Molly's Hope (A Second Chance Romance Book 3) Page 2

  “What’s with the name calling? I am a man.”

  He huffed out his chest and stood up and we were toe-to-toe. Lars was only a couple of inches taller than me. He was about six feet two to my almost five feet ten. He used to say I should be a model since I had always been taller than most girls.

  “No, you’re not. A real man wouldn’t be acting like this. Now, I said go.” I pointed to the door. He and I had a stare down for almost thirty seconds before he stepped back and went back into the kitchen.

  I released the breath I had been holding and relaxed. I know Lars was a great guy. He was a hero really. Even though many had been killed and hurt in his unit, he was able to single-handedly save many others. He was a decorated war hero, and I knew it weighed heavy on his mind. He was a born protector. It was the reason he joined the Army. Never talking about anything else in his life. Well, besides marrying me. That was it. He was going to have a career in the military and we were going to have our fairy tale.

  And I ruined it.

  I know I did, but I had to do it.

  WE SAT ON the tailgate of the truck and watched the varsity baseball game from the parking lot. There wasn’t any foreseeable way we were going to win this game, but it was fun to watch.

  “We’re graduating in a couple of weeks?” Lars commented.

  “I know.” I had already applied and been accepted to the nursing program at the local college. “Then you leave for basic training.”

  “I do. But we’ll need to be married first. I can’t leave my girl behind.”

  “How many times are you going to ask this?” I laughed.

  “Until you say yes.” He leaned in closer to me. “I’m never going to stop asking you.”

  “What if I never say yes?” I teased.

  “You’re the love of my life. I know you’ll say yes.”

  “Are you okay?” Jameson walked into the bedroom.

  “Fine.” I fixed the wrinkles on the bed.

  “You’re lying. However, you did get him to talk to his mom. You’ve always had a way with him.”

  I shrugged. “No big deal.”

  “It is a big deal and you know it. We’ve all been trying to get him on the straight and narrow but nothing is working. He needs you, Molly.”

  I sighed. “As everyone keeps telling me.”

  “Listen,” he touched my shoulder, “I know being here is hard and I know you don’t want to be but thank you.”

  I nodded. “He can’t find out, Jameson. Just remember that. No one can know why I really left him.” It was a secret I’ve held for ten years. I had only confessed it to Jameson and no one else.

  “I’ll take it to my grave.”

  I closed my eyes and willed the tears away. After taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes, ready to face the music. I was going to help my ex-husband and make sure he would be okay.

  Chapter Three

  Molly

  JAMESON HAD LEFT hours ago and Pam finally left with Stacy a little while ago. Lars looked exhausted, but he did eat and apologized to his family.

  “Why don’t you go lay down for a little bit?” I suggested as I finished cleaning up the kitchen.

  “Why are you here?” He had asked this question a million times throughout the day, but I kept ignoring it.

  I dried my hands and turned to him. “I’m here because you’re drinking yourself into an early grave and I’m going to prevent it as much as I can.” I told him the truth because I knew he wasn’t going to stop asking.

  “You don’t need to be here. I’m fine.” He sipped on yet another cup of coffee.

  “Really? So, you weren’t dead drunk last night and didn’t have to have your butt hauled up two flights of stairs?” I faked gasped. “Maybe I was dreaming all of it?”

  He actually rolled his eyes. “I just had a little too much.”

  “And what about the night before that? And the night before that? According to your family and Jameson, you’ve had a little too much every day since you returned from Iraq.”

  He glared at me but didn’t say anything.

  “I’m going to fix up Jameson’s bed for me to sleep in.” I left him with his coffee and went down the hall.

  When I left Lars, he was stationed in Germany getting ready to deploy. Jameson promised me he would look after him since they were in the same unit. When Lars was discharged from the Army due to medical reasons, Jameson set up this place for him until he got out a year later. Not that his family wouldn’t have taken him in, but they were best friends. There were many nights Jameson would call me and vent about him. I knew it was stressful for him, but he stuck it through. When he became engaged and planned on leaving Lars, that was when he called me, after talking to the family. They all knew Lars wouldn’t take this news well, but Jameson couldn’t stop living his life because of Lars. I was the only one able to do it.

  “I don’t need you.” He stood in the bedroom doorway.

  I faced him, putting my hands on my hips. He was just a few months older than me, but right now he looked years older. I knew it was because of his lack of sleep and stress. Not to mention all the drinking he was doing. His hair was black and he was sporting a beard now. He normally would only have a goatee.

  “Yes you do. Because no one else wants to put up with you.”

  “I can handle this.”

  “You’re lying because if this is handling it, then you can’t do it.”

  “You left me long ago and I’ve been handling my life just fine.”

  “Maybe at first, but now you need someone. And I’m here.”

  “Until when? Until it gets too tough and you run away from me again? Until you can’t handle me anymore and just give me a letter?”

  I took a sharp breath in as if he stabbed me. The letter was the only way I could explain to him the situation–well not all of it, but some–in hopes he could move on without me. I couldn’t tell him everything because he would have gone AWOL to come find me, and I couldn’t allow that.

  The doorbell rang and Lars turned away from me to go answer it.

