Page 140 of Every Silent Lie

Am I sure?

I reach for his neck and pull his mouth onto mine, rolling my hips when he levels up and slides into me easily and slowly, our kiss pausing for a few moments as we both suck in air. He gives it a few moments, the pressure inside me fierce, before he withdraws and starts driving in and out slowly, circling his tongue again.

Eyes open.

It’s a beautiful moment full of acceptance and love.

And my body finally thaws.

We both come quietly, both of us shaking wildly as our kiss loses its momentum, and Dec collapses onto me, breathing heavily in my ear. Spent and settled, we lie in a naked tangle of limbs, dozing, our breathing finally back to normal, his fingertips stroking my hipbone. “You said you couldn’t have kids,” I murmur into his neck.

“I had a vasectomy.”

“Extreme,” I murmur.

“Maybe. You said you couldn’t either.”

“I had some women’s problems after Noah was born. There was a five percent chance treatment would work and I could go on and have more children.” I look up at him. “I work with numbers. I know good odds when I hear them. It wasn’t worth the pain.”

He shakes his head, trying not to smile at my lame attempt to lighten the situation. “So . . .”

“I had Noah, he was enough, so I had a hysterectomy.” I lay my head back down and narrow my eyes. “I often wonder if I’d have another if I could. And I always reach the same conclusion.”

“Which is what?”

“No,” I whisper. “Because I couldn’t bear to lose again.”

Dec’s stroking fingers falter for a little too long for me not to notice. My words bring us back round to loss. Will that fear ever be gone? “We’ll take this slow,” he says quietly, and I nod into him.

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Shut up,” he whispers. “Some women in this world don’t have a maternal bone in their body. You’re not one of them, Camryn.”

“I can’t be his mother,” I whisper. He doesn’t expect that, does he? The poor woman who lost a child, grabbing an opportunity to push her instincts onto a kid that isn’t her own.

“Camryn?”

“What?”

“I said, shut up.”

“Where is he now?”

“April’s getting him ready and taking him to school.” Dec pushes his lips into my head and starts unravelling our legs. “My phone.” He scrambles to the edge, the vibrating phone breaking through the rustle of the sheets. As Dec roots through the pocket of his sweatpants, I think of all the times we weren’t together over the past few weeks. The calls he took quietly. The calls he missed. The fact he didn’t come to see me later on his birthday. He was taking care of his boy. I can’t ask myself how I didn’t know, because who would have? There were no signs whatsoever. No kids’ stuff around his house, no smears on his expensive suits, no crumbs in his car.

“How did you get into my flat?” I ask, sitting up in the bed, the duvet puddled around my naked body.

He unbends, his phone in one hand, my keys in the other. “You left them in the door.” Disapproving eyebrows are raised as he chucks them onto the bed, and I shrink. “April?” he says, wandering over to the window, looking out at the view of the street. I rest back against the headboard and check the time. Eight thirty. I need to call the office. My lips twist in contemplation as I find Dec by the window again. Naked. He works. Is a single dad. Where the hell does he find the time to work out, because that body can’t naturally be that firm? “Put him on the phone,” he says, wedging a hand into the window frame, making his back muscles undulate. I grab my phone to distract myself, feeling all kinds of wrong admiring his body while he’s on the phone to his son. I start texting Thomas to let him know I’m feeling no better.

“Hey, little fella,” Dec says, turning and coming back to the bed, sitting on the edge. “We talked about this, remember?” He squints, listening hard. “You loved it yesterday. Lynette spent weeks making it, and you look so cool.” He blinks. Frowns. Sighs. “Put Aunty April back on.” He drops to his back and stares at the ceiling. “On a scale of one to full-blown meltdown, where are we?” His palm meets his forehead. “Okay, I’m on my way.” Hanging up, he drops his head to the side. “I’ve got to go.”

“Is everything okay?”

Getting up, Dec pulls on his sweatpants and feeds his arms through the sleeves of his hoodie, stretching the neck to get it over his head. “It’s the nativity play today at school. He’s decided he’s not going to be in it.” He gives me a pained look. “I’m sorry.”

“Please, don’t apologise.” I wave him off, but, unreasonably, feel the loss already.

Dec comes to me, bending over the bed as he pulls his hoodie down his torso. “I’ll call you, okay?”