followed. I don't appreciate it, Murph, really."
I rolled my shoulders then, trying to keep a handle on my calm. "So, did you end up reading the report from the investigator?"
He sighed. "Yeah, I read the report."
"I see, so you had all this information as it came, and were able to follow my daily activities for weeks undetected..."
"Yeah. The guy saw you with Tommy a few times, and you never mentioned seeing him to me, likely because of my feelings about him, and was able to pick up the pieces of conversation you were having, and about how you'd keep it professional..."
"So, how long did the guy follow me for?" I asked. "I mean, was the report I found the only report there was?"
Nicholas shook his head. "No, there were a couple of reports. Dad kept having you followed until the night Tommy kissed you."
I blinked. "So, when I told you about it, you already knew, and that's why you didn't fly off the handle when I told you?"
Nicholas nodded. "Yeah."
I dragged my uninjured hand over my face, feeling sick. "God, I can't believe you'd hide all this from me, Nicholas..."
"Can't you see why I did?"
"No," I replied, shaking my head as I turned to look at him. "No, I can't. I honestly can't believe that you wouldn't defend me to your parents like your life depended on it, because I'm your fucking wife, and your first loyalty should be to me and the kids. If Tommy hadn't walked off after he kissed me, or if he hadn't broken the kiss after a handful of seconds, I would've thrown him off me and landed him on his ass, because you're my husband, and, despite all the hell you've put me through, my first loyalty is to you and the kids. Why you feel the need to protect your parents from me is beyond me, and I can't..."
"Can't what?"
I sighed, feeling at a loss. "I can't forgive you," I said quietly, shaking my head at him. "Not for this. I'm sorry, Nicholas," I said, moving to leave the kitchen, "but I can't..."
"So, what does this mean?" Nicholas asked, following me, and yet made no move to touch me as I made my way over to the stairs.
I shrugged. "I don't know what this means, Nicholas," I replied, "but I can tell you that you'll be sleeping in the guest bedroom for the foreseeable future."
"What do we tell the kids?" he asked as I moved to climb the stairs.
"The truth," I replied, getting to the first landing before turning around to face him, "that we both fucked up."
. . .
I have just left the diner for the day to pick up the kids on Wednesday, the final day of May, when I get a phone call from a strange number. Something about the number seems familiar to me, and yet I cannot place it as I pull over to the side of the road to analyze it. Something within me tells me to pick it up and I do, right before the call goes to voicemail.
"Murphy Gallagher-Blomqvist," I said into the phone.
"Murph! Thank god!"
"Nicholas?" I asked, confused at how relieved he sounded for me to be taking the call, as well as the fact that the number hadn't come from his cell or office number. "What's going on? Where are you calling me from?"
"The police department," he replied. "They just picked me up. They let me call you before they can process me."
I knew that, had I been driving, I would've surely slammed into something, or swerved on the road in my shock. "Process you?! What are you—?!"
"Look, I don't have a lot of time to explain," he replied. "They did a quickie pleading this morning and I've been deemed a flight risk, despite my ties to the community via you, the kids, and my work, and I've been held without bail until the trial begins."
"Trial?!" I cried out. "Wait, Nicholas—"
"I don't know when or if I'll be out, but they let me just have a few moments to talk to you, Murph. I'm sorry," he said, and I could hear his voice catching. "I'm sorry about everything and I'm hopeful that this mess'll stop soon..."
"Nicholas, don't—"
"I'll be okay, Murph, I promise," he said, trying to keep calm. "I might get another phone call later, but it'll be a collect call..."
"I don't give a shit about the money—any of it!" I cry out, my voice trembling. "I'm going to find a way to get you out—"
"Murph, they're telling me to cut the call," he said, regret filling his tone. "Like I said, I'll try and call you soon."
"Nicholas—"
"I've gotta go," he said, and I heard him lowering the phone."
"I—" I started to say, but was greeted by the dial tone.
I rushed to pick up Iana and the boys, already minutes behind schedule, but was relieved when they were all with me in one piece. As soon as we got home, I found I was at a loss for what to do, and naturally all of them wanted to know when their father would be home. I try to keep on smiling, letting him know that he will be gone for a few days but that none of them had anything to worry about. I got their dinner ready at the right time, and gave them a bath and put them to bed, spending the next hour picking up the living room and cleaning up the kitchen. Such tasks kept my mind off things, and all I wanted to do was wake up from this terrible nightmare that had become my life.
