You guys are the sweetest. Thanks for the birthday love!
He looked up from his phone when he heard her truck through the open french doors in their bedroom, timing the sounds of her opening the door and moving through the house. She headed to the kitchen first, dropping her keys and bag on the island and then calling out to him.
"Dave?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't. Not without completely coming unglued. The only thing holding him together at that point was a tiny thread of sanity, but even that was quickly unraveling.
The sound of her shoes on the steps made his spine snap straight and the adrenaline rush through his veins. And he waited. Waited for her and waited for that tiny thread to finally snap.
She knocked softly on their bedroom door and peeked in, frowning at how dark the room was. "Dave?" she asked again.
A responding grunt was all he offered, swinging his legs off the side of the bed to wait for her to come closer, which didn't take long. She knew something was off the moment she looked at him, her eyes filled with worry.
"Babe? What's wrong?"
Again, he waited until she was rounding the side of the bed and in front of him.
"How long, Elizabeth?"
She stared down at him with a questioning look, following his movements as he carefully set his phone down on the bed beside him, screen side up. The glowing screen reflected in her confused, then horrified eyes before she choked on a gasp.
"Dave-" she coughed and stuttered, diving towards the bed to try and reach his phone.
"No," he growled, pulling her back from the phone and bringing her face just inches from his. "How long have you been fucking him?"
"Stop," she said softly, now with tears filling her eyes, "I need you to listen to me-"
"Answer me, Elizabeth. It's a simple yes or a no. Are. You. Fucking. Taylor."
"No! How could you-"
He dropped her arms and shoved off of the bed, unable to touch her any longer. "You're gonna lie to me? Really, Liz? I know you're smarter than that."
"I hate that you think-"
"Oh, you do?" Her words spurred him into action, grabbing the phone and stalking over to back her up against the wall. "You hate that I'm accusing you or you hate that you got caught?"
He had trapped her between his closet and their bedroom door, just daring her to answer him as she stared up at him with wide, scared eyes and a mouth that was apparently at a loss for words.
A few seconds were allowed to pass before he pushed away with a bitter murmur, "He just can't keep his fucking hands to himself, can he? Every woman I've ever loved, he just had to fuck. I'm gonna fucking kill him."
It took her a moment to regain her senses and follow him down the steps, but she was surprisingly quick and slid herself in front of their large front door before he could open it.
"Move, Elizabeth."
"No. Not until you listen to me. This isn't what you think it is," her words were rushed and then gone when he lunged forward to pick her up and move her away from the door, backing her into the wall once again.
"You two have been fucking around behind my back since, what? February? My birthday? And every time I bring it up, the bullshit with Calliope gets dragged out to remind me that I'm the fuck up here! To make me believe that I was the one in the wrong! I've been tearing myself apart for you, Elizabeth and the entire time you two are doing this," he held his phone up and backed up a step, worried that he was so angry he might actually hurt her.
"Please," she begged, following him until he set his hand on her chest to stop her. "Please just listen to me-"
"It's just perfect, you know? All the shit I got up to, all the fucked up shit I've done in my life, it all culminates here. This is my karma. You and him and...," his eyes dropped to her belly as he stepped around her to the front door. "You know? ...If I wasn't in the room when they put those kids in you, Elizabeth, I would swear Taylor did it himself."
She stepped back at that, her shoulder hitting the newel post on the stairs as he charged out the front door and slammed it behind him.
*
He left his truck door open and the keys in the ignition, too far gone to deal with either at the moment. A quick tap of the doorbell and the front door swung open with Taylor leaned against it, taking a bite of the apple in his hand while nodding an easy hello.
"Hey, man." By all outward appearances, Dave was casual. He could hear Taylor's phone ringing from somewhere in the house and just knew it was her. "Your kids home?"
"No, Al took them to dinner with her mom. What's up?"
He only nodded once, then reared back and sent his fist directly through Taylor's nose.
"What the fuck, Dave?" he yelled as he stumbled backward, holding his face with his free hand and flinging the remains of his apple at Dave's chest. "What is your fucking problem?"
That little thread, the one that had been desperately keeping his sanity tethered to him snapped. He felt it deep in his chest and dove at Taylor, taking him to the floor of his foyer in a scratching, hitting, spitting, swearing, violent heap.
Dave might have been bigger, meaner, angrier, but Taylor was quicker, more agile and lucid. He didn't have the rage clouding his mind like Dave did and managed to connect more than a few fists to Dave's cheek and jawbone before they were being kicked and pulled apart.
There wasn't any way for Dave to determine how much time had passed, but it was apparently enough time for Liz to get in her own truck and follow him to Taylor's because she was suddenly screaming down at him.
"Stop!"
She was louder and angrier than Dave had ever heard her before but it was only when she connected her foot with his ribcage that he knew she truly angry. The initial pain was momentary but she had managed to knock the wind out of him, making him roll off of Taylor, curling into his hurt side with an angry grunt.
He was aware of Taylor still swearing and kicking at him, and he was also aware of Liz speaking softly, trying to explain the ambush while gently holding a kitchen towel up to Taylor's bleeding nose. "He knows, T. He's seen them."