  “Hello, Ms. Griffin.” His voice was calmer.

  I walked up behind him and his landlady was handing him a dish.

  “Molly, well as I live and breathe.” She was a kind, older woman, whom I’ve known all my life. She owned a lot of real estate in our hometown. According to Jameson, she’d been cooking, doing Lars’ laundry and looking in on them since they moved in. The whole town knew she had lost her son in the Vietnam War and had no other children or family and had almost taken him on as a surrogate son. “How are you, sweetheart?” She held out her arms.

  I hugged her and smiled. “I’m well. Thank you. And you?”

  “Oh I’m fit as a fiddle. I just wanted to drop off some dinner for Lars. Are staying long?”

  “Hopefully not.” Lars mumbled.

  “Just for a little while,” I said ignoring his comment.

  “Well, I’ll leave you two to dinner. Have fun.” She beamed and left.

  Lars went into the kitchen and I followed him. “What did she make us?”

  “Looks like tuna casserole.” He removed the dish cover. “She made it for me not you.”

  “Wow, no one taught you how to share, huh?” I pulled a couple of plates down from the cabinet. “Want a bottle of water?”

  “I want a beer.”

  “Try again.” I grabbed two bottles of water and sat them on the kitchen table.

  “I’m thirty-two years old, I think I know what I want,” he yelled.

  “First, calm down. I’m not here for you to yell at me or even raise your voice at me. Second, you aren’t drinking anymore. I’m putting my foot down, and I’m going to make sure you’re sobering up by the time I leave here. Three, I don’t care what you want, you’re getting water.” I picked up the dish and sat it on the table. “Now, are you ready to have some dinner?” I began to scoop out the casserole.

  We ate in silence and I was thankful for the quietness. I knew t
his was going to be hard, but I was trying to see the bright side. This was for Lars and helping him see through his issues. Of course, all of that wouldn’t happen in a week, but I could at least get it started.

  “I’m going to lay down. Do I have permission?” He smarted off to me when we finished eating.

  “Go on,” I said and cleaned up the table, putting away the leftovers.

  I went into the bedroom and began to unpack my clothes. I should have probably packed more, but I was hoping I wouldn’t need any more. At this rate, I would. I promised Pam I would see this through, and I won’t break it. I listened at Lars’ door, but I didn’t hear anything. I assumed he was asleep.

  I jumped into the shower and then curled up in bed with my Kindle. I couldn’t believe I was here. Lars had been through a lot in the last ten years, and I wanted to be there for him more, but I knew better. I made a clean break from him to ensure he was able to move on and find someone else to have a family with. Jameson promised to hold my secret, and I trust him. Lars would never find out the truth.

  I was deep into my Kindle when I heard a loud thud coming from Lars’ room. I quickly got up and went over to inspect. When I opened the door, I saw him laid out on the floor with a bottle of whiskey next to him.

  “Are you kidding me, Lars Grekov?” He was drunk. “What is your problem?” I jerked the bottle from his hand and dumped the liquor down the drain. “I can’t believe you.”

  “Go away.” He groaned, trying to get up but was failing miserably. “I don’t want you here.”

  “Too bad, bucko. I’m here to stay. I gave my word to your family.” I yanked on his arm to get him to sit up. “We need to sober you up.”

  “Why?”

  I strained to lift him. “Because you can’t live like this.”

  “I can’t live without you.”

  I froze. “Lars, don’t go there. I’m here to help and then I’ll leave.”

  He stared at me. “You know how to do that the best.”

  “You don’t understand and now isn’t the time to explain it to you.”

  “You loved me and you left me.”

  I couldn’t tell him how much I still loved him. He will always hold my heart. There was no doubt about it.

  “I will always care for you.”

  He laughed. “Oh that’s so lame. Always care for you.” He mocked me. “You left me while I was stationed overseas and sent me a letter with our divorce papers. You left me.” He began to grow angry.

  “I did and it was ten years ago. Let’s focus on you right now and then we’ll go down memory lane later.” I finally sat him up. “Now get your lazy butt up.”

  He was able to get up and then fell right onto the bed. Mumbling something I couldn’t understand. I studied him for a second and realized I needed to get him on his side and stay with him to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself through the night. I grabbed a cold washcloth, aspirin, and a bottled water. He was still in his boxers so I didn’t need to undress him. I searched his closet to make sure there was nothing else hiding in there and laid on the bed next to him. I pushed back his hair off his forehead. He looked peaceful right now, and I knew it wouldn’t last, but for a moment, I pretended he was still mine. I lightly stroked his cheek, running my fingers through his beard.

  “I love you, Lars,” I whispered. “I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you.” I leaned in and kissed his forehead. I knew in the morning this was all going to change. It was going to get even worse than this morning.

  Chapter Four

  Lars

  MOLLY WAS PISSING me off.

  First of all, she was in my space and I didn’t appreciate it. Second, she was ordering me around like she was my wife, which she was not anymore–her choice. Third, she was keeping me from my favorite “forget about Molly and all the things that are wrong with the world” pastime. Drinking any liquid that had the slightest percentage of alcohol.

