Life in Retrograde

By Keera Ashton

This is a story of love, loss, and second chances. Can Tess and Bryce find their way to each others arms again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: Mar 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524598112

Keera Ashton

About The Author TV Star Keera Ashton is a Businesswoman and an investor in the film industry. Keera and her business partner Ken Whitfield an actor also, supplied military men to the film industry one being Aliens 3. Keera has been a Fashion Model and Actress, 26 years in the business she appeared in many magazines and newspapers in her career. Keera starred in The Bill, Minder, Pirate Prince, Chaplin, and various others. Keera is no stranger to mixing with the rich and famous in her career and onset at Pinewood studios. Keera is a ghost writer & Author & a Story Artist. Keera Ashton is an ex girlfriend to Hugh Hefner Keera met Hef in California when she was modeling at 17, & Billionaire David Sullivan co owner with David Gold of West Ham FC both whom Keera Ashton met whilst modeling for David Sullivan. Keera Ashtons next goal is to turn her books into Hollywood movies. You may see Keera Ashtons books featuring on billboards and in magazines advertising worldwide her next novels. If Keeras books are sold out in stores they are available at online bookstores and Amazon! Other books by Author Keera Ashton are: Life in Retrograde Tarot Love / the tower card & the portal. The Chronicles of T.a.r.o.t /Authors virtual 3D reality Halloween Tinsel Cat www.keeraashton.com Email Ghost writing services at [e-mail]

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Copyright © 2017 by KEERA ASHTON.

ISBN:      Softcover          978-1-5245-9812-9

                eBook               978-1-5245-9811-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 03/02/2017

Xlibris

800-056-3182

www.Xlibrispublishing.co.uk

756594

Contents

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Who is Sandra?

1

A ll that’s left for me to do is think, but doing so will mean my certain death. I can’t bear to think about how I’ve made all of this happen, both to the man I love eternally and the innocent young lives that we created together, and I don’t dare imagine what will happen when the future I’ve been warned about comes to pass. I wish there was a way to send my thoughts through the rinse and spin cycle to clear my toxic thoughts.

I was raised to believe in the power of pictures, to appreciate the beauty of a single image. There’s no denying that pictures can paint a thousand words and, after 25 years as an actress and a model, I’d be crazy to tell you something different. But as I sit here in the NICU, completely paralyzed wondering if my premature boys will survive, surrounded by small bodies shielded in see-through boxes and tiny faces covered in oxygen masks, it’s not the things I can see that frighten me. Fresh morning sunshine is streaming through the safely fastened windows and any free space is covered with cuddly bears and family photographs. Most of the babies are sleeping soundly, undisturbed by the threat to their lives that has brought every one of them here, and their parents all seem strong enough to continue believing in their hopes and dreams. But when your hopes and dreams are being held hostage, the imagery does nothing but make the present loom.

I tell myself it’s the sounds that keep me on edge. The intermittent beeping of alarms, the never-ending whirring of monitors and machinery, the hissing of fake air being pumped into tiny weakened lungs …

Truth is, the silence is the real torture. Bryce and I have been here since the start of the day but we’ve hardly heard a word being spoken from the steady stream of nurses, doctors and worried families. Everyone here is united in their grief and their desperation but we all face these things alone. There’s no point telling anybody that you know how they feel, even if you think you do, because their love for their baby isn’t the same love that you feel for your baby and nothing you can say will make their child better anyway. That’s exactly how it’s been for Bryce and me – we want to be there for each other but we have our own private thoughts to deal with, our own anger to feel and our own portion of self-inflicted blame to bear.

Right now, Bryce has gone for a walk to clear his head, preferring the reality of the outside world to the sensation of walls closing in that seems to be constant in this room. He’s been so strong over the last few weeks and I wish he could tell me how he’s toughed it out so easily. Then again, he’s always been the quiet, logical, one; the one to offer reason and reassurance when times have been hard. I’ve always been the restless one filled with fire and emotion, and the need to take action that has given our lives such a perfect balance. Right now, we are anything but balanced. I’m sure he wonders if I have the strength to face what may come if the tiniest of our twins doesn’t make it. I have no doubt my body isn’t 100%, having just given birth, but honestly I’m numb to my own discomfort. Maybe I deserve it and more.

Dominic, that’s our tiny boy’s name and until I have some assurance he will survive to hear me say it, there will never be any balance or hope in our world.

