Loving Lyle

BLURB:

When Celeste gave Lyle up for adoption, it broke Jagger’s heart. No matter where he was in life, he always made sure that Lyle got birthday cards and birthday presents. Lyle may not be Jagger’s biological son, but he sure feels like it, especially since Wyatt and Celeste never cared for him.

After years of failing to battle her addiction to alcohol and drugs, Celeste finally overdoses. Despite never having met his biological mother, Lyle decides to come to her funeral. He meets Jagger, the only person who ever cared to make him feel loved by anyone but his adoptive family. He demands to know the full story of why he was adopted, no matter how much it might hurt.

From that day on, Jagger and Lyle stay in touch. When Lyle makes some very surprising life choices, it’s Jagger he turns to for help. In this book from Jagger’s POV, we finally get to see him meet Lyle, the baby he didn’t even get to hold when he was born. It’ll be a tough, emotional ride.

***

INFO:

I am planning to make this book a short story. About 20 chapters. Of course, “Naughty Nathan” was only supposed to be 40 chapters and that book ended up with 111 chapters, so you never know, but “Loving Lyle” is probably going to be short and sweet.

I recommed reading "Caring Christopher" and "Jealous Jagger" before diving into this short story. For more information on all my books, you can use the guide I posted on my profile. That tells you all about my many books that belong to the same series, as well as companion novels and stand-alones.

***

On to the first chapter!

***

#1 Our eyes met over het casket

Leave it to my ex-wife to even make her funeral as dramatic as possible. Overdosing isn’t enough, she just had to leave very specific instructions with her foster dad about wanting one of those funerals where the casket very slowly gets lowered into the grave, with everyone standing around it, holding flowers and crying. And she wanted the song Tears in heaven to be played on guitar.

By me.

If I don’t do it, I will look like a total dick. You can’t say no to the dead woman you divorced, cut out of your life, and left to her own devices, even though you knew she wasn’t strong enough for that.

Yes, I feel guilty. Of course I do.

This never would have happened if I’d stayed with her. Sure, it would have destroyed me, but now the addiction destroyed her. She was only 35, just like I am. Way too young to die.

As I play the song on my guitar, softly singing the lyrics, I feel my wife’s hand on my back, rubbing the same spot over and over. It soothes me, but not enough to stop me from tearing up.

For years, Celeste was my world. When we met, I was a 16-year-old screw-up, and she was lost. So lost. Even more lost than I was, which is a hard feat to accomplish. Her father was an alcoholic, and she was well on her way to becoming one too. Her older drug-dealing boyfriend abused her, and I felt like I was the only one who could save her.

But even I couldn’t save her from getting raped. By that very same boyfriend. When she turned out to be carrying his child, I didn’t run. I didn’t hide. I stood by her, and offered to raise the baby with her. There was, after all, a small chance the child was mine. We were horny teenagers, what can I say? I promised if the kid was his, I’d still love him like my own.

She couldn’t, though. It hurt me at the time, but I understand her decision now that I’m older and wiser. It was too much for her to be reminded of what Wyatt did to her every single day. I never should have asked her to do that. Luckily, she knew it would be too much, and she gave him up for adoption. Smartest thing she ever did. An open adoption too, allowing us to see him grow up.

She was good for a while after that. Strong. Gave up alcohol and drugs, even tried to stop smoking. She returned to cigarettes first, then booze, and in the end, drugs were never far away either. Still, I didn’t run. I stayed, helped her get clean, dropped out of college, and married her.

For years, I was her rock. I brought her to the hospital when she overdosed. Held back her hair when she puked her guts out. Poured out her wine bottles so there was no alcohol in the house. Hid her credit card when I was afraid she’d go on a bender. Loved her with all I had, and hoped that my love would be enough to heal her.

News flash: it wasn’t. Not even close.

Four years later, I finally had enough. I couldn’t do it anymore. I filed for divorce.

Still, I was there for her. I was the one she called when Wyatt raped her again. I held her hand when she pressed charges against him. Came to her trial. It didn’t matter that all of that brought up past hurt for me too. Things about my mother that I kept close to my chest. Horrible secrets only my wife, my parents, and my therapist know. I was there, because I knew I was all Celeste had.

