Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Cam

I can't believe I said that.

I can't believe I said that.

I open my mouth to take it back, to lie, to hedge, to…fucking something , anything but acknowledge the expression on her face, the pain in her eyes.

But…I can't.

I just…

Fucking can't .

She leans closer and her palm settles against my cheek, and all of a sudden the tension leeches out of the room. I almost sag into my chair but then she rounds the table, shoves her way between me and the old oak surface, and wraps her arms around me.

I don't breathe—or maybe I can't breathe as she hugs me tight.

It's right.

Perfect—just like the last time.

Lithe muscles and womanly curves. Jasmine and vanilla in my nose, along with hints of chocolate and spice from the candy she shared and the dinner I made. Strong arms wrapped around my middle.

Not a gentle, weak-armed hug.

But… more .

Athena's warrior strength and gentle heart on full display as she steps back and drops her hand on my shoulder, pushes me down into my chair. She sits down in the chair next to mine and orders, "Tell me."

And…for the first time since I got the news, I crack.

"It was nothing," I say softly. "Or I thought it was nothing. I blocked a shot—it hurt—" I shake my head. "They always hurt. But this was straight in the—" I swallow and glance down.

Her eyes flick down, following mine, and then come back up. "It was worse this time?"

I remember the pain—it was fucking excruciating, but, "We're used to pushing through the hurt. That's our job. Our reality. It's just…by the time I realized this was something much worse, it was too late to do anything."

"Cam," she whispers.

"The doctor called it torsion. Usually it's only one testicle, but the shot hit in such a way that I was the lucky recipient of it happening to both. Surgery relieved the pain, but the damage was done and—" My eyes burn. "Well, my last test showed that the damage is permanent. I'm sterile."

I fucking hate that word.

Her hand finds mine. "I'm so sorry that happened."

"It was unlucky," I say. "A shit situation and there's no fixing it"—and I've explored all options—"so there's no point in being upset that I can't create a family."

Her words are beyond gentle when she says, "But there's more than one way to make a family. You guys taught me that."

"I know."

I fucking know.

And I agree—how could I have the upbringing I had and not agree? "And I know I'm a selfish prick to even think otherwise. But…" I shake my head because I don't know how to verbalize what exactly has been eating me up inside.

Logic tells me I should be fine.

I'm healthy now. Not in pain. I'm perfectly fine . My dick works. Sex is still great. But more importantly, I have people who love me, a stable job, and a great family.

I just can't make kids.

Big fucking deal.

Most bachelors would find that a dream come true.

Fuck whoever I want, whenever I want, and I don't have to worry about a string of baby mamas?

Fucking golden.

It's just…

That's not what I've always wanted—the fucking around, the meaningless relationships, the quiet, lonely house. No matter how hard I try to spin it as it'll all be great, as I try to be happy that the empty bedrooms in my house are awesome guest rooms waiting for my parents, my siblings, my nieces and nephews, I can't lie.

I wanted them to be filled with my kids.

Wanted to share that journey with my wife. My… own family.

Which is totally unfair. I already have a great family.

No, it's not what I dreamed about, not what my parents have, what my siblings have, what my friends are making.

It's not a family of my own.

But it's more than so many people have, including Athena.

"You lost something and you're grieving it."

I jerk my head up, hate the sadness in her eyes.

She survived a nightmare, and I'm worried about some sperm?

Pathetic.

"I'm fine."

Her fingers squeeze. "Except you're not fine, are you?" she says, and though it's phrased as a question, her tone is anything but.

"Ats—"

"It's in your head and it's fucking with your life day-to-day and?—"

I wince.

She exhales. "And I know exactly what that's like. To want to forget so much, to have the visceral need to keep moving forward, to pretend it doesn't touch you. But"—her fingers flex around mine—"at the end all of that doesn't matter. It still shades every inch of your life."

"My stuff's minor," I say. "This isn't—I mean— I'm lucky, Ats. I get that. Especially after all you went through. I just need to shut up and move on. It's fine. It's like you said—there's more than one way to make a family."

She studies me for a long moment, her dark brown eyes fixed on mine. "It's not a competition for who has the most trauma," she finally says.

"Ats—"

"And I wasn't talking about my past—" She blows out a breath then releases my hand, scooping up both plates and bringing them to the kitchen sink. I watch as she scrubs at them, her movements jerky and ungraceful.

Completely antithesis to all that is Athena.

"You know my upbringing was shit. My parents were…well, not fucking parents, and my mom was vindictive bordering on abusive, something that got worse after she died. I was lucky to get out of that house relatively unscathed?—"

Icy shields around her heart and keeping herself distant from everyone who cares about her.

I don't consider that relatively unscathed , but…

What the fuck do I know?

"But I got out and I found Lex, found you guys, and my life is better for it."

I hold my breath, wanting to tell her how amazing I think she is, how fucking in love with her I am, but more than that, I need to understand. "So what's shading your life now?"

Because she still has those icy walls and keeps her distance, and the sadness in her…it's only grown in the last year.

She exhales, setting the plates in the drying rack and wiping her hands on a towel.

Her eyes—those gorgeous brown eyes—are filled with such hurt that I want to cross to her, want to tell her that everything will be all right.

But I don't know that.

And I can't even get my own head together, so how in the fuck can I possibly offer up that little tidbit as fact?

"Fuck," she says softly. "I think we both need to get drunk."

"Athena." I move to her.

She turns for the cabinet where I have the booze, pulls out my last bottle of whisky.

"Baby."

Her shoulders hitch up and I know I shouldn't say that, shouldn't step closer, shouldn't wrap my fingers around her wrist and pry the bottle out of her grip. But…I get it now.

I understand.

"This is about Tommy."

The case gone wrong.

When she and Lex were in real danger.

They don't make a habit of discussing their job in front of us, so I usually just hear bits and pieces—unless I'm eavesdropping, of course.

But I heard about Tommy.

About his funeral and his kids and his widow.

"Don't," she whispers.

I stop thinking about all the things I shouldn't do and start doing what I should have years ago.

"Come here," I order, wrapping my arms around her, drawing her against my chest. I smooth a hand over her curls. "I'm so sorry, cupcake."

She exhales, and I don't miss that it's shaky.

So, I hold her a little tighter. "It wasn't your fault."

She lifts her head then, deep brown eyes damp with sadness.

"He died saving me," she whispers. "If it wasn't my fault then whose was it?"