"Goddamn fucking right, I know!" Dave tried to yell, but it only surfaced as a strained croak. "Get your hands off my fucking wife!" He was somehow even more enraged that she was tending to Taylor first, his vision blurring when she carefully pulled the blonde hair off his bloody face.
Taylor swiveled to kick at him again, but Liz held him back, pulling on him until he was up against the wall with the towel pressed once again to his face. "I'm not fucking your wife, asshole!"
"Don't you dare fucking lie to me, Hawkins! I have pictures!"
Liz shot to her feet again, pushing at Dave with her shoe until he was forced onto his back. She dropped onto him, straddling his chest with her knees pinning his arms to the floor and dug through her sweater pocket. He fought against her the second he saw the envelope, but she held firm. He knew that fucking envelope had the same pictures in it, he had hoped he was wrong, but-
"Look at this," she demanded, pulling out the one photo that wasn't overtly graphic and shoving it in his face.
"Get off of me," he growled and tried to push her legs away, but she was pissed and there was no moving her.
"No, David. Look at the fucking picture."
This wasn't sweet, adorable, Liz anymore. This was feral, raised by a biker gang, Liz. So he did, trying to think of anything worse than being forced to look at a photo of his best friend fucking his wife.
It had a dark, pixelated grain to it that indicated it was taken with a cell phone and in it, Taylor and Elizabeth. In any other context, he might have considered it almost artsy with the way she was on her back, sunk into the pillows with her head at an angle, her hair in her face, her eyes gently closed and her lips curled up into a dreamy smile with the knuckle of her thumb between her teeth. He knew that exact expression, he lived for it most of the time, the same muscles in her neck pulled taut at just the right moment, except the body above hers wasn't his. Taylor's face was pressed into her neck with his long, sandy blonde hair splayed across her chest, blurred a little due to the dim lighting. At least that's what Dave was telling himself, he couldn't let himself accept that it was due to movement. His left arm was held out, holding the phone to take the picture while his right was wrapped snugly around her waist to hold her up against him... and that, for some reason, was too much.
Taylor's voice, muffled by the towel came from his side of the foyer, "Liz..."
She ignored him, staring down at Dave with pleading eyes, "Pay attention," she said a bit softer, "Look closely."
So he did, scanning the picture for what felt like the hundredth time and it still hit him like a punch in the throat. Though this time he noticed the blurry edge of what was probably her knee, almost resting on the bed beside her to give Taylor all the space he needed to-
"She doesn't have tattoos, dumbass," Taylor suddenly barked. "Those pictures are old as fuck."
He was right, though Dave didn't want to admit that he had overlooked that little detail. Liz's wrist, the one positioned up by her face, was bare and the words on her ribcage were missing. He squinted over at Taylor, confusion now mixed with his rage. "You knew her...?"
"I met her the exact same moment you did, dude."
The realization made his upper body bolt up off the tile, putting his face just inches from Liz's. "You fucked him in Seattle? After you shot me down?"
"No!" she shoved him back while tossing the photo aside and glaring at Taylor to keep his mouth shut. "I wanted you to come to this conclusion on your own, but you're too fucking stubborn. It's Kyle, Dave. All of those photos are of me and Kyle."
Bullshit. "Kyle doesn't look anything like Taylor," he scoffed.
"Not anymore, no."
Her hand went to the envelope again, pulling out the very last photo in the stack that was printed in a different size and handing it to him. Kyle smiled up at the camera, holding a brand new Jack in his arms, sitting in the same deck chairs Dave remembered from Oregon. He looked emaciated, the bones in his face and chest jutting out against his tanned skin, and his sandy blonde hair fell past his shoulders. Just like Taylor's.
"Liz..." Taylor was suddenly beside them, gently pulling on Liz's arm for some reason.
"I know, Taylor," she nodded, but shrugged him off. "Just give me a minute."
"No, we need to go right now."
"Go call Allison," her voice was strained and the color drained from her face as Taylor limped away to the kitchen.
"Do you see it now?" she whispered, her full attention back on Dave. "Please tell me you understand."
"I don't-," he was calmer, but he was struggling to figure it all out. Staring down at the picture of Kyle, he knew all the pieces were in front of him but he had no idea how to even start putting them together.
Then her hands fell on his shoulders to push herself to her feet and even through the fabric of his shirt, they felt far too cold. He watched her carefully gather up the photos that had fallen from the envelope and without another word, walked out the front door.
Taylor's voice grew as he hurried back into the foyer with his phone pressed to his ear, shrugging on a hoodie and shoving his feet into shoes. "Hey, Al... Yeah, listen. I need you to meet me at the hospital. Liz is... she's having contractions."
The wires didn't connect for a moment and Dave sat there, dumbly looking up at Taylor with a blank face until a swift kick to his bad leg launched him back to the present.
Fuck.
He scrambled to his feet and wrenched open the door, running out onto the front porch where he could see the driveway. She was on her knees beside the truck, one hand gripping the door handle while the other cradled her belly. Her chin was tucked to her chest and he just barely heard her weak cry, "Dave?"