And then, one day, it all got to be too much. When she almost killed herself with an overdose, it turned out I still had power of attorney – meaning I would have been forced to decide whether to pull the plug on her or not. Her ex-husband who left her to finally be happy again, forced to make that decision. For the first time ever, I truly got angry with her. There was no reason for me to have that power. I didn’t want it. I felt like she was trying to destroy me. That was the last straw for me. I blocked her number, and told her never to contact me again.

She never did.

Where it got me? I’m happily married to a wonderful woman, I’ve got two lovely kids, I have a job I love as a kindergarten teacher, and live a charmed life in the suburbs. I’m a completely different person than the 16-year-old screw-up I was when I met Celeste, and I’m happier for it.

Where it got her? In a casket. In the goddamn ground. Dead as a doornail. Ended by the same addictive streak I saw in her when we were teenagers.

I could have helped her. Could have been there for her. Maybe if I hadn’t cut her off completely, she’d still be here.

“Jagger,” my wife Rose whispers, still rubbing my back. “You can put down the guitar, baby. The song is over.”

It takes a moment for her words to register. I’ve been playing the same chord over and over, staring at Celeste’s last resting place. I abruptly stop playing, still holding the guitar like it’s my lifeline. I manage to tear my eyes away from the casket though, and my eyes meet two dark brown ones across the gaping hole in the graveyard.

I blink, but the eyes are still there. I don’t know those eyes, yet I feel like I should. I zoom out, taking in the man – or rather the teenager, he can’t be older than 17 or 18 – the eyes belong to. He’s got dark brown skin, even darker hair, full red lips, and he’s wearing a long black coat he’s got his hands stuffed into.

Lyle.

With a start, I stagger backwards when I recognized him. He looks exactly like his pictures. They stopped coming when he turned 18 six months ago, but he hasn’t changed much. His steady gaze remains on me, almost like he’s studying me.

“Baby,” Rose whispers, taking the guitar from me and wiping tears I didn’t realize I was crying away with her fingertips. “Come here.”

I hug her tightly, but over her shoulder I’m still looking at Lyle. It’s not until an arm goes around him that I realize there are a man and a woman with him. They’re as pale as he is dark, and I recognize them too. Linda and Jonathan. His adoptive parents. The ones who kept me updated on his life for 18 years, even though I technically had no legal rights. They both nod at me as some sort of sign of respect, I think. I don’t know what to do, so I just nod back.

“Celeste was a strong young woman knocked down in the prime of her life,” the priest says. He opens his arms and looks up at the sky.

Like Celeste is in heaven. I loved her, but I don’t believe for a second that if heaven is real she’d be welcome there. Not that she was a bad person, not at all. But heaven… She wasn’t all good either. I should know. She almost destroyed me.

And now, I destroyed her, by not being there for her.

I bet there is no place reserved for me in heaven either.

“Celeste’s father has asked to say a few words,” the priest goes on, stepping aside to give the floor – well, the graveyard – to Edward.

“Hi,” he says, looking just as lost as I feel. “I’m Celeste’s foster dad. She came into my life when she was at what we thought was the lowest point of her life. Now we know it wasn’t. The lowest point was three days ago, when she overdosed.”

Damn. He really tells it like it is.

“She was a complicated woman, but I loved her like she was my own flesh and blood. She didn’t make life easy for herself, nor for the ones who loved her. I hope she’s at peace now. I will miss her, and Celeste…” He looks down at her casket with tears in his eyes. “I forgive you. I know you tried. I know you battled your demons. It was a tough fight, all your life. Sometimes you won, sometimes you lost. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you in the end.”

Fucking hell. When he breaks and turns to his wife Mary for support, I start crying all over again. I could have been there for her, after all. I choose not to. That’s on me.

“Is there anyone else who would like to say a few words?” the priest asks.

Fuck. My turn. I clear my throat and run my hand over my face. “Yeah, I would. I… I’m sorry.” I don’t know if I’m talking to everyone around me or to Celeste. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Worst speech of my life, even worse than the cryfest at the funeral of my adoptive son’s mother’s funeral, but it is what it is. I can’t go on. I’m gasping for air, leaning against Rose heavily for support.

