His mouth goes tight. “I was counting on you to be responsible. I had no way of knowing you were playing it fast and loose with your birth control.”
Anger sweeps through me with such force that I feel it all the way to my bones. A shock wave that topples my balance, striking some vital part of me I thought was safe. I can’t believe he would lay blame on me. “I may be a lot of things,” I tell him through clenched teeth, “but I am not irresponsible.”
“The only other scenario is that you meant for it to happen.”
I step toward him, jab my finger at him. “There are some words that can’t be taken back,” I say. “I suggest you shut your mouth before you take that line of thought too far.”
We’re standing about four feet apart but it feels like a mile. For a moment, all I can hear is the blood rushing through my veins. Vaguely, I’m aware of our elevated breathing. The tension as thick and suffocating as glue.
“We owe it to each other to be clear, Kate. I’m not going to lie to you. I’m not going to dress this up all pretty for you. I don’t want a baby. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
The words fall down on me like hammer blows, so painful I can’t take a breath. It hurts me to my core. I stare at him, not wanting him to see it. Not wanting to make myself that vulnerable.
“This isn’t exactly optimal timing for me, either.” I try to keep my voice even, but I run out of breath, and when I try to get oxygen into my lungs, it sounds like a gasp.
He stares at me for a too-long moment and then he steps back, sets both hands on the counter, and leans heavily. “I don’t want kids,” he grinds out. “I can’t love like that again. Not like that. I don’t have the capacity.”
My initial hurt augments into a powerful sadness, a sense of finality and loss as cruel and penetrating as a machete blade. “You’re capable of love,” I say quietly. “You love me.”
“I do.” He stares blindly at his hands as they grip the edge of the counter. “That’s different.”
“No, it’s not. Love is love.”
“No. Kids are different. They’re…” He shakes his head. “My children. Kate, the way I loved them. It was … everything. When they died…” His mouth tightens, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I can’t do that again. I won’t.”
That’s when it strikes me that while I’m light-years out of my element, Tomasetti has done this before. He’s loved another woman. He’s been through multiple pregnancies with her. Two births. He became a father. Loved his children. He watched them grow and experienced the ups and downs of being a dad. He’d loved two little girls for nine and eleven years, then they were taken from him—stolen from him—by violence when a career criminal decided to make an example of what could happen to a cop who dared cross him. Tomasetti has come a long way since those dark days. But he hasn’t recovered. He may never recover completely.
“What do you suggest we do?” I ask.
“I don’t know the answer to that.”
“What do you want?”
He shakes his head again. “I want things to be the way they were,” he tells me. “Before.”
“You want me to get an abortion.” The words are out, an ugly, unpredictable beast let out of its cage.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re thinking it. I see it on your face. All this … urgency. As if this is a problem that must be dealt with quickly, before it turns into—”
“Don’t,” he snaps. “Just stop.”
“Why? Because you can’t deal with it? Because you don’t want to? Because you’re afraid to try? For God’s sake, Tomasetti, I’ve never thought of you as a coward.”
“Cut it out,” he snarls.
“We’re talking about the life of an innocent baby that has nothing to do with your baggage. Or mine.”
He says nothing. He doesn’t look at me. Makes no move to bridge the chasm between us. For an instant, I consider going to him. I need him. I don’t understand why he can’t open his mind. His heart. But something inside won’t let me take that first, treacherous step.
“Have you bothered to consider the possibility that this isn’t just about you?” I ask.
When he doesn’t respond, I turn away, grab my utility belt off the chair, my jacket off the coatrack. He says nothing as I yank open the door and go through it.
As I run toward the Explorer, I’m keenly aware that he doesn’t call out my name.
CHAPTER 15
“Well, Burkholder, you handled that with your usual eloquence and grace.”