A knock at the door around ten o'clock caught me off-guard, and I immediately went to see who it was, and I was shocked to see Tommy on my porch. I unlocked the door, my eyebrows raised at the notion of seeing him, and stood there for a moment. "And what brings you to my humble abode?" I asked him.
He sighed. "Can I come in?"
I blinked. "Why?"
"I heard about Nicholas," he said, his voice sincere. "I'm really sorry."
I sighed, moving out of the way so that he could pass me and walk into the living room. "Well, you're kind of late to the party," I said, shutting the door and following him. "Make yourself at home, I guess," I said, gesturing to the couch.
"Thanks," Tommy replied, sitting down, straightening his neck tie. "I didn't know what else to do, other than to come by and make sure you're okay."
I shrugged. "Nothing I can't handle."
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I crossed my arms. "Jesus, Tommy. No, I'm not okay. My husband's been arrested on some old charges that were supposed to be expunged from his record a long time ago, plus you're here, and the last time we were together, you kissed me."
Tommy sighed. "Look, I'm sorry about last time, Murphy. It was out of line, I understand that. I had had a few too many, and once Kev saw what I'd done, he pretty much threatened to beat the life out of me."
I blinked. "Wait. Kev did what?"
Tommy nodded. "Yeah. Said you were like his sister and the only guy who should be acting that way towards you is Nicholas."
"Well, I mean, yeah," I replied, scoffing a little. "He is my husband."
"And...you're happy with him?"
I sighed. "That's really none of your concern, Tommy."
"Murph, I consider you a friend. I'm just looking out for you."
I sighed. "Well, that doesn't objectively matter, Tommy. I appreciate the concern, really, but it's nothing you need to concern yourself with."
"And why not?" Tommy demanded then, more out of compassion than anger. "Why can't you just admit it, Murphy?"
I shook my head. "Admit what?"
Tommy sighed. "Forget it," he said, getting to his feet and walking to the door.
Immediately, I get to my feet and go after him. "Tommy, I'm sorry," I said, placing my hand on his arm, which causes him to turn around. "But I don't know what you mean."
Tommy shook his head. "No, you wouldn't, would you?" he asked, looking me up and down. "I know what, too."
"What?"
"You're too good a person, Murph," he said, shaking his head then before he yanks me towards him and kisses me, and, in one moment, I saw exactly what he was talking about, in that I was not as caught off-guard this time and, combined with everything that had been happening, I couldn't help it, and, for a moment, I just let him—
"Tommy," I said, pulling away from him. "I'm sorry. But we can't."
Tommy nodded. "I know."
"But, you're right, about something, at least," I said, my voice trembling slightly as I finally allowed myself to admit it.
"What?" he asked.
"I think I do have feelings for you, on some level," I said quietly. "But I'm in love with my husband and we can't cross the line ever again. You know we can't."
Tommy sighed, his shoulders deflating. "I know that," he replied, crossing over to the front door and opening it. "Look, I'm sorry, Murphy. It won't happen again," he says, his voice assuring as he shuts the door behind him.
. . .
The words that Ian had been driving home for the last several months pounded in my brain then as I switched off the light in Iana's bedroom. Don't fuck up your marriage. Do not fuck up your marriage. I shut my daughter's bedroom door and headed downstairs; Nicholas had been holed up in the study for hours, speaking to Hugo on the landline he'd insisted that we buy, and I tried to distract myself by picking up the cluttered living room.
He'd insisted that there was a personal vendetta against him; of course, he'd waited to say this when I was able to visit him, face-to-face. Mason Crowe had pulled a few strings for that to happen, and we'd been permitted time alone. My status changed from wife to wife to attorney in a few short days, after Nicholas was finally released on bail, and we were finally permitted to have conversations without prying eyes and ears. However, things were different between us, I felt that now, and I felt as if I was working for him than just working with him, as we'd promised to do when we got married.
I pulled the curtains shut, not wanting to admire the sunset, I felt my hands shaking then as I bent to pick up some toys, placing them in the chest on the opposite side of the room. Next came the train tracks, belonging to the boys, which I painstakingly took apart and returned to their box, and placed them on top of the toy chest. Finally, I turned to the scattered books, placing them carefully onto the shelf, straightening them out, as I vaguely heard Nicholas wrapping up his phone call with Hugo.
I heard my husband stepping out of the study then, and then I felt him standing behind me as I continued to straighten out the books. I was very close to alphabetizing them, or at least putting them in order of size. Anything to prolong the inevitable; the inevitable that I knew full well was coming, and couldn't be stopped, not anymore.
