Page 132 of Too Far

“Why?” I demand, climbing out of Kylian’s lap. As I cross the room, the heat of four sets of eyes sears me. They track me from every angle until I’m standing in front of my sweet, sensitive Emo Boy.

I lower myself into his lap and tip my head back onto his shoulder so I can speak directly into his ear.

“Your words say do it, but your eyes tell a different story,” I say, my accusation a tender one. “I won’t even consider this if you’re not completely on board.”

Big hands grip my waist, and inches from my face, his ink-covered Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly.

“I’m on board,” he tells me with a gentle squeeze.

Shit on a crumbly cracker.

That was not the answer I expected from him.

“Why?”

He still hasn’t answered the question. How can he so willingly encourage me to pursue a plan that legally binds me to another person? A person who hurt me.

“I want you so fucking bad,” he groans, tracing one hand up my torso and past my neck so he can cup the side of my face. Angling it, he kisses me, but it’s over far too soon. “But I want them, too. I want all of us, together. Safe. Happy. Secure.”

I search his face for any hint of a lie but come up empty-handed.

“My arthritis isn’t getting any better, Hot Girl. In the future, if I need disability benefits, it would be significantly easier to get approved without a spouse.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” This from Kendrick. “It’s almost impossible to be chronically ill in this country and get the support needed as a married person. I won’t marry because of it. Neither should he.”

With a deep inhale, I let the reality of the words sink into my bones. The reasoning makes sense; the reality still hurts. We’ve never talked about any of this before. To be forced to discuss it under extreme pressure doesn’t feel fair to anyone around this table.

“Do you want kids?”

Kylian’s words strike my already fragile heart. What kind of question is that? Snapping my head up, I stare at him, waiting for the punchline of the joke. Or maybe to wake up and discover this entire conversation has been a nightmare.

“Answer me, Jo. Do you want kids?”

It’s too much. Too Fast. Too Far. Too Soon.

“I—I don’t—” I grapple for words to string together to make him understand.

I don’t want to do this.

I don’t want to have this conversation.

Not with him. Not with any of them.

“Yes or no. Don’t overthink it.”

“Yes?” I guess. That’s exactly what it is: a guess. I haven’t spent a lot of time considering my future. It was so bleak for so long. Then, over the last few months, I’ve been focused on myself. On now. On starting fresh. On doing well in my gen ed classes. On picking a major. I thought all I had to worry about this week was registering for classes. Family planning was not on my bingo card.

“I do not. So it’s settled.”

“So that’s it?” I snap, jumping to my feet. “You and I have no future because you’re forcing me to decide in an instant whether I want kids someday?”

Kylian rises, too. Much slower, methodically. He approaches with measured steps, and when he’s close, he pulls me closer. He grips both my wrists with one hand, while the other finds my chin.

He bows low, his mouth close enough to kiss. He doesn’t follow through. Instead, he brushes his lips past mine as he whispers, “I can’t wait to fuck the sass right out of this mouth later.”

He kisses me hard then, a vow and a promise. I shiver on contact. He pulls away too soon, leaving me breathless and wanting.