17. Certainty

17

Certainty

“I love sleepy sex,” I whispered.

With June fast approaching, the morning sunlight defeated the overworn curtains on my window and drenched my bedroom in light. Even so, Gabe’s big, hard, body shadowed mine, his lean hips wedging tightly between my desperately clinging thighs.

My God, the man was a sight.

When we were kids, he was lean as a whip. Now he was thick, muscled, and plastered in beautiful, glorious ink. Black hair mussed, face lined with passion and oh so slightly puffy with sleep, mouth soft, he was everything I ever dreamed of wanting.

Braced on his elbows, he cradled my face in his hands and swept his thumbs over the baby-fine hair at my temples.

“You’re so warm and soft and sweet, baby,” he muttered as he moved inside me. “I missed you, Shae. I missed you so much.”

My eyes flicked to his at the unexpected vulnerability. Pain fractured the warmth of his gaze and buckled his brows as he stared down at me.

I cupped my hand around the back of his dark head and held him tight. “I love you.”

His hips bucked. “I’m not ever going to get tired of hearing that. Promise me you’ll never stop saying it.”

Never.

“Gabe,” I whispered. “Please.”

Please don’t push.

Please don’t ask me for forever.

Please don’t make me think too hard or too long about everything that could go wrong in the blink of an eye.

“Okay, Shae-baby. I got you.” Pushing up on one hand, he dragged his other hand down between us until his thumb hit my clit and circled.

My neck arched back as my body trembled beneath his.

He snapped his hips.

“Gabe,” I grunted his name.

“Fuck, yeah, baby,” he praised. “That’s my princess, my good girl, my fucking everything.”

I cried out at the sweetness of his words as waves of pleasure rolled through me.

“Shae,” he whispered my name and closed his eyes as his jaw went slack and his body bowed, emptying inside me with a shudder.

I wrapped my feet around his calves, locking him against me.

He held me tight for a moment then tensed up as he began to withdraw. “Shae, much as I’d love to discuss making a baby, if I don’t get this condom out of you, there may be nothing left to talk about,” he teased.

I stiffened beneath him, leaving him even as he remained inside me.

He pushed himself up, slid two fingers down to hold the condom, and pulled out, his dark blue eyes searching mine.

“What just happened there?”

Get it over with.

“I can’t have kids, Gabe.”

His lips pressed tight as he pushed off the bed and knotted the condom. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured.

I rolled to my side and lay there, cold, while outside my window the birds celebrated the long-awaited warmth of spring.

Was this it?

The bathroom door quietly snicked shut.

Over before it began?

He slid in behind me, curving his long body around mine. “Is that why you’re sad sometimes?”

A tear squeaked past my defenses. I nodded tightly. “That’s why I’m sad sometimes.”

“Did you—”

“Gabe,” I protested softly. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

He paused, then dragged his hand down the length of my side and back, pressing a kiss to the back of my head. “One day you’ll tell me?”

I nodded. “One day.”

One day when I knew it wouldn’t make a difference.

One day when I was sure he would stay.

One day.

But not today.

Today was for walking around downtown Mistlevale with my hand tucked into his.

Along the main street that show-cased the windows that made Mistlevale famous, in and out of side streets lined with century-old cottages, and up to the top of the hill the locals affectionately nicknamed The North Pole for how high and steep it was to climb.

Today was for picking up lunch at the corner café, homemade bread sliced thick and piled high with fresh cut tomatoes, slabs of cheese, and shaved turkey.

And today was for making love late into the afternoon, the taste of chocolate and coffee on his tongue, his eyes warm with worship, his hands frantically making up for lost time as they caressed and squeezed and kneaded my flesh until I lay limp, boneless, and sated under his smugly satisfied gaze.

Today was for sweet kisses and future plans, long goodbyes and hope for tomorrow.

Standing at the door, loathe to let him leave, I was thankful for the day and night we’d had and excited for next Sunday when I’d see him again.

But when his taillights turned the corner, I felt every minute of the hour between Mistlevale and Sage Ridge. Because while I spent 90% of my time in Mistlevale, 99% of my heart resided in Sage Ridge.

During the week when we were apart, I missed Gabe. Dylan scared me, but I could not deny the fact she could so easily become my favorite person.

I missed my girls. While they could easily get together for a quick coffee at The Beanery or an impromptu lunch at Susie Q’s, I could not escape my work schedule or the fact I lived a solid hour away.

Rudolpho had worked overtime, and his wife Marlena had pitched in temporarily to take the load off while Nan was sick, but I couldn’t continue to lean on them.