"Murph?"
I shut my eyes then, the hot tears threatening to escape my eyes at the tone of his voice. So close to giving up, yet not wanting to. "Yeah?" I asked, thankful that it was mind over matter, not allowing my voice to break. "What's on your mind?"
"We need to talk."
I sighed, giving a stiff nod to the bookshelf as I managed, somehow, to get to my feet, and turned around to face my husband, wrapping my arms around myself in a protective gesture that I had become accustomed to. "Sure," I said quietly.
"I know you know I was talking to my dad in there..."
I gave another nod. "Yeah, I know."
"He gave me a couple of suggestions," he said quietly, not even bothering to take a step forward—either because of our emotional distance from one another, or because of my closing myself off from him since my own arrest, nearly a year before.
"Tell me," I said quietly.
"He said that I could get out in front of this," he replied. "Just accept a plea bargain and admit to everything, and maybe the prison term wouldn't be so bad if I cooperated."
"And the other suggestions?" I whispered, finding that I couldn't even begin to fathom the thought of my husband in prison.
"There's the option of gathering support for my cause," he replied. "Figuring out who tampered with my records, which were supposed to be sealed and wiped, and weren't. I served my time in juvi when I was a teenager for these crimes, so, naturally, double jeopardy would come into play, and if I got enough people on my side, this could all just go away."
"Is that all Hugo came up with?" I asked him.
"No, there was a third option..."
"Yeah?" I asked, waiting for my husband to look at me, and when he didn't, I decided it would be best to push him a little. "What was it?"
My husband chose then to lock eyes with mine. "I could run."
I found that my expression quickly morphed into a horrified one. "You can't be serious right now, Nicholas!" I cried.
He shrugged. "Why not? The Chicago area is obviously against me, now that they know what stupid decisions I made in my youth. Who's to say that they wouldn't target me, or you, or the kids if I didn't leave?"
"So, that's it?" I said, hating myself for weakening then at the thought of losing him—after all these months, I was standing to lose the only person I'd ever truly, truly loved, and the thought was more heartbreaking than I could've imagined. "What about the kids, Nicholas?" I demanded then, looking towards the stairs. "Iana, Clayton, and Fionn need their father. What am I supposed to tell them? That you just picked up and left to save your own sorry ass?"
Nicholas sighed then, leaning up against the doorframe of the living room. "Never once in there did you mention yourself, Murph..."
"Fine," I whispered, the onset of tears not stopping—not for a moment—as I finally allowed myself to be vulnerable in front of him. "What about me, Nicholas? I'm your wife. Why would you just turn your back on me?"
"Murphy, you've been seeing Tommy..."
"You and I are not about to have this conversation again!" I said, hating myself for yelling at him, unknowing when he would be potentially taken away from me, maybe for a long time. "I told you about the times that he kissed me, but the first was only after he had a few too many, and the second was when he didn't prepare me for..." I sighed; I couldn't tell him what I'd said to Tommy, even now, and pushed my thoughts away from that night. "I told you I pushed him away every time—well, each time that Kev didn't and threatened to kill him. You know about everything, Nicholas, everything—you're my husband. I would never cheat on you by sleeping with someone else..."
"And emotionally?"
I blinked. "What?"
"Come on, Murph," he said, shaking his head. "You know as well as I do that you fight harder than anyone I've ever met to keep your emotions in check, but it doesn't always work—especially not in front of Tommy..."
I looked away from him. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Murph, you didn't sleep with Tommy, fine. You pushed him away whenever he kissed you, fine. But don't stand there and tell me that you don't have feelings for him, on some level, and that you, in fact, told him that you liked it when he flirted with you."
I sighed, hating this feeling of being backed up into a corner, but knew that, on some level, I had been wrong, especially that since he had a private investigator's report to back up this information, which I knew I'd never live down or get over. "You're right," I whispered, the words escaping my lips. "You're right. I cheated on you on an emotional level."
"I know."
"So, that's it, then?" I whispered. "You're just going to run away?"
"No," Nicholas said, crossing the room towards me then, and yanking my arms down, and I felt drawn to him then as I threw them around him, and sobbed into his shoulder. "If I'm going, I'm not about to leave without you and the kids, Murph. You're my life—all of you are."
I pulled back and away from him then. "Nicholas, you know as well as I do that the kids and I have built a life here in South Side. What do you expect? Give us a new identity like some crazy and convoluted Lifetime movie?"
