He thumped his fist on the arm of the chair. “The father has a right to know.” I peered away, unable any further to come up with an evasive explanation. My gaze landed on Ezra’s shoulder, which was rock-solid, and I saw that his muscles were clenched, strung so tight he appeared he might break. I felt another small cramp, but it didn’t hurt as badly as before, thanks to Ezra’s power. King Kincaid sighed at my silence, muttering, “You’ll regret this, Lily.”
“So be it,” I whispered — the only thing I could say before closing my eyes, attempting to block out everyone.
Chairs were brought in for the others to sit on, even though their edges rested so closely together that everyone had to sit shoulder-to-shoulder. As time passed, Elder Merrick left and brought back coffee for everyone. Ezra’s was left untouched; the only movement he made was to tilt his head to the side and stare me in the eyes, his gaze hidden from everyone’s view but mine. His eyes were bloodshot and expressing everything I wasn’t feeling right now, thanks to his power. He was unable to keep it contained, even though I could tell he tried by the way his lips were permanently pinched.
I lay on the medical bed, holding his stare, and moved my hand under the blanket until the tips of my fingers were against his arm, the only touch I could give him right now. Pearl and Jack had maneuvered earlier to sit directly behind Ezra, and they sat with their heads resting against the wall, their faces carefully blank.
Five hours and many cramps later, Ezra’s body trembled, his head shooting up. Waking a few people, he shouted out the open door, “Bindi!” He paused, exhaling heavily on a deep pant, before bellowing, “She’s bleeding! Get in here!”
My breath caught. I reached between my legs, and then pulled my hand out from under the cover. My fingers were slick with vivid red blood. “Hope.” I shook my head inside Ezra’s hold and my eyes met his, both of our expressions damned, even as Bindi rushed into the room, demanding everyone leave and literally shoving people out. “Hope’s a fucking bitch.”
Chapter Ten
I miscarried both babies in those next two hours.
Ezra tried to give me a sense of peace through his touch, but I would have none of it after the medic announced I was, indeed, losing them. I brushed his hand away, still feeling the constant ache inside my stomach, and told him, “Pain needs to be remembered.” With a miscarriage being a natural process, his power wouldn’t have helped much with the pain. I needed to feel it all.
Sitting beside the bed again, he leaned his elbows on the mattress, with one of his hands covering his mouth and the other hovering above my head before falling to the pillow. Inhaling deeply, he nodded woodenly, his gaze meeting mine in mutual understanding before lowering so no others would see his stricken expression. He swallowed hard, his eyes blinking repeatedly, blindly staring at the mattress.
I curled up in response to the tight ache stretching to not only my back, but to my legs as well, and I cried softly for children I had never imagined I would want.
King Kincaid didn’t try to make anyone leave this time, but sat on the chair with his head in his hands, bowed, just as everyone else did — they weren’t leaving me, but gave me a semblance of privacy. Jack held Pearl when she began gently crying, his own face turned away from everyone as he rubbed her back in soothing motions.
Ezra peered up to me, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he gently wiped mine away, then lay his head next to my shoulder, eyes steadfast on mine, and murmured with a hoarse voice, “Pain should always be remembered.”
My smile was bittersweet and watered down by more tears. “Well, that, and the fact hope will always be that eternal bitch when she turns a deaf ear.”
“And luck,” he whispered, nodding, his head rubbing against my arm as he flicked a finger under his eye when a single tear escaped, swiftly making it disappear as if it were never there. “Luck never knows the right time to give or take.”
Gritting my teeth, I breathed heavily as my uterus contracted. “Irony.” Breathing deeply through the ache that was nowhere near as bad as my thoughts. “It’s a twisted fucker.”
His eyes closed briefly and again he nodded, his jaw clenched. “Irony is definitely one sick mother-fucker.” Bright green, bloodshot eyes opened, meeting my own. The backs of his fingers ran over my cheeks, wiping away the wetness. “It’s nothing compared to happiness.”
I snorted through gritted teeth. “What happiness?”
“Exactly.”
“Reality interrupts—” Jaw clenching, my nostrils flared as I felt a gush of blood flow.
A whisper. “Life.” His blink was slow. “The mother of all bitches.”
“And the beauty?”
“Its absence is duly noted.”
“Only to be found by those later.”
Another swipe of my cheeks. “Once they’ve suffered to the point they scream for death.”
“Full circle.”
His hand found mine in a gentle hold. “Pain needs to be felt.”