  The second time I woke up that day was worse than the first. I knew she was near. I could smell that almost too sweet vanilla stuff she always smelled like but refused to admit she wore.

  There was a warmth to the air that filtered through my nostrils and made some of the pain dull.

  It was her. She always did that. It was like her warmth reached out to me in the darkness.

  I tried to sit up but a wave of nausea hit me so hard that I thought sitting up the rest of the way may make me heave up all of my organs at once.

  What I needed was a drink to make it all go away.

  The nausea. The urges. The wife. It all could go away with one swallow.

  Ex-wife. Molly was my ex-wife.

  “Sick to your stomach?”

  Yes, your Kool-aid voice is making me sick to my stomach. Go away.

  “You’re still here.”

  She laughed a little. I saw nothing funny. In fact, my vision wasn’t clear anymore. Black spots pockmarked the walls and the ceiling.

  “At least you’re not still asking me why I’m here.”

  I heard her shuffle on the floor, and if I didn’t already feel like a piece of crap with her here taking care of me, having her sleep on the floor put the final nail in the coffin.

  “My hands…” Both of my hands felt like anvils at the end of my arms, yet at the same time they shook. They were earthquakes attached to me.

  “It’s okay.” She cooed at me and I hated her for it. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be using that voice–the one she only uses when someone is dying or sick.

  I couldn’t tell which one I was–dying or sick.

  “It will be okay if you just give me a drink.”

  “That’s not happening. Don’t you want better than this for yourself? This isn’t a life, Lars. This is some kind of journey to hell, slow and painful and dark. Don’t do this to yourself.”

  “I’d stop drinking for you,” I whispered, hoping to God she didn’t hear me.

  “The next few days are going to be hard, Lars. I need to know that you want to get clean as much as you need to get clean. Don’t you want a life that’s more than drinking and bumming off friends and neighbors for meals? I know your mom raised you better than that? Where’s the guy with more bravery than I’ve ever known?”

  He died a little when you left him. Then died most of the rest of the way when he returned home and every car horn startled him. Every holiday that fireworks were involved, he nearly peed his pants and hid in the closet like a kindergartener.

  Bright lights felt like being next to the sun itself.

  Darkness was like being plunged into death.

  After I came home, I was scared of never having a life, so I dug my own trench with bottles of Crown and whatever else I could get my hands on.

  Either way, she was right, this was no life.

  I was tired of waking up in my own filth, the smell of vomit and garbage so thick in my nose that it took days to get rid of it. Of course, by the time I did, it was time for another drink.

  In the past year, I’d only gone about a day without succumbing to the urges.

  Urges became needs.

  Needs became obsessions.

  Some days I thought about nothing else than the next burn down my throat.

  I didn’t eat.

  I considered my time on the floor, passed out, the same as sleeping.

  But if I fought through this, what would I be fighting for?

  The one thing in life that I’d ever loved was now on my floor pitying me with her nursery rhyme voice.

  Pathetic.

  “Lars, can you hear me? You in or you out?” Molly now kneeled by my bed. Her brown hair was tied up in a bun. It was–or used to be–her chosen hairstyle for working out in the yard. She didn’t want to get dirt in it while she was gardening.

  She didn’t want to get the dirt of me in her hair.

  My eyes finally focused on her face. She looked the same yet so different. She was thinner–way thinner from what I could see. Her fingers were bony, yet kept the same
gentleness. I almost reached out with one of my shaking hands to touch her face out of pure habit.

  Once this woman was mine.

  Once we had planned a wedding.

  She had even named our kids.

  I left half of my heart with her when I left.

  She stomped on it.

  I cleared my throat. It stung from throwing up. “Are you in for this? I know you run when things get tough.”

  She sighed and I hoped it carried all the self-loathing I wished on her. “I’m in this for the long haul. One day at a time.”

  “You sound like one of those books.”

  “Well, at least we know you can still read. The first step is admitting you have a problem.”

  I thought about that for a minute, still laying on my back. Even in my stupor, there were dreams dangling in the back of my mind. Bucket lists–goals–things I wanted to accomplish.

  I probably wouldn’t find those at the bottom of a bottle.

  “I have a drinking problem. I know that.”

  Unexpected tears rivered down my face. Warm, soft fingers laced through mine and another thumb brushed the tears from my face.

  “There you go. That was the easy part. I know you already hate me, Lars, but over the next few days you’re going to wish me dead. You’ll think about killing me and anyone who comes around here. You need to pick something to hold onto. God, good thoughts, your parents, something. Pick something to hold onto when things get rough–just like you did when you were in Iraq. What was that one thing you held onto?”

  I almost laughed–almost. Molly was the one thing I held onto. Her face was in the forefront of my mind all the time, even after the letter and the divorce papers. Even deep in the sand, holding my rifle, I kept hope alive somehow. It was all I had to cling to. There was some hope that when I got back, I could change her mind. I cooked up grandiose schemes of badgering her with flowers and showering her with all the affection I’d kept from her while I was gone.

  She kept me alive.

  I didn’t know that when I came back, she would be gone.

  “I, um, I’ve got something in mind.” No way was I letting her have the satisfaction of knowing she was still what kept me alive.