Nicholas shrugged. "My father knows some powerful people, Murph."
I lowered my eyes then and shook my head. "I can't..."
"Murph..."
"No, I can't do this, run again. I promised Ian when I ran to Florida that I would never run away from the family again..."
"Murph, I'm your husband," Nicholas replied.
I nodded. "I know, but I can't.." I whispered then, my voice breaking in two, but the closeness I felt to him then was too overwhelming to pass up, and I stood on my toes then, pressing his lips to mine.
My husband didn't need telling twice to know what I wanted, and immediately grabbed the base of my T-shirt and yanked it over my head. We then started to work on our bottoms—his jeans and my shorts—quickly extracting them off one another. He then yanked me down onto the floor, stripping me of my underwear and I him of his boxers, and there we lay, naked as babes, as he stared down at me then.
"Murph..."
"Don't," I said, covering my lips with his.
I remembered the last time we had made love—it had been so long ago now, that I could hardly believe it. In the beginning, we couldn't take our hands off each other. And then I got pregnant with the boys, and then came Iana's adoption, my arrest and friendship with Tommy, and my husband's own legal troubles. I didn't think that, after all this time, he would even want to touch me again, but boy, was I wrong.
Our bodies mingled for a moment—almost as if reacquainting themselves with one another—but it was a short-lived reintroduction. We seemed to reaffirm the passion almost immediately, and our bodies crashed together, the missing piece of the puzzle of life. I gripped onto him tightly, as if I was lost at sea, and he was my life preserver, keeping me alive, as he had done from the moment we'd realized there was something more between us. Nicholas was my life, and I knew I was going to lose him, but I had to let him know, before he was lost to me, maybe forever, how much he truly meant to me...
When it had ended, Nicholas cupped my face for a moment, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb, as he stared down at me. "I love you," he whispered.
"I love you, too," I replied.
I waited until he was asleep, and spent the next several hours staring at the ceiling, and it was only then that I allowed myself to come undone. I untangled myself from Nicholas then, and gathered my clothes into my arms, walking up the stairs, knowing that nothing could have disturbed him. I went into our bedroom then and shut the door, heading into the bathroom and turning on the shower to the coldest temperature imaginable as I stepped inside. With the hum of the fan and the stream of water, nobody could hear me as I sobbed, tired of holding it together for anyone's sake.
Once I got out of the shower, I slipped on another tank top and a pair of shorts, and perched on the edge of my bed, watching my bedside clock from the corner of my eye, as the hours ticked slowly by. When six o'clock in the morning arrived, I got to my feet and crossed over to the closet, getting down my husband's duffel bag. I also went into our safe, and layered the bottom of the duffel with his passport and some of our emergency cash. Next, I went over to his dresser and loaded it with his entire casual wardrobe—he had cash and connections if he needed to buy something more fashionable. I went downstairs then, carrying the duffel, and looked down at my husband from the first landing.
In sleep, he never looked more peaceful; he appeared younger than his thirty-two years, and his brow was not furrowed with worry, as it had been constantly for the past year. He even smiled in his sleep, and I hoped that, for once, he was not having a frightening nightmare. His lashes swept his cheeks, and my heart ached with love for him, and, even though it would break my heart, I knew what I was proposing was right for everyone.
I finished walking down the stairs, and dropped the duffel beside him, and watched as my husband's eyes sprang open. "Get up and get dressed."
Nicholas looked surprised then and lowered his eyes to the duffel. "What's this?" he asked, and smacked the back of his hand against it.
"It's your shit," I replied. "I packed it for you."
Nicholas got to his feet then and stepped into his boxers. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying get out."
My husband looked shocked. "Murph, last night..."
"I was telling you goodbye," I replied, willing for my voice not to shake. "I had to tell you goodbye properly. I'm your wife."
"Are you telling me you want me to face this legal battle alone?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Don't be stupid," I replied, and yanked him towards me then—I needed to feel him in my arms, just one more time. "I'm telling you to fucking run," I whispered into his ear, unknowing if we were being watched. "I loaded it down with some of our emergency cash, and your passport. I want you to take it, and your clothes, and fucking run. I want you to get as far away from here as possible."
"And you?" Nicholas asked, looking me up and down then as he pulled back. "What will you do, Murphy?"
"I'll raise the kids," I replied. "And I'll work as hard as I can to figure out who is framing you, because you're my husband. I owe it to you."