And I couldn’t sell Ayana’s. It was all I had left of my family, and Ayana’s staff was the only pseudo-family I had left.

I couldn’t sell. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

So, in the two days a week I had off, I crammed in as much as I could. The rest of the time? I struggled on my own.

There was a morbid kind of comfort in its familiarity.

A kind of security knowing I couldn’t leave or get sick or let anybody down if I never made myself indispensable in the first place.

Every year I got checked religiously. Mammogram, colonoscopy, chest x-rays. If there was a way to have a yearly C-scan or MRI, I would do it. I dreaded the phone calls that came out of the blue and lead to some of my darkest times. I’d existed on the wrong side of midnight for all of my adult life and most of my childhood.

The thought of being the cause of that darkness for Gabe or, God forbid, Dylan, horrified me.

And with my family history?

It felt like a certainty.

Driving to Ayana’s the next afternoon, I felt infinitely sorry for myself. Finding Bridge waiting for me in the parking lot surprised me out of my looming melancholy.

She got out of her car and met me at the door.

I offered her a hug, and she wrapped her arms around me tightly.

“Do you have a few minutes?”

“Absolutely. Come on in.”

I grabbed us a couple of soft drinks and sat with her at a table. “What’s up?”

She took a sip, her eyes wary. “I think we’re going to have to run point on this shower and I’m concerned it’s going to be too much for you.”

Anxiety tightened my throat. “It’s okay. It’s long past time I got over it.”

Bridge chewed on her bottom lip as she considered me. “There are some things too big to get over. For some things we have to make room in the car and take them with us on our journey. People either understand and accommodate for the space it takes up or get out of the car.”

I harrumphed. They leapt from the car while it was still moving.

Her hand covered mine. “And the ones who get out of the car? Those fuckers better get out of the way before I run them over.”

I huffed out a laugh.

She waited a beat then asked gently, “Want to tell me?”

Did I?

I swallowed and looked out the window, then took a breath and braced myself.

“I’m infertile.”

Such and ugly fucking word.

I am infertile.

By the time I’d given up, I didn’t identify as anything else.

“That sucks.”

I nodded, thankful she didn’t try to apologize for something that wasn’t her fault. “We tried everything, even three rounds of IVF. I lost all three babies.”

She winced.

After not talking about it to anyone for years, I’d broached the subject twice in one day. Maybe it was getting easier.

I swallowed. “I was angry and depressed. When I couldn’t celebrate birth announcements, gender reveal parties, and baby showers with my friends, they lost patience with me.” I shrugged. “And eventually, I lost them.”

“They wanted you to celebrate with them when they wouldn’t grieve with you.” Bridge spat out. “Good riddance.”

“You don’t understand,” I argued. “This went on for years.”

She shook her head. “There’s no timeline on grief. They didn’t deserve you. And you deserved better.”

Tears smarted my eyes. “Thank you.”

“I’ll cover for you with the shower. If it’s too much, the girls will understand.”

I thought about Wren. “How’s Wren doing?”

Bridge see-sawed her hand. “She’s worried history is repeating itself and determined to do whatever she can to ensure Aaron and Nadine don’t suffer the censure she did.”

I hummed. “She’s a fierce mama.”

She nodded, her face thoughtful. She tilted her head to the side and eyed me. “Have you met Kian yet?”

“Aaron’s birth father? No. You?”

Kian moved to Sage Ridge with his youngest son to reconnect with the son he walked away from almost twenty years ago.

She nodded carefully, her eyes skittering to the side. “He comes into Susie Q’s with his younger son all the time. He’s nice. Sweet. And Isaiah is a great kid.”

Bridge had a big heart. Her larger-than-life personality blinded you to her tender side, but it was there.

“He must be lonely,” I prodded.

“He is.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “He moved to Sage Ridge to be close to Aaron, but Aaron is not warming up to him.”

“It’s understandable. He and his mom and his sister went through a lot.”

Bridge bristled. “It wasn’t all Kian’s fault.”

“No,” I agreed. “Of course not. But as you said,” my mouth quirked, “there’s no timeline on grief.”

She barked out a laugh.

“Still,” I continued. “He could probably use a friend or two.”

She hummed and looked away.

And I came to a decision.

“I want to help. Wren is important to me, and this is for her grandbaby.”

Bridge’s gaze snapped to mine. “I’ll support you in whatever way I can.”

My brow furrowed. “Don’t tell the girls about me, okay? The only thing worse than being alone with it is everyone knowing and still being alone with it.”

She smiled sadly. “You’re not alone now.”