Rescue Me by Farrah Rochon Page A

to buy Jazzy—” Eli stopped short. He shook his head, a contrite grin at the edge of his lips. “It’s going to be hard breaking that habit, won’t it? I don’t want to be around when you lay down the law,” Eli said. “I hate to see my Jazzy cry.”
    “Yeah,” Alex said. “This is definitely one of the not so fun parts of this parenthood thing.”
    Alex sat at his kitchen table, leaning against the high backed chair’s wooden slates, his thumb rolling the gold wedding band around his finger. Wisps of steam swirled from the mug of hot chocolate he’d made in an attempt to lull himself to sleep.
    After church this morning, he and Jazzy had spent most of the day at Mama’s, as was their typical Sunday afternoon ritual. But Alex had left earlier than usual today, figuring he could get a jump start on getting Jasmine’s things ready for school, and then get to bed early himself.
    That wasn’t happening. The clock above the stove showed it to be just past two in the morning, but the weight of what he was to embark upon tomorrow taxed his brain to the point of making sleep impossible.
    Alex studied the ring on his finger. It had been an effective means of keeping women at bay. Just the thought of jumping back into the dating scene triggered a sick feeling in his gut. The ring was a constant reminder to never open himself up to the kind of pain Chantal had put him through.
    But every second it remained on his finger was a mockery of the sanctity of marriage. A mockery of the love his parents had shared, the love he saw when his brothers looked at their wives to be.
    Alex ran his thumbnail under the edge of the ring. If the ease at which it shifted on his finger was any indication, he’d lost weight these past few weeks since the surgery. He’d been afraid the lack of physical activity would put on the pounds, but Alex had to admit his appetite had not been up to par. He had too much on his mind to think about food, especially these past couple of days.
    His eyes focused on the porcelain teapots lined along theledge above the upper kitchen cabinets. Chantal had found one of the ornate teapots at a flea market and had gotten it in her head that she should own every antique teapot in southeastern Louisiana. For months they had spent every Sunday afternoon taking long drives, scouring the region for flea markets and antique shops. They would find a little out of the way place for lunch, and then find an even more obscure place to park the car and make love.
    They were happy back then.
    Alex could pinpoint the exact day their marriage had started its downward spiral. It was the same day Chantal had gone to the doctor’s to see about the stomach flu she couldn’t seem to shake, a flu that had turned out to be Jasmine. They had never really talked about having children. Alex had always known he wanted to be a father, and had just assumed his wife had the same views on family that he did. He’d been stunned at Chantal’s outrage over her pregnancy, and devastated when she’d threatened to have an abortion.
    He’d begged, promising Chantal everything under the moon if she went through with having their child. He would have been better off making a deal with the devil.
    Alex shook his head, a derisive laugh escaping his lips as he thought back on his naiveté.
    Where she had been just a little spoiled and demanding before, Chantal had become more callous and selfish than he could ever have anticipated. She had demanded the impossible, insisting Alex lavish her with gifts she knew he could not afford. She’d played the fragile life of their unborn child like a pawn. And when the time had passed for her to safely have an abortion, she’d changed her tactic to guilt, accusing Alex of forcing her to give up her freedom in return for having his baby.
    He’d worked like a man possessed, executing sixteen hour days, working right along with his men on the constructionsites during normal working hours, then spending most of