He nodded. "Okay. I trust you."
I smiled, standing on my toes then and kissing him. "I need a favor."
"What?"
I sighed. "We need to make it look like you left for a reason..."
He looked confused. "What?!"
"When the cops come to question me about where you are, I'll say we had a fight about Tommy, and that you were convinced that I cheated on you."
He shrugged, pulling on his T-shirt. "Not so far-fetched..."
"Yeah, but we need to make it convincing..."
My husband cocked his head to one side. "How should we do that?"
I sighed, knowing that I shouldn't be asking this of him, but I didn't see any other way for him to get out of here convincingly. "I need you to hit me."
He looked horrified. "Hit you?!"
"Hit me," I confirmed.
Immediately, Nicholas shook his head. "I'd never hit you, Murphy."
Knowing I had to sell it convincingly, I also knew that I had to make it convincing for him. "I did cheat on you, Nicholas," I replied then, my voice deadly serious. "When Tommy kissed me, I fucking liked it. And when you were locked up, he came to see me. I was so distraught that I let him fuck me, in our bed, while the kids were asleep. We fucked hard for hours—he was better than you, too, and his dick was bigger," I said, taunting him now, and seeing that his fingers curled into a fist. "We fucked for hours, Nicholas, and he took me places that I'll never get with you and your limp dick. He's much stronger than you are, so he lasted longer, too—we both did, because I didn't let him use a condom on me!"
My husband lifted his fist then, which slammed into my face without mercy, and I immediately fell to the ground then, knowing that I had done a good job. "Bitch! I'll fucking kill him!" he raged down at me.
I felt the shaking sobs ebb from my throat then—it was the right thing to do and the wrong thing to do, all wrapped up carefully in a little package. "Now you can run, because we made it convincing for them," I whispered.
"What?!" Nicholas demanded.
I raised my face to his, and tried to see out of my right eye, but found that I couldn't, as it was quickly swelling shut. "I haven't slept with anyone since Josh since we got together," I whispered to him then, and my husband looked horrified at what he had done. "We had to make it convincing, Nicholas, and now it will be. Now, you can run, and it'll look like a domestic dispute, so they won't think you've gone far, and now you can run..."
Nicholas immediately picked me up then, holding me to him. "Murph, why would you do something like that?"
"I had to," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I had to, Nicholas. You saved me. You saved my life a long time ago, and I can never thank you enough for it. Maybe by saving your life from injustice, you can have a shot of a better life."
He pulled back and looked down at me then, gently kissing my eyelid. "I'll try and find some payphones to call you from, Murphy..."
"Be careful," I replied. "Once Ian figures out what happened—and believe me, he'll figure it out—you'll be a marked man."
"Will you tell him the truth?"
I shrugged. "I don't know yet. I don't know who to trust."
My husband leaned down and kissed me then. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Nicholas," I replied, tilting my head back to kiss him again. "But now I need you to run and get the hell away from here."
Nicholas sighed, gently lifting me to my feet then and turning around to fetch his duffel. "I'll need you to destroy my cell phone..."
I nodded. "I think I can do that..."
My husband tried to smile at me. "It'll be okay..."
I did my best to smile back at him. "I know," I said quietly. I walked him to the door then as he put the duffel over his shoulder, and we peered outside for a moment before I gently shoved him out. "I would kiss you goodbye if I could..."
He smiled fleetingly then. "Play it up, Murphy. I can take it."
"You, too," I whispered back, as I felt the tears returning. "Nicholas, I didn't mean it! Please, come back!" I wailed, scurrying to the edge of the porch as he trooped through the yard, to appear to the outside world that I meant nothing to him. "I'm sorry!"
"Shut the fuck up, Murphy!" he raged in a convincing manner back at me. "I'm done! We're done! This marriage and this family is done! Get over yourself you cheap slut!"
I watched then as he threw the duffel that I'd packed for him in the back of his car, and then got into the driver's seat without looking back. I stood on the porch then as he drove away, and covered my mouth with my hands, the wails echoing through them. I fell to my knees then, not sure where the acting began and the real life ended, and knew that, as my husband ran from the law, a part of me was running with him.
. . .
"And you're sure you don't mind watching to boys?" I asked Ian, for what must've been the umpteenth time.
"I've got this, Murph. Nothing to worry about," Ian assured me. "What exactly are you going to do with Iana?"
"Get away for a few days, nothing major," I replied as I did my best to check over our passports and our luggage, already packed for the following morning. "I'll drop the boys off tomorrow morning, before Iana and I go to the airport, all right?"