I’m so glad we didn’t take our kids to this. Ryker is 10, and Lily is only turning 3 in a couple of months. They shouldn’t be forced to see their father reduced to tears like this.

You know what truly makes me sad though? Sadder than anything?

The people here today aren’t Celeste’s friends and family. They’re mine and Edward’s. Aside from Mary, Edward, me, and my parents, no one here truly loved Celeste. My best friends Khiêm and Marcus told me to break up with her many times, especially Khiêm. Rose was always accepting of my bond with Celeste, but she didn’t care for the girl. Never even met her. My brothers may have loved her once upon a time, they felt it was their duty to do so since she was my wife, but they didn’t shed a tear over me divorcing her. They were glad I was finally moving on from that dark period of my life.

No one is truly broken, aside from Edward and I. We know Celeste was more than her addiction. So much more. She was a person, with a good heart, who got dealt a shit hand in life and didn’t manage to overcome that. She may not be up there in heaven, but she wasn’t evil. Not even close.

Somehow, I make it through the rest of the service. Don’t ask me how. I truly have no clue.

My friends eventually start to leave, coming over to offer me their condolences. Isn’t that just the saddest thing you’ve ever heard? The fucking ex-husband gets all the hugs and pats on the back. The one who cut her off. The one who at times was the only thing standing between her and her addictions, and who made the conscious decision to walk away and live his life without her. Who deleted her number and pretended she didn’t exist. I don’t deserve their sympathy, but I accept it anyway.

Eventually, even my family says they’re leaving. They will wait for me in the parking lot. Rose stays with me, though, her arms around me, holding me together.

And Lyle stays, saying something to Linda and Jonathan that causes them to hug him and then walk off in the direction of the parking lot as well. It’s just him, Rose and me now.

“Hey,” I say stupidly. “You’re Lyle.”

He lets out a nervous laugh. “Hey. You’re Jagger.”

“I’m Rose,” my wife chimes in. “Sorry. Not important. I ramble when I get nervous. Should I leave?”

“I don’t…” Lyle hesitates. “Maybe now is not the best time, but could we… talk?”

“Sure,” I reply immediately, surprised that after all these years, we’re finally face to face, and he actually wants to talk to me. Last I heard, he decided not to dig into his past after getting curious at 16. I think his parents might have discouraged him to find out too much about his birth parents, and I can’t even blame them. There is so much fucked-up shit I’m not sure he should ever know about. I know how it can mess you up. I’ve been there.

“I’ll go,” Rose decides. “I’ll be in the car.” She presses a kiss to my cheek, and then she’s off.

Me and Lyle now. No one else.

As if we planned it, we walk towards a bench a few feet away from the grave, and we sink down. Lyle wraps his arms around himself, and I do the same, mirroring him without making the conscious decision to do so.

“She’s gone,” he mutters. “I never got to meet her.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looks over at me. “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t kill her, right?”

“No, but I… I could have done more.”

“It’s all a bit much right now,” he groans, getting up and brushing off his coat. “Sorry. I thought I could do this, but I can’t. Maybe… maybe some other time?”

“Your parents have my number. Call me whenever you want.”

“Okay. Thanks. And erm… I’m sorry for your loss, I guess.”

“Yeah, me too. For your loss, I mean.”

We stand there like two idiots, and then he turns and walks away.

This is so not how I imagined my first meeting with Lyle to go. I don’t know what I expected, but not this. Still, he came. And he wants to talk. That could be a good thing… I hope.

Except… What will I tell him? That it’s my fault his mother is dead? That I refused to save her, and went on to live happily ever after without her? I’m just the guy who sent him gifts and postcards for 18 years. I’m nothing to him. What could he possibly have to say to me?

I love him. I have since the day I saw him on the ultrasound and heard his heartbeat.

He doesn’t even know who I am. All he knows is my name, and that I used to be married to his birth mother.

Of course he’s walking away from me. I’d walk away too, if I were him. And I’d never look back.