I turn away from the newspaper lying on the table beside me, standing up straight and flicking my hair over my shoulder in defiance at the accusations printed upon it. I’ve always cherished reading my daily stars, to me it went with my mornings like a cup of coffee; I couldn’t face the day without them. But after months of increasingly negative horoscopes, I’ve come to not care what the future holds; today I’m buckling up for the worst. I focus instead on Dominic, curled up as if he’s ashamed of showing me his yellowed skin and frail body, as though not looking at me will stop me seeing him in the blue rays beaming down over his incubator. I creep closer, my arms stretched out to him, wanting nothing more than to hear his heartbeat and feel some sort of closeness between us, to let him know his mother is there. But no, it’s not to be. He’s resting, and I’ve been told not to wake him because sleeping makes him stronger, all while it leaves me feeling weak and defenseless. I just want him to look at me, to see that I’m here for him and that I’ll do anything I can to see him through, but maybe it’s better if he doesn’t know that I’m here. After all, if I’d been a better person he’d be safely tucked up at home right now, not hanging onto life and struggling to be warm in a plastic cot hooked up to a web of wires. His brother, Dillon, is a little better off, he’s almost a full pound heavier, but still small enough that he has to be tube fed and hooked to a web of wires and sensor pads. Even under the yellow lights, my baby boys look like newborn orangutans with fuzzy wisps of ginger hair, just like Bryce’s.

I look away so they can’t sense the tears welling in my eyes and I see Bryce on his way back to me. My emotions leap from worry to love as I see the resemblance they bear to their father, I wish I could show the tiny boys how big they can be. Bryce never loses his footing or slows his pace as he nears and his gaze never wavers from the corner where I’m waiting. My stomach lurches and I shift from foot to foot, sure that he’s found the secret buried beneath my skin, and is on his way to yank it out.

My terror is not over exaggeration or a trait of melodrama; it is justified. I have every reason to be afraid of Bryce learning the truth but, somehow, his presence makes me feel like everything will turn out okay. It’s not just that Bryce is quietly confident and comfortable with the person that he is – it’s that he has a special way of making me feel the same way about myself. He isn’t a show-off like most other guys – he doesn’t tell you that he’s fitter, or cleverer, or has more money than you, even when he likely knows that to be true. When you look into the depths of his eyes, you don’t just see him looking back at you. You see the parts of him you adore reflected inside of you and he makes you believe that wonderful part of you will always be there. Maybe he just helps you to see what you want to see when you have no idea of your true identity. My husband is a good soul.

Bryce comes to stand beside me and I notice for the first time that there’s somebody else with him. He’s an African-American in his early thirties, dressed plainly in jeans and a navy blue polo shirt. I haven’t seen him on the ward before so I don’t think he’s a doctor with news to share. The man is small, almost to the point of insignificance, so me having never seen him here wasn’t entirely unlikely. But Bryce isn’t the kind of guy to just start talking to a total stranger and he certainly wouldn’t chat to just anyone about me, or even the twins. For Bryce to bring someone unknown right into the heart of his private, anxious, world was so out of character that I have to do a double take that it really is Bryce standing beside me. I glance over his chiseled features for a second time and he takes half a step back from me, scuffing imaginary dust off his shoes to deflect that he may have done something inappropriate.

My mind races, sure he must have seen something in me to scare him, something in my eyes that I never see in his. What I’m sure scares him is a part of me that he doesn’t want to see but knows is there. That’s fine with me because I don’t want him or our babies to see that part of me either.

Meanwhile, his companion is examining me with polite interest and I’m sure he’s searching for that thing inside of me that scares Bryce and has put our family at risk. The man’s eyes are a piercing shade of blue, made brighter against his dark skin, his eyes are filled with the energy that is missing from the rest of his body, and at this moment I’m convinced they can see straight through to the dark side of my soul. I need to get some air.

Ma’am, he murmurs, taking a step towards me. I’m sorry for your situation. I’m here to listen to you, to anything you’d like to talk about, anything at all.

I scan him, trying to work out what he’s doing here and why he’s so interested in talking to me. There’s a badge with a name dangling from his neck but nothing to tell me who he really is. He’s anonymous in my eyes, why would I want to tell someone like that anything about what’s going on in my life or thoughts?

Bryce and I are here for each other. We don’t need anybody else, I say.

I’m jolted by my response, a whip-like sound effect that betrays the turmoil I’ve been trying to keep hidden for what seems like an eternity. I know I’ve started off on the wrong foot but my fuse is short and I’m not in a mood to be pacified by matters of etiquette. Bryce, Dillon and Dominic are my only concerns and no amount of talking is going change the fact that we are counting each second we are in the neo-natal intensive care unit.

Mr. Coldwater tells me you’re very close, Ma’am, he agrees, leaning forward as if taking me into his confidence, but sometimes it’s impossible to say everything we need to say to the people who are closest to us. We, erm, sometimes feel things that we can’t explain in a way that even those closest can understand. Sometimes, we need to say things that we think they can’t hear, or don’t want to hear, when they’re already suffering so much themselves. And sometimes our love for another is great, we don’t want to add any more burden to their worries.

A chill fills my insides, my heartbeat races and my shoulders shake. What has Bryce told this man about me? What does the man know and what has he said to Bryce in return?

Bryce sees my reaction and puts his arm around my waist, making me feel safer knowing that he’s there, just like on our first night in Burbank when I was scared stiff by the bright lights and hustle of Los Angeles.

"We’ve always been able