Small panic bubbles up but I quickly squash it. I have to be strong. I have to be strong for him, because after this, I don’t know how he will feel.
I press my hands against his chest and give a small shove. He looks down at me, confused that I’m pushing him away instead of pulling him closer. Or maybe the shock is because I didn’t return his sentiments.
Oh, if he only knew the love that burns for him.
“I didn’t finish, Ax. You have to let me finish,” I desperately say, resuming my pacing just out of his reach.
I look over at him standing beside the window I left him at. He’s leaned back against it, crossed arms over his chest. I can’t read the emotion in his eyes. I know he is confused but he seems almost agitated with me.
“God . . . this is so hard,” I whisper to myself. I should have known his stupid empty house would aid the words into his ears.
“Izzy, I don’t know what else there could be. I already know about him,” he spits out.
I stop my pacing and look back over at him. My heart is breaking all over again, remembering the night of my eighteenth birthday.
“I wanted it so bad,” I whisper again.
“What?” he questions, pushing off the window and walking over to me, taking my arms in his hands again and forcing me to still in my fidgeting.
I choke down the nervous sob that starts up my throat but I am helpless to clench the tears that flow lightly down my cheeks.
“I wanted it so bad, so fucking bad,” I choke out, trying desperately to communicate my pain.
“Princess, serious as shit right now, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, his frustration causing him to give me a small shake.
I look into his handsome face, picturing for what has to be the millionth time, what our child would have looked like. Unable to take the vision of angelic perfection that crosses my mind, I crash my forehead into his chest and sob. Sob for everything we have unjustly lost.
“The baby,” I cry into his chest. “The baby I loved with every fiber in my body and every single ounce of love for you I had. The baby that I wasn’t able to even protect from my own body!” I scream hysterically into his chest.
My body gives out with the amount of agony and grief that invades my mind and I crumble to the floor before he can catch me. Emotions I have worked so hard to push back and lock away are flooding my system, causing great big powerful wails to escape me.
“No, baby . . . no!” I hear him cry over my breakdown.
I feel rather than see his body drop to the floor next to me. He wraps me tightly in his arms and begins to rock me, my cheek resting on his shoulder and my nose buried in the warm shin of his neck. I don’t know how long we sit like that. It feels like hours but it could only be minutes. He just holds me to his body, his arms and legs wrapped tightly around me.
It wasn’t until I feel the warm drops of his tears hitting my face that I look up to meet his eyes, eyes that must mirror my own right now. He is doing nothing to hide the evidence of his despair. Never in all the years I have known this man have I ever seen him shed one tear besides the one I felt when I was in the hospital. There are only a few tears that escape before he seems to pull himself somewhat together. His body is heaving with the effort of his control.
“Baby, fuck . . . Princess, I had no clue, no fucking clue.” I take his face between my hands and wipe his tears away with my thumbs. “What happened?” he asks. I know what he is asking; he wants to know what happened to our baby.
I take a deep breath and finish what needs to be said. “I had just marked the end of my first trimester when I miscarried. Three months along and I lost our baby,” I whisper, keeping my eyes on his while I tell him. “The doctors said there wasn’t anything I could have done. It was just God’s will.” I shake my head and look back down, pressing my head against his strong chest. “It was my birthday,” I say almost as an afterthought.
He stills at that. I can hear the wheels turning in his head, the pieces finally fitting together. “The club? That’s what Greg was talking about, wasn’t it.” A statement. He knows. There really isn’t any question about it. Of all the days he could have walked back into my life; that was the worst.
“Yeah. The club,” I reply.
We sit there, him holding me in his arms, my legs brought in tight against my chest, and my arms thrown tightly around his body. His arms are around my neck and his legs are stretched out on either side of my balled-up form. We sit there and silently offer the only thing we can.
Each other.