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It’s probably best that I keep my selfish thoughts to myself.
Kimberly places her hand on mine. “Tessa. There’s no rule that says only one person can feel pain at a time. You’re going through this just as much as I am.”
“I know, but I don’t want to bother you with my prob—”
“You aren’t bothering me. Spill.”
I look up at her with the intent to stay quiet, to keep my complaints to myself, but she shakes her head as if she can read my mind.
“He wants to stay here in London, and I know if I let him, we will be finished.”
She smiles. “You two seem to have a different definition of finished than the rest of us.” I want to throw my arms around her neck for giving me such a warm smile in the middle of hell.
“I know it’s hard to believe me when I say that given our . . . history, but this whole thing with Christian and Trish will either be the nail in our coffin, or our saving grace. I don’t see any other outcome, and now I guess I’m afraid of which it’ll be.”
“Tessa, you have too much weighing on you. Vent to me. Vent and vent some more. Nothing you say will make me think any less of you or anything. Like the selfish bitch I am, I need someone else’s problems to distract me from my own issues right now.”
I don’t wait for Kimberly to change her mind. Instead, the floodgates open and the words pour from my mouth like uncontrollable, rushing waters. “Hardin wants to stay in London. He wants to stay here and send me back to Seattle like some burden that he can’t wait to unload. He’s withdrawing from me, like he always does every single time he’s hurt, and now he’s gone off the deep end and burned that house down and has absolutely no remorse. I know he’s angry, and I would never say this to him, but he’s only making things worse for himself.
“If he would just deal with his anger and admit that he can feel pain—admit that someone other than himself or me is important in this world—he could get through this. He infuriates me, because he tells me that he can’t live without me and would rather die than lose me, but as soon as the going gets tough, what does he do? He pushes me away. I’m not going to give up on him—I’m in far too deep for that now. But sometimes I just feel so tired of battling that I start to think about what my life would have been without him.” I pull my eyes up to Kimberly’s. “But when I start to picture it, I nearly collapse from the pain.”
I grab the half-empty cup of coffee from the table and down it. My voice is better than it was a few hours ago, but my ranting has taken its toll on my sore throat.
“It doesn’t make sense to me still, after all these months, all this turmoil, that I would rather do all of this”—I wave my hand around the room in a dramatic gesture—“than be without him. The worst of times with him have been nothing, compared to the best. I don’t know if I’m delusional or insane. Maybe both. But I love him more than myself, more than I ever thought possible, and I just want him to be happy. Not for me, but for him.
“I want him to look in the mirror and smile, not scowl. I need him to not think of himself as a monster. I need him to see the real him, because if he doesn’t pull himself out of the villain role, it will destroy him, and I’ll just be left with ashes. Please don’t tell him or even Christian any of this. I just needed to get it all out because I feel like I’m drowning, and it’s hard to keep myself above water, especially when I’m fighting against the current to save him rather than myself.”
My voice cracks at that last bit, and I become a coughing mess. Smiling, Kimberly opens her mouth to speak, but I hold up a finger.
I clear my throat. “There’s more. On top of all of this, I went to the doctor to get . . . to get birth control,” I say, nearly whispering the last words.
Kimberly tries her best not to laugh but fails utterly. “No need to whisper—spit it out, girl!”
“Fine.” I flush. “I got on birth control, and my doctor did a quick scan of my cervix. He said that it’s short, shorter than average, and he wants me to come in for more testing, but he mentioned infertility.”
I look over to see sympathy in her blue eyes. “My sister has the same thing; they like to call it cervical incompetence, I think. What a horrible term: incompetence makes it sounds like her vagina got an F in math or was a shitty lawyer or something.”
Kimberly’s attempt at humor, and that she knows someone with the same problem I may have, makes me feel better, a little.
“And does she have children?” I ask, but instantly regret it as her face falls.
“I don’t know if you want to hear about her right now. I could tell you another time.”
“Tell me.” I shouldn’t want to hear it, but I can’t help it. “Please,” I beg.
Kimberly takes a deep breath. “She struggled to get pregnant for years; it was terrible for her. They tried fertility treatments. Anything you can find on Google, she and her husband tried.”
“And?” I press her to hurry along, reminding myself of Hardin right now, rudely interrupting her. I hope he’s on his way back. In this state, Hardin can’t be left to his own devices.
“Well, she finally was able to get pregnant, and it was the happiest day of her life.” Kimberly looks away from me, and I know she’s either lying or leaving something out for my sake.
“What happened? How old is the baby now?”
Kimberly clasps her hands together and looks me square in the eyes. “She was four months along when she miscarried. But that is only what happened to her—don’t get yourself distraught over her story. You may not even have the same thing. And if you do, things may be different for you.”