"No problem," Ian replied. "See you then."
"Night, then," I replied, hanging up the phone and heading into the bathroom.
I stared at myself in the mirror then, relieved that my eye had healed up nicely, before removing my tank top and shorts, the bandage on my chest, just between my breasts, was ready to come off. Carefully, I pulled it back, wincing a little as it attempted to hold onto my skin, the curled letters beneath it reading, Nicholas Blomqvist. I smirked at myself, knowing that I likely couldn't wear low-cut tops anymore, and found the entire thing amusing as I moved to take a shower before the trip tomorrow.
Once I was out, I got out another tank top and shorts to wear to bed, and vaguely heard a knock at the front door. Heading downstairs, I immediately checked to see who it was before I moved to answer it, and was shocked to see Tommy standing there. "Tommy?" I asked, looking him over in confusion. "You okay?"
He sighed. "I'm sorry. About Nicholas taking off like that..."
I shrugged. "Hey, it is what it is. It can't be helped."
He smiled. "Look, I think it's great you and Iana are getting away for a few days. Maybe it'll clear your head a little."
I nodded. "That's the plan, at least."
Tommy hesitated for a moment. "Murph, if you ever need anything..."
I nodded. "Thanks, Tommy. I appreciate that."
"Do you need anything?" he wants to know.
I sighed, leaning up against the door frame. "Don't know about need..."
"Want anything?"
I bit my lip then, unknowing of what I wanted or needed anymore, before I turned and looked up at him, and truly saw him, almost as if for the first time. "I don't know," I replied, "if I want you to stay, but I also don't know if I want you to go."
Tommy nodded. "I'll take my chances, then," he replied, kissing me on the cheek before he left me standing there.
The following morning, I dropped off the boys as scheduled, before Iana and I drove onto the highway, and I looked in the back seat, seeing that she was already asleep. I smiled to myself, keying in information to the GPS system, not knowing if I was doing the right thing or not, but did know that it needed to be done. Once I'd finished, I continued driving on the highway, and waited for the GPS to read back the information to me.
"Driving on I-57 South, to Mexico. Approximate driving time, twenty-nine hours," the GPS informed me efficiently.
I smiled to myself then, turning and looking in the back seat momentarily at Iana again. It was with pride that I looked back at her, my beautiful daughter, who looked so much like her father as she slept. And now, in just a little over a day, she would meet him for the first time. I knew I would have to pull off eventually, divvying up the trip, to get us somewhere to sleep comfortably for the night, and something decent to eat. But I also knew that we didn't have all the time in the world, for she couldn't miss much of her life back home, and I had to get back to the diner at some point.
Iana was a wonderful traveling companion, and didn't complain at all that day or the next, although her inquisitiveness was truly off the charts. She'd only ever been to Florida before, so the notion that we were going to another country was truly amazing for her. Finally, when we reached the border the following day, our passports at the ready, I turned to look at her, knowing we had to be covert in this operation.
"Remember what Mama told you?" I asked.
Iana nodded. "Yeah, Mama. Not to tell who we're going to see."
I smiled. "That's right, sweetheart."
"Who are we going to see, Mama?"
I reached back and squeezed her hand. "That's a surprise, my love," I told her.
Once we were through the checkpoint, I continued driving along the highway, unknowing as to what I would find. My plan was to go to the roadside tequila bar—my fingers crossed that it was still there—and ask for information on Mickey's whereabouts. Something told me that someone would know where he was, and if it involved a money transaction, I found I didn't care. I just needed to see him, and I needed to see him now.
Finally, when we arrived, I pulled off the highway and into the parking lot and found a space with ease, and got out of my car. Immediately, I opened the back door and unstrapped Iana from her car seat, holding her tightly in my arms for a moment as I shut and locked my car. Putting my keys into my pocket, I first decided to look around the back, where Mickey had been last time, indulging in a cigarette break before going to drink again. A trial of smoke and the familiar scent of cigarettes wafted into my nose, and then I saw the familiar body shape that was Mickey Milkovich, and my heart swelled with relief.
"Mickey," I said, carefully, watching as Mickey seemed to stiffen automatically, before he turned around and looked shocked to see me. "Been a long time," I went on, as he looked from me, to Iana, and back again. "Sorry about that."
Mickey looked shocked then as he looked down at his hand and immediately moved to put out his cigarette. "Hey, Murphy."
