Page 165 of Illicit Games

My eyes circle the undecorated nursery. The walls are painted in both light blue and pink, while a lovely crib rests in one corner.

I stumble toward it, running my fingertips over the edges.

Empty.

It’s always going to be empty.

“Oh god, no,” I whisper, clutching my stomach.

Kian thought of everything. It emanates from the walls that he put his heart and soul into when building our perfect home. I realize with sharp clarity that it’s not just me who has lost a dream, but him too.

Somewhere along the way, becoming a parent became his purpose.

I was supposed to make it true.

Make him a father.

But fate had other plans for us.

Rage consumes me and I kick at the crib. I shake and throw it down, dropping to the floor with it, and I hit and hit and hit.

“Iris! Stop!”

I don’t, punching hard and hunching over in pain.

Strong hands capture my wrists and push them down by my sides.

“No!” I yell, bawling in despair. “No!”

I’m yanked backward against a hard body. Kian curls himself around my small frame as I fight him, twisting and thrashing. “It’s okay. Let it out.”

“Why me? Why us?”

“I wish I knew, baby.”

Digging my nails into his arms, I sob. “It hurts. It hurts so bad.”

“I know,” he utters in a trembling voice.

I feel his tears drip onto my shoulders, his chest shaking as he cries with me. Turning around, I bury my face against the middle of his chest. “I-I don’t know how to move on. I can’t. Everything hurts.”

He cups the back of my neck. “Then let me in. Don’t bottle up your emotions. Let me help you. Yell at me. Be mad at me. Do whatever you want, but don’t shut me out.” Tilting my face, he presses his forehead against mine. “Livefor me, Rainbow. It hurts my soul to see you like this. I’m so sorry I didn’t get to you in time.”

I press my palm against the side of his face, rubbing my thumb over his cheekbone. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”

“I’m always failing you.”

“No, you aren’t.”

His eyes close, wetness clinging to his eyelashes. “It should’ve been me. None of this would’ve happened. You wouldn’t have lost so much.”

“You don’t know that.” He meets my gaze. “She was going to shoot me, no matter what, and I’d still be here. And then I would’ve losteverything.”

He exhales, burying his face against my neck. “This isn’t how I imagined bringing you here. Or showing you this room.”

“Take me out of here, please.” I don’t ever want to be in here.

Tightening his hold around my waist, Kian hefts me up as I loop my arms around his neck. We go into our bedroom, but instead of walking toward the bed, he carries me out onto the balcony. Settling down on the patio chair, he leans back with my front flush against his and my head tucked underneath his chin. Holding me in a cocoon of his protective embrace.