Why did that sound like a question? Who cares?
“Why don’t you just tell me where you are and Bri and I can come get you. You know you can’t drive like that.”
“True,” I said, trying to keep my eyes open, but it felt so good to let them close. To block out the light, the faces . . . the memories.
“So?”
“So what?” I asked blankly.
What the hell is she talking about?
“So where are you?”
“Uh,” I looked around the room. “I’m at the karaoke bar. Where I sang for Kari.”
She sighed. “Ok. Bri and I will be there in a bit.”
KARI
I stared out the window into the night. The city lights blinked below, little beacons in the dark. It reminded me of Christmas lights strung for miles in every direction. I could see why Cane and Jada loved this place—it felt like you were above the world, secluded from all the problems.
Except for the ones you brought there yourself.
Cane sat on an ottoman in front of the fireplace, his forearms resting on his knees. He watched me like a caged animal that he wanted to approach, but was afraid it would bite.
I sat on the couch across from him, wrapped up in a yellow blanket and nestled into Jada’s throw pillows.
“You going to tell me what’s going on?” my brother-in-law asked me.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Max and I just had a little . . . disagreement and I just don’t know what to do.”
His lips hinted at a smile. “Remember the first time you met me? Not the night at Max’s, but the night we went to the bar?”
I nodded.
“And you ordered the third margarita? And I told you not to drink too much because I couldn’t guarantee your safety if you did?”
I nodded again, a smile touching my lips at the memory. I thought he was an arrogant asshole. I wasn’t completely wrong, in retrospect. But when he drove my car home to make sure I didn’t drive, I knew he wasn’t a complete dick. Cane and I have always shared some sort of understanding—two black sheep that just “got” each other.
“What did you tell me, Kari?”
“I told you I would do whatever I damn well pleased.”
Cane smiled. “That’s what you should do right now.”
“Whatever I please?”
“I think you need to do whatever you want to do. I don’t know what to say. I rely on Max for this kind of shit. The fact that someone is asking me for advice is kind of scary.”
“Don’t think I don’t know that,” I muttered. I watched the lights blink again, wondering which light was Max’s. “I feel like I’m holding him back, Cane.”
“How do you figure that?”
I turned to face him head on. I wanted to say this bluntly, to get a true reaction out of him. “Look around. See all of this? This is what Max deserves.”
Cane shrugged. “I agree.”
“All of this—is something that I can’t give him.”
“What do you mean? Of course you can.”
I took a deep breath. “When I was a little girl . . .” The words caught in my throat. I took a deep breath and started again, summoning the courage to hear the words out loud. “When I was a little girl, I had an operation. It wasn’t anything serious, really, but there were a few complications. One of them was excessive scar tissue.”
Cane watched me intently, his blue eyes tender.
“I had to have another surgery when I was a teenager. Alice stayed with me in the hospital because Dad didn’t know what to do,” I laughed sadly. “Anyway, to make a long story short and to avoid telling my brother-in-law details I’m not comfortable sharing about my anatomy, I was told that I most likely wouldn’t be able to have kids.”
The realization shone in Cane’s eyes and he put his head in his hands briefly. He pulled his head up and his eyes back to me. “Fuck, Kari. I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t. How could you have? But here’s the thing—I got pregnant by a miracle a few years ago and I lost the baby.”
Tears welled hot in my eyes and I didn’t even fight them. They spilled down my cheeks and onto the blanket.
“There’s a good chance that if I did want to try having a baby, I couldn’t carry it. And feeling that pain of losing a child . . .” I hiccupped through the tears, trying to keep my voice down so I didn’t wake Jada. “I can’t do it again, Cane. I can’t. It’s the most painful thing in the entire world. It’s enough that I don’t even want to try.”
I pressed my face into the blanket and tried to get control of myself. Cane sat next to me and pulled me into his chest. He rocked me back and forth and just held me. I cried enough tears to fill a hole, but not one as deep as the crater in my heart.
Finally, I pulled away and wiped the hair stuck to my face out of my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I sniffled. “I’m just not used to talking about this.”