"Hey, there," I said softly, as Iana looked from me to Mickey and back again, a spark of recognition in her eyes.
"Who's this, Mama?" Iana whispered to me.
Mickey looked shocked. "She's your kid?"
"This is my daughter," I replied. "Sweetheart, this is Mama's good friend, Mickey. Why don't you introduce yourself, okay?"
"Hi, Mickey," Iana said, and waved to him, and Mickey looked shocked at her interaction with him as she immediately moved to get out of my arms, and, reluctantly, I let her. "Nice to meet you," Iana went on, walking up to him and putting out her hand.
Mickey did his best to smile. "And what's your name?"
"Iana Phillipa Gallagher-Blomqvist," she replied, and Mickey's eyes looked pained for half a moment before looking up at me.
"Blomqvist?"
"My husband's name," I replied.
"My daddy adopted me," Iana said, and I immediately bit my lip, unknowing how Mickey would take this information.
Mickey lowered his eyes back down to Iana. "Adopted you? Why?"
"Because my real daddy is far away," Iana replied. "Mama says that maybe I'll meet him someday, but I don't know where he is..."
Mickey was slowly but surely putting two and two together, and it wasn't long before he asked his next question. "How old are you, Iana?"
"I turned four a month ago," she replied. "My birthday is May twentieth."
"Four?" Mickey whispered, dragging a hand across his mouth then before his gaze slowly rose upwards and found me again. "Murph?"
"Yeah?" I asked him.
"Is... Is Iana... M-I-N-E?" he asked me then, knowing that he couldn't exactly as Iana to give the two of us a moment alone.
I sighed. "Yeah, Mickey," I said, knowing that the truth would've had to come out at some point today, considering we'd come all the way down here. "She is."
Iana looked from me to Mickey again, before she turned around. "Mama?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?" I said, immediately turning to look at her.
"Why does Mickey have black hair like me?"
I sighed, turning to look at Mickey. "Do you want to...?"
Mickey thought it over for a moment before he nodded. "Sure," he replied, reaching out and gently touching Iana's arm, waiting for her to turn and look at him. "Iana, I'm your father," he said quietly to her, and her eyes widened.
"What?"
"Me and your mama made you a few years back, before she was married to your daddy," he explained, obviously treading carefully.
"You live far away from us..."
Mickey nodded. "I know I do, Iana. And I'm sorry. But my life is complicated..."
Iana's brow puckered. "Do you miss me?"
"Yeah, of course I miss you," Mickey said, smiling at her for the first time. "I'm sure you're a great kid, Iana. Really."
Iana hesitated for a moment before putting her arms up and Mickey, albeit hesitantly, picked her up and held her. "Nice to meet you, Mickey," she said softly.
"What's been going on with you?" Mickey asked a short time later, when Iana had fallen asleep in her car seat again, and we stood by the open back door of my car.
I sighed. "A shit ton of stuff," I replied.
"Lay it on me."
I laughed. "Well, a year ago, I got arrested because of that letter I sent to you," I told him. "I mean, it was for aiding and abetting, which is total bullshit..."
"The system is fucked," Mickey replied. "Were you sentenced?"
"My father-in-law pulled some strings, got the charges dropped. Had to spend the night in jail, though, and it was totally messed up."
"What about your husband?"
"On the run, like you," I replied. "His old record came to light, even though it was supposed to have been expunged, but someone got their hands on it and, even though he did the time a lifetime ago, he was going to be put away again."
"So, he ran?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Pretty much."
Mickey hesitated for a moment, crossing his arms and leaning up against my car. "I don't know how much longer I can be down here."
"Yeah?" I asked. "What are you thinking of?"
He sighed. "I was thinking about heading back up... You know, seeing what I can do to get a lesser sentence or just get out and... Well, you know."
"He's single, you know," I said quietly.
Immediately, Mickey looked up at me. "What?"
"Ian," I replied. "His ex-boyfriend was the one who turned me in to the cops."
"Fucking prick," Mickey replied.
I scoffed. "Yeah, fucking prick."
Mickey sighed then, shaking his head. "I guess I'll have to find someone to represent me when I head back up there," he said softly, looking up at the sky, which was slowly beginning to absorb the sunset. "Ian always loved sunrises..."
I raised my eyes upwards, following Mickey's line of sight. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. When he was working at the club, he was totally whacked and wouldn't sleep, and would go for runs in the morning... He'd take a shit ton of sunrise pictures."
I turned my head then, briefly checking on Iana before I turned and looked at Mickey again. "I know you could get out in front of this," I told him then, as he turned and looked at me. "From what I hear about my half-sister, she's as fucked as they come. I may be biased, but it sounds to me like you were provoked in that situation."
Mickey sighed. "Jury didn't see it that way..."
"Well, then the jury was wrong," I replied, crossing my arms. "Juries have been wrong before, and it sounds like this was a severe case of a miscarriage of justice. Of course, the fact that you had a prior record didn't help, but given the environment you were raised in, I'm not surprised that the jury convicted. Although, it's clear that it could've been motivated by prejudicial circumstances..." I muttered.
Mickey smirked. "Yeah? How do you figure?"
I scoffed, trying not to laugh. "Dude, you're fucking gay," I replied. "And as much as I respect people for their ability to form their own opinions, sexuality as a whole is still criticized in this day and age."
Mickey nodded. "You don't need to tell me that."
I nodded back at him. "I know I don't."
"Ian know you're here?"
I shook my head. "No. He's watching my other kids. He just knew that I was leaving, but not where I was going."
Mickey grinned. "You've got other kids?"
I laughed. "Yeah. Two boys. Twins."
"Jesus," Mickey muttered. "How old are they?"
"A year old," I reply. "They're good kids."
"They got names, or did you just call them Thing 1 and Thing 2?"
"Fionn and Clayton," I replied.
"Think you'll ever have more kids?"
I shrugged. "No idea. With my husband on the lam, I can't see myself moving on so easily, given what I did..."
Mickey turned and looked at me. "You do something?"
I laughed. "Not something so weird that others haven't done it."
Mickey looked confused. "What'd you do?"
I looked around for a moment before taking ahold of the neck of my tank top and lowering it ever so slightly, showing off Nicholas's name, tattooed over my heart. "Well? Is it as bad as I think it is?" I asked him.
Mickey laughed aloud. "Probably not, considering that you probably spelled your husband's name right..."
I shrugged. "What can I say? I know how to spell."
"That your first?"
I shook my head, turning over my left arm so that he could see the names of my family, tattooed on my inner wrist. "Got two now. Don't know if I'll ever want or need another one, but it's not as if I'm not open to the idea."
"Sounds a little like me, I guess," Mickey replied in a quiet voice as I turned my arm back into its typical position. "Didn't know if I'd ever be open to the idea of going home. Thought I'd just stay here...waiting."
I smiled at him, slowly reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder and, to my relief, he didn't freak out at the contact. "He's waiting, too, Mick."
Mickey looked shocked then. "What?"
"Ian. He's waiting."
Mickey shook his head. "Don't fuck with me, Murph."
I laughed a little then, squeezing his shoulder before allowing my arm to drop back at my side. "I think I'm done fucking with people for an entire lifetime, Mick."
"So, you're not shitting me?" Mickey pressed. "Ian's waiting?"
I nodded. "Yeah. He's waiting for you to come home. Guess it's easier now that he doesn't have a fucking boyfriend anymore..."
Mickey covered his mouth for a moment then, looking utterly overwhelmed with the information I'd given him. He stepped away for a moment, and merely walked around the parking lot, just allowing himself to absorb the realization of what I was saying. "So, tell me exactly what you're saying here, Murph," he said, crossing back to me then, and grabbing ahold of my arms. "I need you to tell me exactly what's going on here, because I fucking love him, and I need to know how he feels about me, too..."
"He loves you," I reply, and watch as Mickey's attitude takes on a whole new look then as he pulls back from me, fully unprepared for the answer I'd given him.
"He loves me?" Mickey asked.
I nodded. "He never stopped," I tell him.
Mickey scoffed for a moment, and then suddenly he was grinning at me, and he immediately looked younger than I had ever seen him. "I need to get home as soon as I figure out my shit down here," he said, relieved.
I smiled. "You'll figure it out, and if you ever need someone to help you—personally or legally or whatever—you'll know where to find me."
Mickey looked uncertain. "How do I find you?"
"I live in the neighborhood—across the street," I tell him. "So, I know you'll be able to find me, and Ian, and all of us, once things are ready to be set in motion."
Mickey smiled, hesitating for a moment before crossing over to me and hugging me. "Guess I'm coming home at some point..."
I found a laugh escaping from me then; despite everything, and my one love running away from me for his own safety, maybe I could reunite other loves once and for all. "And we'll be waiting for you," I whispered back to him.
END OF SEASON SIX
